The Gregorian Mission to Kent in Bede's Ecclesiastical History: Methodology and Sources 113806081X, 9781138060814

Table of contents :
Cover
Half Title
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Contents
Acknowledgements
Abbreviations
1 Introduction: an early medieval historian at work
1.1 Recent work on Bede and the Historia ecclesiastica
1.2 Bede’s methods and materials: the need for a systematic analysis
1.3 The implications of this study
1.4 The structure of this study
1.5 Methodology
1.6 Bede the historian
1.7 Bede’s introduction to his own sources in the HE preface
PART I: Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent
2 Gregory and the mission: HE 1.23–33
3 The mission fathers: HE 2.1–11 and 15–20
4 Canterbury before Theodore: HE 3.8, 3.14, 3.20, 3.29 and 4.1
PART II: Bede’s sources for Kent before Theodore
5 Bede’s sources reconstructed
5.1 Political
5.1.1 King lists
5.1.2 Genealogies
5.1.3 The context for the preservation and maintenance of Bede’s king lists and genealogies
5.1.4 ‘Hegemon list’ document
5.1.5 ‘Hidage document’ of the ‘tribute’ type
5.1.6 Kentish laws
5.2 Ecclesiastical
5.2.1 Episcopal lists
5.2.2 The origins of Bede’s episcopal lists
5.2.3 Inscriptions from (re)foundation stones
5.2.4 Epitaphs
5.2.5 Ecclesiastical correspondence
5.3 ‘Literary’ and other written sources
5.4 Oral information
5.5 Bede’s Canterbury sources
5.6 Conclusions: the disappearance of ‘Canterbury tradition’
6 Bede’s ‘Canterbury tales’
6.1 The unexplained sections of the Gregorian mission narrative
6.2 Characteristics of the ‘Canterbury tales’
6.3 The shape and content of Bede’s ‘Canterbury tales’
6.4 Nature of the ‘Canterbury tales’
6.5 Dating the ‘Canterbury tales’
6.6 Conclusions
7 Conclusion: Bede’s methods and ours
Bibliography
Index

Citation preview

The Gregorian Mission to Kent in Bede’s Ecclesiastical History

Historians have long relied on Bede’s Ecclesiastical History for their narrative of early Christian Anglo-Saxon England, but what material lay behind Bede’s own narrative? What were his sources, and how reliable were they? How much was based on contemporary material? How much on later ­evidence? What was rhetoric? What represents his own agendas, deductions or even inventions? This book represents the first systematic attempt to answers these questions for Bede’s History, taking as a test case the coherent narrative of the Gregorian mission and the early Church in Kent. Through this critique, it becomes possible, for the first time, to catalogue Bede’s sources and assess their origins, provenance and value – even reconstructing the original shape of many that are now lost. The striking paucity of his primary sources for the period emerges clearly. This study explains the reason why this was the case. At the same time, Bede is shown to have had access to a greater variety of texts, especially documentary, than has previously been realised. This volume thus reveals Bede the historian at work, with implications for understanding his monastery, library and intellectual milieu together with the world in which he lived and worked. It also showcases what can be achieved using a similar methodology for the rest of the Ecclesiastical ­History and for other contemporary works. Most importantly, thanks to this study, it is now feasible – indeed, ­necessary – for subsequent historians to base their reconstructions of the events of c.600 not on Bede but on his sources. As a result, this book lays the foundations for future work on the conversion of Anglo-Saxon England and offers the prospect of replacing and not merely refining Bede’s narrative of the history of early Christian Kent. Richard Shaw is Associate Professor and Chairman of the History Department at Our Lady Seat of Wisdom College. He has published on ­Antony of Egypt, Cassiodorus, Gregory of Tours, Augustine of Canterbury, Bede, ­Ælfric of Eynsham, Thomas Aquinas and François de Laval. He was awarded the 2014 Eusebius Essay Prize by the Journal of Ecclesiastical ­History and was shortlisted for the 2016 Medium Ævum Essay Prize.

The Gregorian Mission to Kent in Bede’s Ecclesiastical History Methodology and Sources

Richard Shaw

First published 2018 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2018 Richard Shaw The right of Richard Shaw to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A catalog record for this book has been requested. ISBN: 978-1-138-06081-4 (hbk) ISBN: 978-1-315-16285-0 (ebk) Typeset in Times New Roman by codeMantra

This book is dedicated, in grateful memory, to Lily Shaw and Gladys Weare: thank you

Contents

Acknowledgements Abbreviations 1 Introduction: an early medieval historian at work 1.1  Recent work on Bede and the Historia ecclesiastica  1 1.2 Bede’s methods and materials: the need for a systematic analysis 3 1.3  The implications of this study 5 1.4  The structure of this study 7 1.5  Methodology 8 1.6  Bede the historian 9 1.7  Bede’s introduction to his own sources in the HE preface 11

ix xi 1

PART I

Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent

17

2 Gregory and the mission: HE 1.23–33

19

3 The mission fathers: HE 2.1–11 and 15–20

87

4 Canterbury before Theodore: HE 3.8, 3.14, 3.20, 3.29 and 4.1

161

PART II

Bede’s sources for Kent before Theodore

177

5 Bede’s sources reconstructed 5.1  Political 179

179

5.1.1  King lists 179 5.1.2  Genealogies 180

viii Contents 5.1.3 The context for the preservation and maintenance of Bede’s king lists and genealogies 182 5.1.4  ‘Hegemon list’ document 185 5.1.5  ‘Hidage document’ of the ‘tribute’ type 186 5.1.6  Kentish laws 188

5.2  Ecclesiastical 189 5.2.1  Episcopal lists 189 5.2.2  The origins of Bede’s episcopal lists 192 5.2.3  Inscriptions from (re)foundation stones 193 5.2.4  Epitaphs 196 5.2.5  Ecclesiastical correspondence 204

5.3  ‘Literary’ and other written sources 207 5.4  Oral information 207 5.5  Bede’s Canterbury sources 208 5.6  Conclusions: the disappearance of ‘Canterbury tradition’ 210 6 Bede’s ‘Canterbury tales’ 6.1 The unexplained sections of the Gregorian mission narrative 223 6.2  Characteristics of the ‘Canterbury tales’ 225 6.3  The shape and content of Bede’s ‘Canterbury tales’ 228 6.4  Nature of the ‘Canterbury tales’ 233 6.5  Dating the ‘Canterbury tales’ 235 6.6  Conclusions 236

223

7 Conclusion: Bede’s methods and ours

241

Bibliography Index

251 271

Acknowledgements

It is a great pleasure to be able to thank the many people who have helped me in the composition of this book. First and foremost is Alexander Callander Murray, who was my supervisor for the doctorate out of which this work developed. The wise guidance I have received from Sandy is only matched by his generosity: he has truly been a mentor. Other scholars have been scarcely less helpful: my colleagues and friends at Our Lady Seat of Wisdom College; Alexander Andrée, Michael D. E ­ lliot, Nick Everett, Eduardo Fabbro and Andy Orchard, among others, at the University of Toronto; Peter Darby, Paul Hilliard, Maírín MacCarron, Conor O’Brien, Sharon Rowley, Alan Thacker, Barbara Yorke and others associated with Bedenet at Kalamazoo and Leeds; and, finally, Henrietta Leyser and other teachers and guides from my time at Oxford – many now sadly departed, including James Campbell, Rees Davis, Maurice Keen and, especially, Patrick Wormald. I would also like to thank everyone at Routledge involved with the production of this book, particularly Michael Greenwood, a true gentleman. Gratitude is also due to the Centre for Medieval Studies at the University of Toronto and the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada for the fellowships they provided, which financially supported the research behind this study. My greatest thanks must go to my family. This book is the fruit of many sacrifices on their behalf. My debt to my parents, grandmother, and greataunt for the support they have provided can never be repaid – and it is to the latter two that this book is dedicated. Finally, my deepest appreciation goes to my wife, Christine, and to my children, who have been a constant source of encouragement and inspiration throughout my work.

Abbreviations

AnonVC Anonymous Life of Cuthbert AnonVCeo Anonymous Life of Ceolfrith CCSL Corpus Christianorum, Series Latina Colgrave and Mynors  Bede. Historia ecclesiastica gentis Anglorum, ed. and trans. B. Colgrave and R. Mynors, Oxford, 1991 DTR Bede. De temporum ratione Elmham, History Thomas of Elmham. Historia Monasteria S. Augustini Cantuariensis Gregory, Histories Gregory of Tours. Historiarum libri X Gregory, Letters Gregory the Great. Registrum Epistolarum. References are given to the MGH edition: translations are taken from Martyn, 2004 HA Bede. Historia abbatum HE Bede. Historia ecclesiastica LP Liber Pontificalis M G regory the Great, Letters: trans. Martyn, 2004, with references by book and letter number MC B ede. Major Chronicle, from De temporum ratione, 66 MGH Monumenta Germaniae Historica MinC Bede. Minor Chronicle, from De Temporibus Orosius, History Orosius. History Against the Pagans PL Patrologiae cursus completus, Series latina, ed., J.-P. Migne Plummer Plummer, C. ed. Bede: Opera Historica, Oxford, 1896, with references by volume and page number. Gregory the Great, Letters: MGH edition, with R references by book and letter number

xii Abbreviations S VCM VCP VG VW

S  awyer and Kelly, Anglo-Saxon Charters: an Annotated List and Bibliography from the updated electronic version at esawyer.org.uk Bede. Life of Cuthbert, Verse Bede. Life of Cuthbert, Prose A  nonymous Life of Gregory the Great. Colgrave, 1968 Stephen. Life of Wilfrid

1 Introduction An early medieval historian at work

Bede’s Historia ecclesiastica [HE] is one of the best known and most extensively studied early medieval texts. The work’s status as the main source for Anglo-Saxon England in the seventh and early eighth centuries means it has attracted near constant historiographical attention. Surprisingly, however, the materials Bede used and the way he used them have never been systematically considered. The present book aims to begin to fill these gaps and to provide answers to the questions of what Bede’s sources were in writing the HE and how he employed them to construct his History. In other words, how did Bede work as a historian and with what did he work? Although this is an exercise that could – and should, I will argue – be carried out for the entire Historia, in the first instance, it will be more practical to confine this study to a specific area: Bede’s account of the Gregorian mission. Through analysis of this narrative, both the process and the sources for Bede’s creation of the HE’s account of the Gregorian mission to Kent can be reconstructed. The implications of these findings extend beyond the classification of ­Bede’s materials. A better appreciation for the way in which Bede compiled the HE will cast light on Bede the scholar and his milieu, on his connections and informants, and on the stages in which he composed the work. It will be possible to gain a more nuanced view of the nature and purpose of the library at his disposal with potential lessons for its role as an archive and in education. Furthermore, reconstructions of Bede’s sources and assessment of their provenance and reliability will provide a firmer foundation for future investigations of early Christian Kent. Such a basis will mean that Bede’s narrative can potentially be replaced and not simply refined.

1.1  Recent work on Bede and the Historia ecclesiastica Given how important a source the HE is, it may seem rather remarkable that its own sources have not already been subjected to systematic analysis. There are many reasons for this: probably the principal one has been the strength of Bede’s enduring reputation. This has been so revered that the HE was often treated as a primary source for the events it described. Modern historio­ graphy has long recognised that this is not the case. Nonetheless, the chief

2  Introduction focus of Bedan studies over the last half-century has not been an attempt to understand Bede’s sources in the History, but to uncover his agendas in writing the work in the first place. Recent work on Bede has sought to provide a more complicated account of the man and his scholarship, especially by offering a greater appreciation for the HE in the context of his complete catalogue of writings, dominated as it was by works of biblical exegesis (for instance, DeGregorio, 2006a; DeGregorio, 2010a; Darby and Wallis, 2014). With a deeper awareness of Bede’s intellectual background, the HE appears less the independent and objective work it was once considered. Bede was not primarily a historian (Campbell, 1986a, 1986b). He came to write the History only after a career mainly spent producing biblical commentaries (DeGregorio, 2006b). This background underlay his writing of history and affected his presentation of the past. Moreover, he was not just writing within the context of his exegesis but also within the tradition of ecclesiastical history (Ward, 1998). As Bede’s biblical commentaries, and his corpus as a whole, are better understood, his creativity in both the exegetical and ‘scientific’ fields becomes all the more evident. Bede did, as he often claimed, walk in the ‘footsteps of the Fathers’, but he went even further down the path they had laid. These findings have indirect and important impacts on our understanding and interpretation of the HE: first, Bede’s background and his assumptions are clearer, helping us to see what he took for granted in the HE, arguably affecting his portrayal of events – consciously or not; second, the evidence of his originality demonstrates that Bede was no mere compiler and suggests that the HE itself may be imbued with a higher degree of intentionality than was long believed. This conclusion supports the connected work, specifically on the HE, which has gone beyond offering mere descriptions of the conscious and unconscious attitudes that must be taken into account in interpreting the evidence of the HE and has instead sought to unravel Bede’s possible motivations for writing. These studies have provided nuanced perspectives on the work, especially illuminating the plausible ideologies and agendas that Bede intentionally brought into his writing of the history of the conversion of the English. Through these proposed rationales, which tend to be grounded in contemporary ecclesio-politics, whether the ‘Ghost of Bishop Wilfrid’ (­Goffart, 1988; 2002; 2005), ecclesiastical reform (Thacker, 1983; DeGregorio, 2010a; Darby, 2018a), monastic competition (Gunn, 2009), or moral regeneration (Kirby, 1974: 2; Mayr-Harting, 1991: 43–45; Hilliard, 2010), we should, it is argued, read the entire Historia. Not all of these – or other competing explanations (Rollason, 2001; Higham, 2006) – can be correct; but, taken together, they have enriched our appreciation of the complexity of Bede and the HE itself. Because Bede is still the main, and often the only, source for the history of early Christian Anglo-Saxon England, a better sense of the prism(s) through which he viewed the world is a crucial building block for reconstructing the

Introduction  3 events of the period. But in discerning the reality behind the HE’s descriptions, identifying Bede’s agendas is only part of the task, and arguably not the most important one. The HE is mainly a secondary source. This inevitably affected Bede’s account, even if he had had no agendas. The world looked very different from Kent in 600 and Wearmouth-Jarrow in 731. We must therefore ask not only why he wrote but also how he wrote and what he wrote with.

1.2  Bede’s methods and materials: the need for a systematic analysis It has long been acknowledged in theory that the HE is at best a secondary source for most of its account. This realisation, however, has only infrequently affected the historiography. Given that the HE is not a direct witness to most of the events it records, we need to ask what lay behind it. Bede writes so well that it is not always immediately obvious what is ‘him’ and what is his ‘source’. Bede’s very qualities as historian have complicated the task. His ability to weave together his sources and connect them into a convincing story is one of his most impressive characteristics and has long been praised by scholars (Markus, 1975: 7; Mayr-Harting, 1991: 45; Brooks, 1999: 3). Thus, the HE reads like a primary source, while the latent trust for Bede’s authority even now means the work is often implicitly treated as one. How did Bede construct his History? What was Bede’s basis for his statements? Is the HE’s narrative built on reliable sources? Are they from the time they describe or merely retrospective recreations? Which parts of his text effectively repeat his sources? Which are deductions?1 Which are mere rhetorical flourishes or even inventions? These questions are especially critical in light of recent research into ­Bede’s agendas, motivations and assumptions in writing the HE. Without a complete analysis of the sources lying behind Bede’s narrative, even though in a general way it is possible to recognise his bias and the limitations in the evidence available to him, the reliability of his account in specific instances cannot properly be assessed. Such a systematic examination of how Bede worked, based in an analysis of his sources – what they are and how well informed they were – has yet to be carried out for the HE. As a result, although we now have plenty of reasons to tread cautiously in using the History as a source, it does still remain our source, and indeed our chief one. While we know much more about the possible reasons for which the HE was written, or at least about the ideologies under the influence of which it was drafted, we still know very little about how it was written, giving the work a deceptively monolithic appearance.2 These questions have been asked, and to a large extent answered, for ­Bede’s other works. Researches into Bede’s sources for his exegetical and educational works reveal an impressive library (Laistner, 1966b; Ganz, 2004: 91–108; Lapidge, 2006: 37 and 191; Love, 2012: 631). In contrast, in the

4  Introduction case of the HE, comparable investigations have only covered literary texts and, even then, little has been done since Charles Plummer’s liminal edition of Bede’s historical works (Plummer, 1.l–lii, n. 3). Furthermore, Plummer’s treatment, while characteristically scholarly, was not comprehensive. Most of the sources he identified were concentrated within the first section of the book, from HE 1.1–22. Bede was frank in the HE’s preface about the extent to which the narrative in these chapters represented a collection of borrowings from the writings of earlier authors (ex priorum maxime scriptis). In later sections of his commentary, Plummer pointed out Bede’s reliance on other works, such as his prose Life of Cuthbert [VCP], or his adaptation of Adomnan’s On the Holy Places. In the century since ­Plummer’s groundbreaking volumes, scholars have added few sources to those he identified, although there have been individual treatments of certain types of material or of Bede’s use of individual authors. Discussion continues about the nature of the relationship between the HE and the Life of ­G regory [VG],3 and with Stephen’s Life of Wilfrid [VW ].4 B­e de’s ­borrowings from Gildas have been analysed (Miller, 1975), as has his use of Orosius (Scully, 2002), and his handling of certain papal letters in the History (Markus, 1963; Hunter Blair, 1971; Story, 2012). Other studies have assessed Bede’s sources for dates in wider examinations of chronology (Jones, 1947; ­Harrison, 1976a); and, evidently, focused analyses of episodes in the HE have sometimes included limited treatments of Bede’s sources and attempts to explain them.5 Literary texts, however, can hardly be called the basis for the HE.6 These are not, in the main, what is meant when talking of the sources of the HE, or, besides Gildas, of any of Bede’s stories within it. Bede had and used many sources beyond the ‘classics’ in composing his History: some were documentary or administrative, some were oral and many are lost. In fact, probably the majority of Bede’s sources no longer survive.7 Identifying the raw material behind the HE cannot be achieved simply by searching electronic databases. Instead, a more complex assessment of the viable and plausible sources is required, with the conclusions inevitably less certain. This justifiable caution should not devolve into a dismissal of the enterprise as impossible. That might be tempting. Much of the HE tends to be implicitly, or explicitly, explained away as reliant not on ‘written sources’ but on what might be termed, in a general sense, ‘tradition’.8 For David Kirby, the HE, in the main, was a ‘mosaic of personal memories’ (Kirby, 2000b: 56).9 Such comments are grounded in a reality: many stories in the HE do come from ‘oral tradition’, which would not be found in a library.10 Bede is often frank that his source is a named individual who has told him the tale. At other times, though more ambiguously, generic expressions point in the same direction.11 To say that Bede uses ‘traditions’, however, is not to say that the majority of the work was written without identifiable ‘sources’. Nor does it preclude analyses of both the basis upon which he made his claims and of how he utilised his materials – oral and written – to

Introduction  5 12

compile his narrative. Establishing provenance allows us to begin to judge reliability. There are often quite stark differences in genre between the sources used across the HE. The beginning of the account of the ­G regorian mission, for instance, marks a watershed as much in evidence as in narrative. Thus, though difficult, the task is not impossible, and, as we have seen, carrying it out is not only vital, but necessary. Indeed, it has been too long delayed. What is required for the HE is an exercise whose nature and value were set out in plain terms by Rosalind Love for the entire Bedan corpus: ‘a very great deal still remains to be discovered about his reading, by a painstaking process of interrogating every single paragraph he wrote, a lifetime’s task’ (Love, 2012: 619). This book represents the beginning of such a broader undertaking. In the long run, of course, the work needs to be carried out across the whole HE. Such a comprehensive examination of the text is a major desideratum for scrutiny of the History. Nonetheless, given the scale of the question, the focus here is on a single significant and coherent narrative within the HE: the account of the Gregorian mission and ecclesiastical life in Kent until the advent of Theodore. I will analyse the sources for Bede’s account of the mission and how he used them in the HE, consistently seeking answers to the question of the basis for Bede’s individual statements. The emphasis is on the early Church in Kent as the most fruitful grounds for such an investigation. This was a period that Bede himself, in the Preface, marked as an essentially discrete element in the composition and sourcing of the HE. As a finite and connected narrative within the work, the sources and informants, while rarely simple, are often clearer and more easily identifiable.13 Consideration will be given to those non-Kentish chapters dealing with papal letters, as the wider question of Bede’s use of papal letters is valuable for understanding his information on Kent. Therefore, while earlier works have sought to give an impression of Bede’s library, in this book, I shall show him at work in it. It will be possible to see Bede at his desk, in the scriptorium, surrounded by his notes and books, and to gain a much better sense of how he obtained his materials and how he used them. In short, I hope to provide an insight into how an early medieval historian – albeit an exceptional one – worked. The methods and conclusions should point the way for others to attempt something similar for the other sections of the HE and for other works.

1.3  The implications of this study Reconstructing the list of sources used by Bede in composing the HE offers a better sense of his intellectual milieu and context as a scholar. This provides a more detailed framework for situating him as an author. As a result, it is possible to learn not only about Bede but also about the world in which he lived. One obvious example is that a more systematic catalogue of the

6  Introduction material Bede used in his History will expand our knowledge of his library, with intriguing implications for understanding the culture of Anglo-Saxon monasteries and their relation to the politics and society of the time. A better understanding of Bede’s sources and their provenance will improve our sense of the process of composition of the HE and of how Bede gathered his materials and when he possessed what, especially illuminating his relationship with Canterbury and Albinus. This provides a much stronger basis for work on the chronology and context of the HE’s composition and in identifying stages in drafting. The full consequences will need to be considered separately and in more detail through a thorough re-­examination of the question, but initial lessons will be able to be drawn below. The final implication of the findings presented here is perhaps the most significant for historians. In the HE, Bede created a narrative using primary sources, secondary sources, oral information, and rhetorical topoi, as well as his own deductions and, arguably, inventions. This book identifies, catalogues, assesses and as far as possible reconstructs all of the sources upon which Bede based his account of the Gregorian mission church in Kent. As a result, it becomes possible to replace that narrative. Using the various prisms modern historians have been able to identify – and through which we are encouraged to read the History – views of the HE, and consequently of the period, have grown more nuanced. But these remain reinterpretations of Bede and the HE. We are still left reading the history through the Historia. Thus, it has long seemed that, even with modern reservations about Bede as an objective historian, and even with an increased ability to correct certain errors of fact, it is not possible to dispense with what James Campbell called a ‘necessary dependence on Bede’ (Campbell, 1986c: 49). Consequently, even scholars who separately provided sensitive and perceptive treatments of Bede’s weaknesses as a source have effectively been prisoners of Bede’s narrative.14 Despite all the reasons to be on our guard when reading the History that modern historiography has emphasised, it is striking how little Bede’s overall story of seventh-century England, or even simply the Gregorian mission, has altered in its presentation by modern historians. The treatment of how Bede worked presented here will make it possible to rectify this situation – at least for the account of the Gregorian mission. ­Bede’s version of events was based on limited and often untrustworthy materials. If it is possible to identify his sources and discern between them, then Bede will not be our ‘source’, his sources will. This means that scholars need not be constrained by Bede’s narrative. Future reconstructions of what happened in early Christian Kent will be able to use only well-informed sources and so will be built on much firmer foundations. It will no longer be credible to allow unconvincing statements to go unchallenged or to rely on every passing remark of Bede’s as if each might potentially represent the vestiges of an original source to which he had access, or even merely to repeat ­Bede’s narrative with the caveat, ‘Bede says’, in an attempt to disassociate

Introduction  7 the author from the story, while relying on its content to propel the narrative.15 This means that much of the Bedan account upon which historians have traditionally depended needs to be dispensed with. But the more reliable elements need not stand alone. Placed alongside other sources available to us, though not to Bede, they can become the basis for reconstructions of the conversion period, especially in Kent, which, while they can never be comprehensive, can be better informed than the HE’s own version of events. In other words, by combining Bede’s sources – properly assessed – with other sources that exist for the period – especially archaeology and coinage, but also Merovingian and other continental texts – future work will be able to produce more accurate versions of events and of the world of c.600. This picture is likely to suggest a Kent more closely connected to contemporary Gaul than Bede realised, and, indeed, more similar to it than he probably could ever have imagined.16 Properly sifted, Bede’s sources for the Gregorian mission can lay the basis for a better understanding of, and not merely a new perspective on, early Christian Kent. In short, this book indirectly attempts to carry out the groundwork necessary for rewriting, and not merely reinterpreting, ­seventh-century England. The full implications of this will require further and separate development; nonetheless, a beginning can be made and a basis laid through the analysis that follows. Thus, an investigation of Bede’s sources and how he used them to compile his History tells us not only about him, his time, his connections, his library and his world, but also about the processes of an early medieval scholar and historian at work, as well as laying the foundations for more accurate reconstructions of early Christian Kent.

1.4  The structure of this study In attempting to achieve these goals, this book falls naturally into two parts. The first, comprising Chapters 2–4, represents the source analysis of the HE’s account of the Gregorian mission and the Church in Kent before the arrival of Theodore. Chapter 2 covers HE, Book 1, Chapters 23–33. ­Chapter 3 covers HE, Book 2, Chapters 1–11 and 15–20. Chapter 4 covers HE, Book 3, Chapters 8, 14, 20 and 29, as well as HE, Book 4, Chapter 1. Following the methodology set out in the next section, this analysis will systematically assess the basis for each statement Bede makes. Through this, it will be possible to see what he possessed and to appreciate how he used it, combining his materials with his own deductions and rhetoric to construct a coherent narrative. By necessity, this is the longest part of the book. Part II is a detailed consideration of the sources themselves. Chapter 5 collects, organises and analyses the sources identified in Part I, attempting to reconstruct them as far as possible. The materials will be considered by genre. All the sources will be assessed, addressing the questions surrounding their reliability, date and origins, and how Bede obtained them.

8  Introduction Chapter 6 will examine those sections of the HE that could not be sourced in Part I. By considering the segments together, I shall argue that they represent information from a group of sources whose content Bede has skilfully integrated into the work. This set represents a linked collection of hagiographic tales from Canterbury concerning the mission fathers, written significantly after their time. The nature and possible contexts of these ‘Canterbury tales’ will be discussed, showing how they, and the materials in Chapter 5, cast light on Bede’s discussion of his sources and authorial process in the HE’s preface. Finally, the Conclusion will summarise the findings of this study and point to the directions in which the work could profitably be taken forward along the lines indicated above.

1.5  Methodology Achieving these aims is no simple matter: it requires a specific methodology, which has already been described in general terms. In short, what is needed is the enterprise called for by Love for the entire Bedan canon: ‘a ­painstaking process of interrogating every single paragraph he wrote’ (Love, 2012: 619). The occasional repetition inherent in undertaking such a process needs no apology. This exercise in the identification and reconstruction of the lost sources available to Bede is closely akin to that which Michael Lapidge termed ‘palaeobibliothecography’ – the reassembly of ancient libraries and the works within them – though it is operating on a narrower canvas than is usually the case (Lapidge, 2006: 3). Such an analysis, be it of a biblical commentary or of the HE, cannot be done properly if it is not done systematically, paragraph by paragraph, sentence by sentence. Organising such an examination is not an easy matter within the confines of a book. Anything less than a rigorous, step-by-step treatment, would not be convincing. It is not sufficient to make broad assertions supported with a few examples, as Max Laistner did, or simply to take Bede’s own statement of sources as evidence, following Plummer. Nor is it feasible merely to state conclusions as agreed and begin work on reconstructing the history of early seventh-century Kent. No one would believe the work had been done unless they saw the working itself. In that case, this book would appear to have provided options rather than answers. The basis provided by such an approach would apparently be no stronger than those that have come before. Only through a process of determined and careful investigation is it possible to see what Bede had and how he used it; only then will it be feasible to go beyond Bede. The approach in this book thus represents a necessarily different one to the traditional thematic treatment of the HE. A thematic treatment, or one dedicated to making specific narrative points, might appear to provide the materials for innovative answers to interesting questions, but without the thoroughness of a more comprehensive examination of ­Bede’s sources, too many gaps would be left to allow the findings to advance

Introduction  9 beyond the merely speculative. We still could not be sure that Bede did not have alternative sources underpinning elements of his narrative. In short, any attempt to reconstruct early seventh-century Anglo-Saxon England using the HE without thoroughly analysing its sources is doomed to failure. There is, in addition, an academic short-sightedness to such a narrow approach. It would advance knowledge only so far as it served the author’s current argument. In contrast, a more thorough method presents conclusions that should serve as a basis for all scholars working on Bede and the HE. This strategic perspective characterised Lapidge’s volume with its appendices on the Anglo-Saxon Library (Lapidge, 2006). Instead of simply analysing one single point, or even making a series in a specific argument, Lapidge provided a concrete foundation for scholarly work for the next generation. The nature of the subject means that studies such as Lapidge’s will never be the last word. Refinement will continue to come – I will offer some myself – but the enduring value of such work far exceeds that of more restricted treatments. That is the model that, for a more limited field, this book seeks to emulate. In order to achieve this, a thorough analysis of the relevant sections of the HE is required to test every statement made by Bede in these chapters, to isolate and identify the basis on which he is saying it, and, where appropriate, to specify the source: be it oral or written, primary or secondary. When something Bede says can be explained by a surviving text that could reasonably have been available to him, then that is the simplest and best explanation for his information. There is no reason to pretend that Bede had an alternative basis for his knowledge that does not survive but which, by some coincidence, happened to contain identical material. Each chapter of the HE relating to the Gregorian mission will therefore be examined section by section. To facilitate the reader’s navigation within the HE chapters being considered, each part will begin with a summary of the entire Bedan chapter, usually in the form of the original chapter headings with additional content where required. The investigation of each section within the HE chapter will begin with the Latin and English of the pertinent segment for the reader’s easy reference.17 The Latin will be in italics, and the translation will be in square brackets. Occasionally, sections included within such quotations need to be marked out for separate treatment. These parts are distinguished in both the Latin and English through the use of angle brackets. At times, the sections being considered are too long for it to be helpful to reproduce them in full: in such cases, lacunas are marked with ellipsis, with the omitted content sometimes summarised in English within curly brackets – {} – for the sake of comprehension. The analysis follows the quotations from the text.

1.6  Bede the historian One final point must be underlined before proceeding. Bede ‘the historian’ has come under strong and sustained criticism over the last forty or so years.

10  Introduction The purpose of this analysis and this book is not to heap further coals on his head. This study is not intended as a commentary on the HE. The present task is to discover Bede’s sources, or more precisely, his reasons for saying the things he did, not to pronounce on his accuracy. Examining Bede’s materials and methods will improve our understanding of how he built up his story. It will be easier to comprehend the practical impact in individual instances of Bede’s rhetoric, conception of genre, and assumptions and agendas. These shape his interpretation of his sources and the framing of his narrative. As part of the process of assessing Bede’s sources, it will at times be necessary to underline those areas where others have already identified erroneous statements: errors based on Bede’s misunderstandings of, or faulty deductions from, his sources or due to the ideological baggage he brought to his presentation of the ecclesiastical history of the English. In fact, with a better sense of his sources, identifying such mistakes becomes easier and more convincing. As a result, Bede’s narrative, sources, and occasionally his process will necessarily be criticised in the following pages. But this is not being done for its own sake. It was not beyond Bede to invent content, especially in terms of baldly stating generic comment as fact. Even so, as a general rule, he does not fabricate specific events or facts. He is more honest than he often receives credit for, though his narrative is less reliable than it continues to be treated. He was severely hampered by the meagreness of his sources. As will be categorically demonstrated in this book, Bede had precious few contemporary sources, beyond the papal letters, for the Gregorian mission.18 There was good reason for this, as will be shown in Chapter 5: the hiatus in ecclesiastical organisation in the 660s as a consequence, directly and indirectly, of ‘plague’ amounted almost to a total structural breakdown and resulted in devastating administrative discontinuity. There were extended vacancies in the episcopacies of both Canterbury and Rochester, as well as in the main abbey, Ss Peter and Paul’s, at a time when one king had died and his successor was a minor, probably with a maternal regency. This congruence of natural and systemic calamity effectively meant that, as I shall argue, Canterbury maintained no original sources from the early mission period to pass on to Bede. Thus, almost the only dependable information Bede possessed derived from the papal letters, and potentially some epigraphic evidence, together with some of the information from episcopal and regnal lists and genealogies. Of course, if Canterbury could only provide Bede with very limited, and often unreliable, information, the fault for this should not be laid at Bede’s door. He included data from his informants in good faith and built his own deductions on that material. That it was inaccurate does not by any means imply that he was attempting to mislead his readers. Instead, we will see how much his narrative and assertions depended on his sources: they are the basis of most of what he says in the account of the Gregorian mission in the HE.

Introduction  11 The reality is that Bede did incredibly well with a tiny number of well-­ informed sources. Through an examination of how he constructed the HE, the analysis below will provide insights into his own view of history. The HE was hardly an exercise in the conscious deception of the centuries of historians who followed him. The reason we should trust his account less than we did is not because he was lying, but, principally, because his sources were so few and so rarely produced by people in a position to know the reality of events. In addition, Bede needed to make deductions from the limited materials he did have in order to create a credible narrative from them. Those deductions were based on his own ideology and contemporary world view. Other elements of his presentation, such as the placing of speeches of his own composition into the mouths of his protagonists, were informed by the classical and late antique historiographical tradition (Thacker, 2010: 171–72). For the Gregorian mission, Bede was writing what we might call ‘distant history’. This was not the case for the whole HE, or for most other early medieval histories. Bede did not have access to either direct or second-hand oral information for this period: that is, he had information neither from the participants and observers nor directly from those who had spoken to them. Yet the events and history of this time were more intimately connected to those of his own than, say, that of the Anglo-Saxon aduentus. How Bede reconciled these challenges is revealing. He was not a ‘modern historian’ but he was a historian. Indeed, in some ways, it is in the account of the G ­ regorian mission that Bede behaves most like one, at least as modern historians of the Middle Ages understand the term and their own endeavours. Even while breaking down the basis for his narrative, this analysis will confirm that. The problem for Bede was that his task was to write a history of a period about which he had a basic ignorance and almost no primary sources to enlighten him. How, in such circumstances, he managed to produce the enduring masterpiece that is the HE will be examined below.

1.7  Bede’s introduction to his own sources in the HE preface We are not operating in a void, however. The process of discerning Bede’s sources is greatly helped by his own broad summary in the HE’s Preface of the main routes by which he gained his material. The Preface, which takes the form of a letter to the Northumbrian king Ceolwulf (r. 729–737), begins with what is effectively a dedication to that monarch. Bede states that ­Ceolwulf had looked at an earlier version. He praises the king for the latter’s interest in history, which Bede says can be an effective guide to behaviour. Bede then devotes the rest of the Preface to explaining whence he had obtained his material. The first source mentioned is Albinus, the abbot of Ss Peter and Paul’s, Canterbury, whom Bede calls the auctor and adiutor before all others of the work.19 Albinus had been a pupil of Theodore, the eastern archbishop of Canterbury (668–690), and Hadrian, a monk from North Africa who

12  Introduction was Albinus’s predecessor as abbot. Bede says that Albinus collected information about what the Gregorian mission fathers had done in Kent or in neighbouring kingdoms, either from written records (monimenta litterarum) or from tradition (seniorum traditio). He sent these to Bede via Nothelm, a priest of London, who would go on to become archbishop of Canterbury (735–739). Later, Nothelm went to Rome, and while there, he searched through the papal archives and brought back copies of letters written by Gregory the Great and other popes. On Albinus’s advice, Nothelm made a further visit to Bede to deliver these epistles. As will be seen, these letters include those Bede inserted in his text, for instance in 1.24 or 3.29, as well as those he drew on for information in his narrative.20 For our purposes, it is noteworthy that Bede mentions that the letters were not simply those of Gregory the Great but also those of other popes. There is no neat dividing line of authorship and provenance (as implicitly suggested by Wallace-Hadrill, 1988: 68). Bede obtained the papal letters he quoted, or simply drew from, thanks to ­Nothelm’s research.21 This two-stage process represented by the visits of Nothelm to W ­ earmouthJarrow22 is crucial to understanding Bede’s construction of the narrative of the Gregorian Mission and the composition of the HE as a whole. These two visits and the material Albinus and Nothelm provided lie at the heart of what Bede writes about the early church in Canterbury and beyond. Bede goes on to offer more details worth mentioning. He notes that the first section of the book, up to the Gregorian Mission – in other words HE 1.1–1.22 – came mainly from the works of a variety of unnamed other writers. He then states that his information from that point on came from several different sources. He restates his debt to Albinus and Nothelm, describing the information received from them in slightly different terms and apparently giving extra detail about the content of the material. Bede explains that Albinus – via Nothelm – was the source not only for information about the Gregorian mission to Kent but even for some of his knowledge about ­Essex and Wessex, as well as East Anglia and Northumbria. He specifies that this information related especially to the names of the bishops and kings under whose administrations the kingdoms had received the faith, and reiterates that it was thanks to Albinus’s encouragement, and, implicitly, the resources he provided, that he was emboldened to carry out the work. Bede then moves on to other sources, effectively dividing his information by kingdom. This information is explicitly set out as additional to that coming from Canterbury, which he has just described. Daniel, bishop of the West Saxons, wrote to Bede with some details about the history of ­Wessex, Sussex and the Isle of Wight. The monks of Lastingham, a Northumbrian monastery founded by Cedd and Chad, told Bede about the lives of these two brothers and explained how they brought Christianity to Mercia and restored it to Essex following that kingdom’s plague-inspired apostasy.

Introduction  13 Bede says his information about East Anglia came both from old writings or traditions (ex scriptis uel traditione priorum) and from Abbot Esi. Bishop Cyneberht had written to Bede concerning Lindsey, about which, in addition, Bede had learned stories ‘orally from other trustworthy people’ (­aliorum fidelium uirorum uiua uoce). Together, these sources had provided some knowledge of the Church in that small kingdom and of ‘episcopal succession’ (successio sacerdotalis) there. Predictably, Northumbria was a special case. Bede knew some things from personal experience but also ‘on the basis of innumerable witnesses’ ( fideli innumerorum testium).23 He adds a slightly perplexing note relating to his material about St Cuthbert, explaining that he had drawn on the anonymous Lindisfarne Life of Cuthbert [AnonVC], as well as on his own researches, not only for the History, but even for his uita of the saint. That rather surprising tone is continued in Bede’s conclusion to this extended treatment of his own sources. He ends with a statement begging his readers not to blame him if they find untrue things in the History. He has merely recorded ‘those things which we collected from common report for the instruction of posterity’ (ea, quae fama uulgante collegimus ad instructionem posteritatis), according to the ‘true law of history’ (uera lex historiae). This phrase, and Bede’s meaning in this section, has been much debated, perhaps unnecessarily (Ray, 1980; Goffart, 2005). In short, Bede seems to be offering something of a warning and something of an apology, as if to say that he has felt, and arguably had been, compelled to include things in the HE that may not, in fact, have been true, and that he may not, in fact, have believed to be true, but which were commonly believed; so, he does not want to be held responsible for them. Following this apparent caveat, the Preface ends with a customarily pious rhetorical envoi requesting that the reader, whatever kingdom they are in, pray for his soul. Taken as a whole, it can be seen that the Preface is a solid basis for beginning an investigation of Bede’s sources and methods. Even if we should probably not assume that the informants and information set out here represent anything like a comprehensive tour, the Preface is a vital point of reference. The details about Canterbury, Albinus and Nothelm – especially the two visits – are of particular importance and will be returned to throughout the following Chapters analysing Bede’s account of the early Church in Kent in an attempt to identify his sources and understand his methodology.

Notes 1 As Campbell noted, Bede ‘did not write in an age in which it was thought necessary to distinguish between known facts and deductions or assumptions.’ ­Campbell, 1986a: 9. 2 There have been some stimulating discussions of Bede’s rhetoric – a rather different aspect of his process to that being considered in this book. See especially Ray, 1980; 1987; 1997; 2006. 3 The question of the origins of this early Anglo-Latin work remains unsettled.

14  Introduction 4 Recent treatments of Wilfrid’s life and the Life of Wilfrid can be found in Higham, 2013; see especially Thacker, 2013; Stancliffe, 2013; Cubitt, 2013. 5 Obviously, the various commentaries that exist on the HE have not entirely avoided these questions either. Plummer carried out some source analysis in his commentary, but apart from noting Bede’s literary sources, he was not thorough because his working assumption was that Bede knew what he was talking about. Wallace-Hadrill was even less intensive in his commentary (Wallace-Hadrill, 1988), perhaps partly because death interrupted his completion of the work. Jones, 1947, did look directly at sources; his approach was not comprehensive, however, because he was only interested in material relating to Bede’s statements on chronology and was affected by a dogmatic assumption, inconsistently applied, that every phrase of Bede’s relating to time had been copied verbatim from his source. The salient contributions of Kirby to the subject should not be ignored, even if their treatment of the material is not systematic: Kirby, 1974 and 2000b. 6 In her study of Bede’s library, Love provided a helpful catalogue of Bede’s ‘historical collection’, but as she noted contra Laistner (Laistner, 1966a: 100), these works represent texts primarily used, and presumably collected, for ‘explication of the Scriptures’, rather than in preparation for writing the HE: Love, 2012: 627–28. 7 Although parallel, or later, versions often do, as with episcopal lists or genealogies. 8 As a result, for the basis of Bede’s account of the Gregorian mission, historians frequently refer to ‘Canterbury tradition’. This is particularly prevalent in the otherwise extremely useful Brooks, 1984. 9 Higham even argued that Bede was an oral historian: Higham, 2011. On this topic, see now Shaw, 2015. 10 Though Ray goes too far in claiming that the HE ‘was built with self-conscious rhetorical art largely from folk traditions’: Ray, 1982: 5. 11 See Shaw, 2015, for a detailed treatment of Bede’s more nuanced intentions in using such language. 12 Higham, 2011, made broad claims about what Bede used but these were based on little more than a cursory examination of the HE’s materials. 13 Growing up and living in Northumbria, the likelihood is higher that Bede had readier access to a more significant body of tradition about his patria. The possible permutations for his sources, especially oral traditions, of whatever trustworthiness, regarding Northumbria are thus too great for it to be feasible to discern between them here. One further point about Northumbria: ‘Northumbria’, as a term, and to an extent as a unified political entity, seems to have been invented during Bede’s adulthood; indeed, it was an invention which the HE appears to have played a role in initiating and disseminating. Even so, I shall usually refer to Northumbria without qualification for simplicity’s sake, following academic convention. 14 The account in Mayr-Harting, 1991, for instance, follows Bede’s narrative carefully throughout. So too does Hunter Blair, 1970b, once the mission party arrives in Kent. 15 Such rhetorical tactics are popular with historians because they appear to establish credible distance from the story, while maintaining narrative continuity: see, for instance, Brooks, 2004b. Ironically, in so doing, historians are f­ ollowing the uera lex historiae that Bede hid behind in the HE Preface. Repeating ­Bede’s unverified statements with a caveat but without analysis of the source from which he was working is no better historiographical practice than Bede’s justifying his retelling of the story of Gregory and the Angli boys on the basis of what had

Introduction  15

16

17

18 19 20

21

22

23

reached him from the traditio maiorum. If the story is patently not true – such as Mellitus’s miraculous turning back of a Canterbury fire which is nothing other than a repetition of a tale from Gregory’s Dialogues – there is no reason to dignify it with repetition in a modern narrative of events, even with a caveat. It did not happen. Archaeology has long suggested Anglo-Frankish commercial, and probably political, interactions, and each new discovery confirms and extends the links between the two. Every year, more pertinent material pointing in the same direction comes to light: the online publication of the Treasure Annual Reports – available at www.finds.org.uk – has made early assessment and comparison of new material much simpler. The Latin text is that of Plummer’s excellent edition, whose age makes it freely available to all: significant differences in Mynors’s version are marked in the notes. The English translation is my own. Unless otherwise noted, other translations are taken from those itemised in the Bibliography. A conclusion already suspected by Mayr-Harting, 1991: 63; Hunter Blair, 1970a: 215. Bede uses the word auctor later in the Preface in a context that must mean source/ informant. The inclusion of the papal letters provides a sufficient response to Gunn’s criticism of the Preface’s account as merely ‘to offer some semblance of an authenticity’: Gunn, 2009: 146. The Preface should not be considered a complete guide but the papal letters evidence its basic reliability. The exceptions are: first, the papal letters relating to paschal computation, which he derived, with the rest of his computus material, from ultimately Irish sources; and second, the Libellus Responsionum, which Bede inserts in HE 1.27, and which reached him with other canon law materials. That is not to say that the visits described in the Preface were Nothelm’s first and second visits ever to Bede’s monastery – almost certainly, they were not. For present purposes and for simplicity’s sake, however, references to Nothelm’s first or second visits are to those visits he made in the context of the compilation of the HE as set out in the Preface. In other words, Nothelm’s first visit means the one in which he brought the initial information collected by Albinus, while his second refers to the visit in which he delivered the papal letters he had copied in Rome. Such phrasing is not dissimilar to the protestations of hagiographic works: for instance, Bede’s own reference to his examinatio testium indubiorum in the ­Preface to his Prose VCP.

Part I

Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent

2 Gregory and the mission HE 1.23–33

As explained in the Introduction, the analysis will begin with HE 1.23 and the dispatch of the Gregorian mission; but it is worth briefly contextualising that chapter within the rest of the work. In some ways, the earlier chapters of the HE almost seem designed as a preparation for this moment. Bede has introduced Britain’s geography and spoken of the peoples who inhabited the islands in his time. He has given a summary account of ‘Roman Britain’ before describing events after the legions left. Much of the latter narrative derives from Constantius’s Life of Germanus and Gildas’s Ruin of Britain, but there are also what appear to be more ‘traditional’ tales, for instance, concerning the aduentus and especially the stories of Hengist and Horsa. HE 1.22 ends on a conflicted note, with a lament that the British did not c­ onvert their conquerors, followed by a final assurance that God had ‘planned much worthier heralds of the Truth, through whom this aforementioned people would believe’.1 The rest of the passages considered in this study are, in essence, those related to the actions of the men Bede believed to be one group of these ‘worthier heralds’. 1.23 – ‘How Pope St Gregory sent Augustine and other monks to preach to the people of the English, and also how [when they paused for fear of that people] he comforted them in an encouraging letter lest they stop in their task’ Siquidem anno ab incarnatione Domini DLXXXII Mauricius imperium suscipiens [In the year of our A Lord 582, Maurice, became emperor] In beginning the account of what Levison called the HE’s ‘proper theme’ (Levison, 1935: 141), Bede seeks to contextualise the event in order to present it more impressively. He does the same at other turning points in the HE, for instance, in 2.5 when recording the death of Æthelberht. Thanks to the Gregorian letter he quotes at the end of this chapter, Bede knew Maurice was the reigning emperor at both Gregory’s papal accession and the time of the dispatch of the mission to the English. The date given

20  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent in that letter also provided him with the basis from which to make the deduction about when Maurice came to the throne. The letter ended with a dating clause, which said that it was written in the fourteenth indiction;2 it even gave the precise, ‘Julian’ calendar date, 23 July. Bede knew how to convert an indictional date into an incarnational one, as he showed in the De temporum ratione [DTR, 49]. Hence, he could calculate that the epistle was sent in 596. Because the letter’s dating formula noted that the epistle was sent in the fourteenth year of Maurice’s reign, it was easy for Bede to deduce that the emperor had come to the throne 14 years earlier, that is,  in  582. One important point to note is that neither here, nor anywhere else in the chapters under examination, would Bede have found an incarnational date in his source. No sources c.600 were dating in AD (Harrison, 1976a: 46 and 55–61). Where Bede has an incarnational date, it is his calculation; the question, as here, is on what that was based.3 ab Augusto LIIII [the fifty-fourth from Augustus] This statement represents a more complex deduction by Bede but, again, it is a process that can be reconstructed. The first thing to note is that Bede has probably taken the idea of introducing the emperor with his number from Orosius. This is standard in Orosius’s History Against the Pagans. As a result, for Bede, including where an emperor came in order represented historiographical best practice. Bede was aware that in composing the HE, he was working in a historical genre. No source provides a particularly close model for the type of work he planned with the HE. The closest and most influential was the Ecclesiastical History of Eusebius/ Rufinus (Markus, 1975: 4).4 Orosius, however, offered something different, a window into the classical, secular historical tradition. Orosius’s History was Bede’s model for beginning a history with a geographical survey and indeed provided a source for much of the HE’s information about early imperial interactions with Britain (Scully, 2002: 31–32). Orosius was especially influential when Bede turned from talking about the Church to speaking about imperial, and even royal, rule. Orosius felt that giving the ordinal number of the emperor was worthwhile and so too, therefore, did Bede. This does not, however, explain the totality of Bede’s statement. At first sight, it is difficult to see where Bede can have obtained such a precise figure for Maurice – calling him the fifty-fourth emperor. During the principate, so many claims and counterclaims were made and so often had ‘emperors’ overlapped that such a bald statement seems almost shocking. In order to understand whence Bede derived the figure, it is necessary to consider all ten uses of the formula in the HE.5 While Bede’s practice of numbering the emperors derived from Orosius, the figure for Maurice, who ruled a century and a half after Orosius’s death, could not have been. It is true that most of Bede’s imperial numerations

Gregory and the mission   21 for the period covered by Orosius are consistent with the latter’s; even so, the two histories are not completely in harmony, even for those emperors that they both count. Orosius, for instance, counts Arcadius jointly with ­Honorius as the forty-second, whereas Bede gives them separate numbers as the forty-third and forty-fourth. There were emperor lists circulating in Bede’s time that went further than Orosius. The final chapter of the Laterculus Malalianus, which Stevenson has credited to Archbishop Theodore of Canterbury, is little more than a list of emperors in order, together with figures for the lengths of their reigns (Stevenson, 1995: 156–61). Whether or not Theodore was, in the strict sense of the word, the ‘author’ of the work, scholars have traditionally seen little indication that Bede had access to the Laterculus.6 As far as the numbering of the emperors is concerned, Bede definitely did not follow the Laterculus.7 While Bede calls Maurice the fifty-fourth emperor, including Augustus, the Laterculus ends two emperors before with Justin II, but he is already the seventy-second. Nor do the figures in the two lists for any of the other earlier emperors, other than Claudius, tie up. Consequently, Bede did not derive his figure from Canterbury or at least not from the Laterculus. This is not surprising since there are no signs that Bede obtained any of his chronological information from Canterbury (Jones, 1943: 105–13), apart from certain items Albinus provided relevant to the writing of the HE. Rather, in tracing the origin of Bede’s views on the imperial succession, the natural place to look is his Chronicles: the ­Minor Chronicle [MinC], Chapters 17–22 of his early work the De temporibus [DeT], and the Major Chronicle [MC], Chapter 66 of his 725 work DTR. The content of these Chronicles was structured around a framework based on the imperial succession. Thus, even though the Chronicles did not assign a specific number to each emperor, Bede had already implicitly drawn up his own lists of them. Counting the emperors Bede includes in the Chronicles and comparing the figures with the numbers given in the HE, it is surprising that while the figures for the emperors are consistent between the MC and MinC, they do not agree precisely with the HE. The first noteworthy disagreement is that Bede’s Chronicles both state that Julius Caesar was the first emperor, whereas the HE implies that this honour was Augustus’s. More importantly, the Chronicles disagree with the HE over the figures for the later emperors. In this comparison, we are limited to the emperors mentioned in the HE. Counting the emperors starting from Augustus, the Chronicles, unsurprisingly, give the same figure as HE 1.3 for Claudius, that is, the fourth, including Augustus. At some point before the next example, an extra emperor has been added to the count. While in HE 1.4, Marcus Aurelius is the fourteenth, including Augustus, in the Chronicles, he is thirteenth; in 1.5, Septimus Severus is seventeenth, but sixteenth in the Chronicles. In 1.6, Diocletian is thirty-third, but he is t­ hirty-second in the Chronicles. Finally, here in 1.23, Maurice is the fifty-fourth, including Augustus, but he is only fifty-third in the Chronicles.

22  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent Therefore, for most of the HE, Bede was working from an ‘imperial list’ in which each emperor was assigned a number one higher than he had received in the Chronicles. Because the figures are the same for Claudius but not for Marcus Aurelius, the number must have been added between those rulers. Within those bounds, the natural place to look is the ‘year of the four emperors’, 69 AD. The Chronicles include only Vespasian from that chaotic year, so there was theoretically plenty of room to add more. The question, then, is why Bede felt that he should add only one. What was his source? Returning to Orosius provides the probable explanation for this oddity and at the same time helps to cast light on the construction of the HE. Initially, in Orosius’s description of the events of 69, the impression he gives is that he is including all four emperors; but when he comes to ­Titus, who followed his father Vespasian, the emperor who emerged victorious in 69, Orosius says: ‘Titus was the eighth including Augustus, setting aside Otho and Vitellius from the number of the emperors’ (Orosius, History 7.9.13).8 In other words, Orosius has included two emperors, Galba and ­Vespasian, from that year but has skipped the others. Now, intriguingly, Bede does not mention Galba in either of his Chronicles. Hence, at some stage between composing the Chronicles and making his calculations of the order of emperors for the HE, Bede has added an emperor to the count, and he has apparently done so somewhere between Claudius and Marcus Aurelius. In doing this, Bede has consciously followed the example and the argument of Orosius, so the ‘extra’ emperor may be presumed to be Galba. If Bede had simply become better informed about the early principate, then we would expect all four to have been included in his list, as they were in the ­L aterculus. The fact that only one was added in the HE makes it highly likely that Bede’s adjustment was made following a closer reading of Orosius. This conclusion raises interesting questions about what works Bede knew when. If he was using Orosius in the writing of the HE but not in the composition of the Chronicles, does that mean that Bede only read Orosius at that stage? It is often implicitly assumed that the Wearmouth-Jarrow library was constant, but it expanded during Bede’s lifetime – and not simply with the addition of papal letters, council decrees, and other sources for the HE. Bede himself provides direct evidence of this, stating in his Historia ­Abbatum [HA, 15] that Ceolfrith doubled the volumes the library included. There is no reason to assume that this was not a gradual process or that it ceased with Hwætberht’s accession (Wormald, 1976: 165, n. 70).9 Does this shift between Bede’s numbering of the emperors in the DTR, composed in 725, and the HE, completed in 731 × 4, mean that he discovered Orosius after having written the DTR and the MC and that the History Against the Pagans was added to the library in the meantime? The simple answer is no. Bede draws on Orosius’s History in many places in the MC.10 Some might be explained away as only indirect borrowings, deriving from another source, such as J­ erome’s Chronicle, which Orosius drew on, and which Bede possessed. On occasion, however, Bede quotes Orosius verbatim, and it is

Gregory and the mission   23 difficult to envisage how these instances and the sheer scale of apparent borrowings can have occurred other than directly. In contrast, the evidence for Bede’s knowledge of Orosius in 703, at the time he wrote the MinC and the DeT is much less strong. Charles Jones did not cite Orosius in his edition of the DeT, nor did Theodore Mommsen in his edition of the MinC. In their translation, Calvin Kendall and Faith Wallis cite two allusions (Kendall and Wallis, 2010: 120, n. 105 and 127, n. 240),11 but both relate to information also found in other sources Bede uses, especially Jerome’s Chronicle. Furthermore, Bede’s use of Orosius is not unambiguous in his other slightly later, though still early, works. While the recent editor of the Commentary on Apocalypse found one instance, the dependence is not very obvious (Commentary on the Apocalypse, 4.51, using Orosius, History, 7.27). This is also true for the Commentary on Acts (Commentary on Acts, 18, using Orosius, History, 7.6). Perhaps, therefore, at the time he wrote the DeT and MinC, Bede did not have access to Orosius’s History. Bede’s overwhelming dependence on ­Isidore for the content of the MinC makes it difficult to be sure that what was not quoted there was necessarily unknown to him. Certainly, Orosius had been added to the Wearmouth-Jarrow library before 725, and perhaps during the period 703 × 10, if it was used in the Commentaries on Acts and the Apocalypse. Nonetheless, Bede only seems to have drawn on it systematically in preparing the MC in the DTR. This still leaves the issue of the different treatments of Orosius in the MC and the HE. Despite the MC’s dependence on Orosius, Bede did not use the latter, as he did in the HE, to improve the imperial list that provided the Chronicle with its framework. It is relatively easy to see how this came about. In the MC, just as in the MinC, Bede used the list of emperors as his framework and structure – rather like numbers by the side of the page or chapter headings. When he came to expand the content of the MinC for the MC, he did not reinvent the wheel. With his own 703 Chronicle in front of him, Bede simply copied the ‘chapter headings’, that is, the list of emperors. Isidore had skipped from Nero to Vespasian, and so did Bede in the MinC and in the MC. The MC’s list of emperors, whose names stand at the head of each entry, has been taken directly from his earlier work without a second thought. As a result, the numbers of the emperors are identical in each. Thus, even though by 725, Bede possessed sufficient sources to create a more nuanced imperial list than the one he had copied from Isidore in the MinC, he does not take the opportunity.12 Consequently, while the MC’s content is much more intelligently designed, researched, and arranged than that of the MinC,13 its framework is identical. In a word, Bede can here be seen cutting a corner in his preparation of the MC. Nevertheless, the indications here support the inherent probability that Bede was – at the very least – already gathering his materials for the HE as he wrote the MC and the DTR. The evidence suggests, for instance, that Gregory of Tours’s Histories were only known to Bede later in his career

24  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent (Levison, 1935: 132).14 Equally, other than in the MC and the HE, Gildas was only used in the Retractations on Acts and the Orthography,15 while ­Eutropius was only used in the MC and the HE. This would make sense of Bede’s different uses of Orosius between the MC and the HE. Orosius was drawn on for the MC; he was studied as a model of historical writing for the HE. Hence, in composing the HE, Bede derived not only information but even some of his approach from Orosius. This extended treatment of an apparently small point leads to some significant conclusions. When, in 1.23 or elsewhere, Bede says that Maurice was the fifty-fourth emperor, including Augustus, he has not derived this infor­ aurice. mation from a separate source, let alone one contemporary with M He has deduced it himself by relying – rather too trustingly perhaps – on the framework of an imperial list initially provided by Isidore and repeated by himself, first in the MinC and then in the MC, with the only revision being the addition of a small numerical adjustment based on his reading of ­Orosius from whom he had taken the idea of giving a number to each emperor anyway. XX et I annis tenuit [and ruled twenty-one years] From the foregoing discussion, it is easy to see where this statement about the years of Maurice’s reign has come from. The information was initially derived from Isidore (Isidore, Chronica maiora, 406), but Bede is not using Isidore directly as his source here; rather, he is using the MinC and MC. The latter had derived its information from the former, which, as discussed, copied Isidore. By such a process, Bede has not given a completely accurate figure because although Maurice ruled into his twenty-first year, he only ruled for twenty complete years, not twenty-one (August 582–November 602: Harrison, 1976a: 95, correcting Plummer, 2.36). Cuius anno regni X Gregorius, pontificatum Romanae et apostolicae sedis sortitus rexit annos XIII, menses VI, et dies X. [In the tenth year of Maurice’s reign, ­Gregory, was elected pontiff of the Roman and apostolic see; he ruled thirteen years, six months, and ten days.] Bede makes several statements relating to the dates of Gregory’s pontificate. Here, in 1.23, he says both that Gregory became pope in Maurice’s tenth year and that he ruled for 13 years, 6 months and 10 days. Later on, at the start of 2.1 – Bede’s potted biography of the apostle of the English – he repeats the figure for the length of Gregory’s pontificate and states that the pope died in 605 AD (anno dominicae incarnationis DCV). Near the end of the same chapter, Bede states that Gregory’s death occurred in the second year of the emperor Phocas’s reign and that Gregory was buried (sepultus)

Gregory and the mission   25 on 12 March. For the sake of simplicity, and because much of the information underlying these statements is connected, the sources for all of Bede’s claims about Gregory’s dates will be dealt with here. The easiest statement to identify Bede’s source for is the length of time Gregory was pope. The figure Bede uses is the same as that from the papal Liber Pontificalis (LP: 312),16 which was a significant source for Bede’s information about all the popes. The same figure was included in Gregory’s epitaph in the chronological prose summary that accompanied the verse epitaph Bede quotes near the end of 2.1 (de Rossi and Silvagni, 1985: 2.26).17 As Bede used both these sources, either or both may be considered to have lain behind this statement. Equally easy to trace is Bede’s assertion that Gregory died in Phocas’s second year. This is not found in the LP, so Jones thought it was a product of one of Bede’s own calculations (Jones, 1947: 161);18 instead, it derives from the chronological note mentioned above which originally followed the pope’s poetic epitaph. As just stated, Bede of course includes the latter in full in 2.1, but he simply integrated the information in the former into his account of the pontiff. More intriguing are the other claims in 1.23 and 2.1, especially as they contain some surprising errors. By placing Gregory’s death in 605 and his accession in the tenth year of Maurice’s reign, which ran from August 591 to August 592, Bede’s dates for both the start and end of Gregory’s pontificate were a year later than the correct ones (Plummer, 2.36). Gregory came to the papal throne on 3 September 590 – that is, in Maurice’s ninth year – and he died on 12 March 604. These errors are particularly unexpected, given that, as has just been seen, Bede was correct about the year of Phocas’s reign in which Gregory died. In assessing how Bede came to make these statements and the mistakes in them, the first thing to note is that none of his sources for information about Gregory and his life can have lain directly behind his erroneous claims about the pope’s year of accession or death. This is apparent from even a brief consideration of the documents he possessed concerning Gregory. First was Gregory’s own corpus of writings. These do not provide a firm idea of when Gregory became pope. Even Gregory’s letters would only have been of use if Bede had access to a much fuller selection than he did, in fact, possess. Nothelm had probably brought Bede more Gregorian and papal letters than is often believed – and certainly more than he quoted in the HE. Nonetheless, it is quite clear that, unlike us, Bede did not have access to anything like the continuous run of Gregory’s epistles from the beginning of his pontificate to its end.19 These allow historians to use the indictional dates Gregory referenced in dating the letters to be sure that he came to the throne in September 590, not 591, and that he died in 604, not 605. Such a ‘complete’ collection is required to date Gregory’s reign from his letters because he only dated his letters by imperial years and indictions, not by the years of his own pontificate. Nor do his more literary works make any sufficiently precise references from which to derive a date of accession.

26  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent Other sources at Bede’s disposal that mentioned Gregory included I­ sidore’s two Chronicles.20 These would have been of little help; they even gave different figures for the length of Phocas’s reign. Bede does not seem to have known Isidore’s De viris illustribus (Lapidge, 2006), but even if he had, the section on Gregory would have told him nothing about the dates of the pope’s accession or death beyond the general point that Gregory floruit in Maurice’s reign and died in Phocas’s (De viris illustribus, 27). Nor did the Life of Gregory, which Bede arguably knew,21 have any idea of when ­Gregory became pope (VG, 11). This leaves the two sources already mentioned which Bede definitely had access to: the epitaph and the LP. The epitaph gave the length of reign and the calendar date of death, but no indiction was given for the year, only the fact that it was in the second year of Phocas. Although the LP gave the length of Gregory’s reign, it had no direct information on the pope’s date of accession.22 This follows usual practice: direct statements about the date of accession of a pope are not normal in the LP or elsewhere. The LP did have Gregory’s day and month of burial, which in that period normally meant the date of death (Plummer, 2.36; Harrison, 1976a: 89, n. 13), but it did not give the year.23 The figures for Gregory’s accession and death, therefore, do not come directly from Bede’s obvious sources on the pope and his life. This suggests that it may instead be his own calculation. This calculation, however, was not made specifically for the HE. Bede had made it in producing the MC, in which he claimed, under 4565AM, Phocas’s reign, that Gregory died in that emperor’s second year and the eighth indiction. In the HE, he has simply copied his earlier inference – and its implications. This does not, of course, answer the more serious question of whence Bede initially derived the idea, which will be discussed shortly. But first, it needs be emphasised that while at first sight, this might appear to be the source of only one of the HE’s errors, in fact, all are intrinsically connected. There are three errors,24 although only one explanation is required. The other errors follow inexorably from whichever mistake Bede started with, thanks to the information Bede had about Gregory’s length of pontificate from the LP and epitaph. For instance, if Bede had reason to believe that Gregory became pope in Maurice’s tenth year (that is, 591), then adding 13 years, 6 months and 10 days would give him a death date in 605, which Bede could easily transform into the eighth indiction.25 The difficulty with this explanation is that there is no extant source that gives any direct date, with or without a reference to the year, for Gregory’s accession, so it is necessary to posit the existence of a source that has not survived,26 and moreover of one which does not follow anything like usual practice. All the surviving source evidence suggests that it was not normal to record the date of accession directly.27 Equally, it is difficult to believe that if Bede’s basis for his other statements was a document giving him the accession date for Gregory, he would not have paraded this knowledge in the MC. This was his

Gregory and the mission   27 usual practice (Bartholomew, 2005: 20), and it is evident at this point in the MC, where he is taking pride in expanding the basic Isidorean account with his knowledge of the regnal year of Phocas in which the pope died, thanks to his reading of the epitaph. On the other hand, if Bede thought Gregory died in the eighth indiction, as he states in the MC, then, for the HE, he could calculate that this ­represented 605 in incarnational reckoning; subtracting the 13 years, 6  months and 10 days of the pope’s reign would result in the date of 3 ­September 591 for ­Gregory’s accession and thus indicate that this occurred in Maurice’s tenth year. Given that the statement, in the MC, relates to the eighth indiction without mention of an incarnational date and that much more of the evidence seems to relate to Gregory’s date of death, it is prima facie more likely that it was this that formed the basis of Bede’s calculations. Thus, for the MC, the only calculation that Bede made was that Gregory died in the eighth indiction. In drawing up the HE, Bede made the further calculations based on that error. This led him into two more: the incarnational date of Gregory’s death and the year in Maurice’s reign of Gregory’s accession. Therefore, the key oddity, which seems to lie at the heart of this question in the HE, is how, in composing the MC, Bede came to equate the second year of Phocas with the eighth indiction. Thanks to the epitaph, Bede had firm authority that Gregory died in Phocas’s second year, but how could Bede know what year that was? The context for his statement in the ­Chronicle provides the probable solution to this conundrum. A few lines above, as part of his account of the events of Maurice’s reign, Bede referenced the Gregorian letter setting out the pope’s proposed division of the Church in England. Included in this note of the epistle was the fact that it was sent ‘in the eighteenth year of Maurice and the fourth indiction’ (XVIII anno Mauricii, indictione IIII). This provided Bede with a deceptively simple basis from which to calculate the indictional year of the pope’s death, given that he knew Gregory died in Phocas’s second year. For the first 15 years of his reign, Maurice’s principate was in line with the indictions, so all Bede needed to do was keep counting. Maurice ruled 21 years, as Bede ‘knew’ from Isidore (via his own MinC), so that took him to the sixth indiction. Phocas’s first year would be the seventh indiction, and his second (the year Gregory the Great died) would be the eighth; therefore, Gregory died in the eighth indiction. In reality, Maurice only reigned a little over 20 years, and he and Phocas shared the sixth indiction. But Bede did not know that. The precise subtleties of when emperors came to the throne, were deposed or died were beyond Bede. Gregory’s letter told Bede that Maurice’s eighteenth year was the fourth indiction, so it was simply a matter of counting a few extra years from the last reference to arrive at the indiction for Phocas’s second year.28 Confirmation that this process conformed to Bede’s normal practice – and led him elsewhere into similar errors – is found in the way he related regnal years to incarnational dates in the HE. As Levison put it, ‘He [Bede] considered the whole year of the Incarnation, in which a king died, as

28  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent his last year and reckoned the next year of the Incarnation as the first year of his successor’ (Levison, 1946: 271–75). In other words, Bede mistakenly began counting the regnal years of each king from the incarnational year after that of the death of his predecessor, exactly as he does here with imperial reigns and indictional years. On this basis, Bede calculated the mistaken figure for the indictional year of Gregory’s death found in the MC. In compiling the HE, Bede did not return to his sources or re-examine the question. The MC’s error simply became the premise on which he calculated the dates he wanted to include in the HE. Producing an incarnational date from an indiction was quick work for Bede. The result of that calculation was his statement at the beginning of 2.1 that Gregory died in 605. Working back from that date, the 13 years, 6 months and 10 days of Gregory’s pontificate, as assigned in both the epitaph and the LP, would mean an accession on 3 September 591, which, from the Gregorian letters, he knew was Maurice’s tenth year. The result of that calculation is what Bede adds here in 1.23. If, in composing the HE, Bede had only looked forward in his narrative, he would have seen that he had the materials at hand to correct his earlier mistake. In 2.4, Bede quotes the dating formula of papal documents issued under Phocas – namely, the decrees of the 610 Roman synod – stating that this issued its canons ‘in the eighth year of the Emperor Phocas, on 27  ­February and in the thirteenth indiction’.29 Unsurprisingly, as he was copying from a source, the relationship between imperial year and indiction here is correct. If Bede had worked back from this contemporary document, he would have avoided his earlier error.30 He would have seen that the second year of Phocas was the seventh indiction. Thus, Gregory, dying in that year, would have passed away on 12 March 604, not 605. Using the pontifical dates, it would have been possible to calculate that Gregory came to the throne on 3 September 590, not 591. In all this, Bede can be seen at work, using limited evidence to come up with a rhetorically impressive account. Once again, it is evident that he had no hidden source, which adds veracity to his otherwise confusing statements. He has identifiable sources, ones that we ourselves possess, and he has made deductions from them. Here, those deductions are faulty, based on a simple calculation slip; the sources he used, however, are very clear. Incidentally, it is already possible to see an early sign that, given the same sources as Bede, modern historians are in a position potentially to interpret them better. In the first place, we have more sources to add; in the second, we arguably have a better understanding of the real context in 600 than Bede did writing in the 720s and 730s. [Gregorius] uir doctrina et actione praecipuus [a man eminent in teaching and in deed] This is a judgement that Bede or anyone familiar with Gregory the Great’s writings could have made themselves without any need for a source. No

Gregory and the mission   29 doubt it was Bede’s view. Nonetheless, it is worth noting that while it sounds like a mere rhetorical flourish on Bede’s behalf, the quote is a compound of borrowings from Gregory the Great himself. In the Dialogues, Gregory uses the juxtaposition of the words uir and doctrina in his description of ­Servandus, the friend of St Benedict (Gregory, Dialogues, 2.35). More telling is the use of actione praecipuus, which Bede takes from Gregory’s description of the properly prepared pastor in the Pastoral Care, where it is one of the characteristics of the ideal prelate (Gregory the Great, Regula Pastoralis, 2.1). Qui diuino admonitus instinctu [encouraged by divine inspiration] Again, this merely sounds a rhetorical phrase, used this time to express the divine workings of Providence behind the mission to the English. Undoubtedly, it is that but it is worth noting the frequency with which Bede makes use of the phrase, or a part of it, in his corpus. The closest analogue is found in his Commentary on Ezra-Nehemiah (248–49), in which he spoke of Cyrus in precisely the same terms, as being diuino admonitus instinctu. Others have pointed out the connections between the HE and this commentary, with DeGregorio making the case for shared reforming purposes between the works and arguing persuasively that they were being written at a similar period (DeGregorio, 2002a, b, 2004, 2014). Here, it is possible to see a further connection. Bede’s use of the phrase in both is very apt: Cyrus is diuino admonitus instinctu to permit the Jews to return to Jerusalem, following their Babylonian captivity, and to there rebuild the Temple of God.31 Gregory is diuino admonitus instinctu to send Christianity back to Britannia and to there rebuild the Church of God. The connection is too close to be coincidental. Bede is consciously drawing out the allusions and parallel.32 Nonetheless, as far as the present investigation into the basis for the construction of Bede’s account is concerned, his comment here is not derived from any source and definitely not from a primary source with genuine information about Gregory the Great’s motivations. Bede’s statement on what lay behind the pope’s decision to send the mission was a mere matter of speculation informed by Bede’s beliefs. As will be seen, this is usually the case when he asserts motivation in the HE. anno XIIII eiusdem principis [in the fourteenth year of this emperor] This figure is from the dating formula of the Gregorian letter, which Bede will shortly insert in full. aduentus uero Anglorum in Brittaniam anno circiter CL [and about 150 years after the arrival of the English in Britain.] This is Bede’s own calculation from a figure he was not really sure of – the date of the ‘English’ arrival. He attempted to calculate this more precisely in

30  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent preparing HE 1.15 but had been unable to give a specific date for the aduentus. He placed it in the reign of Marcian and Valentinian, which, he said, started in 449. Bede’s comment in 1.23 is not taken from any source from the period or based on any information additional to what lay behind those other comments. All that Bede is doing here is presenting the rounded-up result of his own deduction as fact in service of his rhetorical purposes: he is providing a grand introduction to the liminal moment in Anglo-Saxon ecclesiastical history.33 misit seruum Dei Augustinum et alios plures cum eo monachos timentes Dominum [(Gregory) sent the servant of God, Augustine, and with him, several God-fearing monks] The description of Augustine as a seruus Dei is present in the Gregorian ­letter to Etherius that Bede quotes in the following chapter (1.24). In the same letter, the pope refers to Augustine’s companions as serui Dei. As Bede will have known, the term seruus Dei meant ‘monk’ in Gregory’s vocabulary. Indeed, Gregory used it in the plural in the letter included at the end of this chapter to describe the addressees. Despite these connections, Bede’s use here is not a deduction (as Collins and McClure, 2008: 21, thought); his source for the phrase is simpler. He has taken it directly from the LP’s account of the mission. This states that ‘Gregorius misit servos Dei Mellitum, Augustinum, et Iohannem et alios plures cum eis monachos timentes Deum’. Bede has simply adjusted the LP’s wording to focus attention on Augustine while retaining almost all of the original phrasing.34 praedicare uerbum Dei genti Anglorum [to preach the Word of God to the English people] Bede’s assertions about the motivation behind individuals’ actions have often been treated as trustworthy evidence but, as a general rule, Bede does not have sources for the real reasons for an individual’s choice. His assertions of the thinking behind decisions and choices are normally mere speculation, often persuasive enough, presented as simple statements of fact. In many cases, as here, there seems to be an element of post hoc propter hoc in Bede’s claims. In other words, because something happened as the result of an action, he presumes that this was the reason for the action in the first place. On this occasion, however, Bede may well have had an informed source justifying his assertion of motivation. None of the Gregorian letters Bede quotes from 596 reveals what the pope’s intention was in sending Augustine and his companions. In fact, Gregory was surprisingly cautious in his letters to his Gallic contacts about why Augustine was travelling across their lands. The only ones that mention the party’s purpose are those addressed to Queen Brunhilde (Gregory, Letters, 6.57) and to her grandsons, King

Gregory and the mission   31 Theudeberht and King Theuderic (Gregory, Letters, 6.49; Martyn, 6.51). In these essentially identical letters from July 596,35 Gregory explains that it has come to our attention that the people of England earnestly desire to be converted to the Christian faith, with God’s compassion, but that the priests from nearby neglect them…. And so, we have decided for this reason that Augustine, a monk who bears this letter … should be sent there with other monks. (Gregory, Letters, 6.57; Martyn, 6.51)36 He continues, in the letter to Brunhilde, so that through them we might learn the wishes of the people themselves and consider their conversion, as far as is possible, with your support also. We have also warned them that they should take priests with them from nearby to carry out these things. (Gregory, Letters, 6.57; Martyn, 6.60)37 Clare Stancliffe persuasively argued that one or both of these letters was among those Nothelm brought from Rome and passed on to Bede. Bede’s view that the British did not help in the initial conversion, which historians have taken on trust, is surprisingly difficult to evidence, and much of the early material suggests that the British were more involved than Bede realised. In Stancliffe’s view, and it is an appealing one, Bede had gained the wrong impression, compounded no doubt by his own reasons for disliking or distrusting the British, thanks to misinterpreting this letter (Stancliffe, 1999: 108–9). The reference to the English not receiving help e uicino most likely refers to the Franks as Gregory uses the same phrase moments later to speak of Augustine taking Frankish priests with him (Wood, 1999: 69), but it would have been natural for Bede to assume it meant the British. Possessing one or both of these letters is also the best explanation for Bede’s otherwise confusing statement in 1.25 that Augustine ‘had obtained interpreters from the Frankish people, following the command of Pope St Gregory.’38 This statement seems such a bald repetition of the request in the letters to the Frankish royals that it seems highly likely that Bede did have them and was using them (Charles-Edwards, 1983: 44, n. 8). If Nothelm had included these letters in the batch he copied and brought to Wearmouth-­ Jarrow, then, in describing Augustine’s purpose as preaching the word of God to the English, Bede was not simply inventing intention but deriving it directly, if with pardonable exaggeration, from the Gregorian letters at his disposal.39 From the perspective of this study, it should already be growing apparent that Bede’s sources of information for Kent in c.600 were minimal at best. Entities should not be multiplied. If what Bede is saying is a reasonable deduction from a source that is available to us and that is easy to

32  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent envisage being available to him, then we should not presume the existence of another, lost source that happened to provide exactly the same information. Qui … Quibus ille exhortatorias mittens litteras, in opus eos uerbi, d­ iuino confisos auxilio, proficisci suadet. [They … {set out, but fearing the ­barbarian English they paused in Gaul and sent Augustine back to Rome to ask for permission to give up the mission}40 … Gregory sent them an encouraging letter in which he persuaded them to go on with the task of preaching the Word, trusting in divine help.] This famous story of the company’s fear of the barbara fera incredulaque gens has been incredibly enduring.41 Recently, however, it has been realised that Bede’s account is no more than his deduction from the letter which he quotes immediately afterwards.42 It is easy to see why Bede made the mistake he did. He had a Gregorian letter – the one quoted at the end of this chapter – that suggested the party were nervous about going on but did not give the reasons why. For Bede, those reasons must have seemed obvious. It made sense to him that the English were dangerously uncivilised before the advent of Augustine and Christianity. That assumption suited his purposes in presenting the conversion as the great turning point in Anglo-Saxon history. What other reason can there have been for Augustine to return to Rome and for Gregory to send him back with an encouraging message to the party? What Bede did not, and could not, have known was that the arrival of the group in Gaul had coincided with the death of Childeberht, the most senior figure on the contemporary Frankish political scene. This event led to a significant recasting of the political map of Merovingian Gaul. C ­ hildeberht had been succeeded by his young sons, while their grandmother Brunhilde remained a powerful and, at least initially, apparently a unifying figure. Over the border in Neustria, to Chlothar and his mother Fredegund, the succession looked like an opportunity. War was coming and may already have begun as the mission party eventually made its way through Gaul. Paris, for instance, was taken by Chlothar in 596. As a result, there was every reason for Augustine to return to Rome in the summer of 596 to take stock with the pope, not least to request new letters of introduction, now that the main political figure, Childeberht, with whom they would have been expecting to work, was dead. This was the real context for Gregory’s letter, but Bede, with little, or no, information beyond the Gregorian epistles, could only interpret the one he quotes in terms that seemed natural to him, looking back from c.730. This deduction was the source of the story Bede inserts here. Relying on his ­authority – and the same ideological assumptions that he had about the necessary barbarity of pre-Christian Kent – historians have thereby been misled for centuries, both about what happened in 596 and about the kind of place Kent was at the time. Once more, it is possible to see Bede at work, using his sources to create a narrative. He had no secret additional early

Gregory and the mission   33 source from which he was deriving those parts of the narrative we cannot explain. He was making deductions from his sources. He was not lying to mislead his readers. He was simply doing his best to carve a credible and coherent narrative out of extremely meagre materials. Sometimes, he did incredibly well. At other times, like here, he has gone seriously wrong. The simple fact is that we are better placed than he in terms of sources for the events he tries to describe. Quarum uidelicet litterarum ista est forma: … indictione XIIII [This is the format of the letter: … {The pope encourages the group to continue with the task on which they had set out and informs the party that Augustine has been appointed abbot. The letter ends with an extended dating clause} … fourteenth indiction] The rest of the chapter is simply the text of the Gregorian letter from which Bede had attempted to derive the foregoing account. This letter, like almost all the other papal correspondence in Bede’s possession, came to him thanks to Nothelm and his researches in the papal archives. Nothelm brought these sources on the second of the two visits made to Wearmouth-Jarrow described in the HE Preface.43

What Bede had As a result of the foregoing analysis, it is possible to set out the materials Bede used for this chapter: - Letter of Gregory the Great to Augustine’s companions [Register (MGH): 6.50a. Martyn: 6.53]44 - Bede’s own MC from his DTR - Orosius’s History. In order to revise, not very thoroughly, the order of emperors. It was also Bede’s model for including a numbered reference to the emperor in the first place - Liber Pontificalis [LP] - Gregory’s epitaph: poetic and prose. Derived from a sylloge of Roman inscriptions - Gregory’s Pastoral Care. Used merely for style, not genuine content - Gregory’s Dialogues. Used merely for style, not genuine content - Bede’s own Commentary on Ezra-Nehemiah - Probably the letter of Gregory the Great to Kings Theuderic and ­Theudeberht and/or to Queen Brunhilde. [R(egister): 6.49, 6.57. M(artyn): 6.51, 6.60]. What is evident from this list and the examination above is that almost all of the narrative part of this chapter45 was simply Bede’s derivation of a story from the Gregorian letter, which he himself quotes. Needless to say, we have all the sources Bede has been seen using, and more besides, which would

34  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent enable us, potentially, not only to correct Bede, but also to paint a more convincing narrative of the period. 1.24 – ‘How Gregory sent a letter to the bishop of Arles about welcoming them [Augustine and the other monks]’ Misit etiam tunc isdem uenerandus pontifex ad Etherium Arelatensem archiepiscopum, ut Augustinum Brittaniam pergentem benigne susciperet, litteras, [At the same time, the venerable pontiff also sent a letter to Etherius, archbishop of Arles, so that he would receive ­Augustine kindly, as he travelled to Britain.] This sentence, which is the only part of 1.24 that is not the text of the letter, derives almost entirely from it. That Gregory sent the letter and the fact that its date is the same as the letter in 1.23 are simply statements of what Bede has found in the text in front of him. So too, the note about the request to receive Augustine kindly is nothing more than a summary of the epistle’s content. Only two elements, or rather errors, require explanation: locating ­Etherius at Arles when he was bishop of Lyon and calling him archbishop. The second error is the simplest. There is nothing in Bede’s source to support the designation of Etherius as archbishop. As historians have recently stressed, there were no archbishops in the west in c.600 (Charles-Edwards, 2000: 416–21). No Gallic metropolitans would be termed archbishop for some decades. By the time Bede was writing, however, and thanks especially to the example of Theodore of Canterbury, all Western metropolitans were gradually being accorded the rank (Thacker, 2008: 55–69). Bede knew that the bishop of Arles was a metropolitan, and, for Bede, a metropolitan meant an archbishop. Consequently, this Bedan slip is a simple anachronism, though it is revealing for present purposes in that it again underlines that Bede interpreted his sources not in their own context but in his own. The other difficulty is that Etherius was bishop of Lyon, not Arles. This mistake has long been recognised (Plummer, 2.36). But there is no reason to think that Bede was consciously trying to mislead:46 he had no reason to make such a ‘fact’ up. Even so, the question of how this can have happened is more complicated than it might seem. Bede’s error is usually seen as stemming from a mistake in, or a mistaken reading of, his copy of the Gregorian letter (for instance, Collins and ­McClure, 2008: 23). It is not impossible, for instance, that the version of the letter that Bede had in front of him associated Etherius with Arles in the addressee list. There is, however, no textual support for such a reading. Moreover, there is a further possibility, which will be discussed in detail under 1.27, that is, in reality, more likely: Bede himself added the ascription to Arles based on a separate deduction. It will be argued that Bede possessed a Canterbury episcopal list, which included a record, or claim, of who had consecrated each bishop and where. On this basis, Bede thought he knew that Etherius had consecrated Augustine and that he had done so at Arles.

Gregory and the mission   35 If so, it would then have been natural for him to infer, albeit mistakenly, that Etherius had been the bishop of Arles. In that case, his source for this statement, going beyond simply the Gregorian letter, was not strictly speaking a contemporary one, and unlike us, Bede did not have alternative original sources with which he could compare the text and thus avoid such errors. quarum iste est textus: … indictione XIIII. [This is the text: … {Gregory asks Etherius to assist Augustine and his group of monks; the pope also recommends Candidus to the bishop} … the fourteenth indiction.] The rest of the chapter is the text of the Gregorian letter, which Bede had obtained from Nothelm, and which had provided the material for most of the summary in the introductory sentence.

What Bede had For this chapter, therefore, Bede had at most two sources: - Letter of Gregory the Great to Etherius - Canterbury episcopal list, including claims about who had consecrated each bishop and where. 1.25 – ‘How Augustine, coming to Britain, first preached to [Æthelberht] the king of Kent [who was married to a Frankish royal] on the island of Thanet; and how, having received permission from Æthelberht, ­Augustine entered Kent to preach’ Roboratus ergo confirmatione beati patris Gregorii, Augustinus cum famulis Christi, qui erant cum eo, rediit in opus uerbi, peruenitque Brittaniam. [Strengthened, therefore, by the encouragement of the blessed father Gregory, Augustine, with the other servants of Christ, who were with him, returned to the work of preaching the Word, and reached Britain.] Having left the narrative in 1.23 with Gregory’s letter to Augustine’s party in Gaul, which Bede interpreted as a sign of fear at their destination, he now returns to his story and begins by stating the obvious: Augustine reached ­Britain. The idea that the monks were encouraged by Gregory’s letter is simply Bede’s presumption, premised on the idea that they needed encouragement. In short, there is no source additional to the Gregorian letter from 1.23 but only a blending of post hoc propter hoc with some understandable teleology. Erat eo tempore rex Aedilberct in Cantia [At that time, King Æthelberht of Kent] The vague phrase eo tempore is a sign of Bede’s lack of more precise information. Nonetheless, he had several ways of knowing that Æthelberht was the king of Kent at the time of Augustine’s mission. Nothelm had brought him a

36  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent letter from Gregory to the king, which Bede inserted verbatim into 1.32. He possessed a Kentish king list and genealogy, both of which he drew from in 2.5. That Æthelberht was the king to whom Augustine had come would have been common knowledge, judging by the fact that even the Life of Gregory, which did not have the papal letters, knew his name.47 In addition, Bede knew that Æthelberht was buried in Canterbury, so it is likely that he had some epigraphic information about the monarch. Theoretically, this may have been as concise as ‘Here lies Æthelberht, king’, but it may have been more informative. The possibilities suggested by other evidence will be discussed later. potentissimus, qui ad confinium usque Humbrae fluminis maximi, quo meridiani et septentrionales Anglorum populi dirimuntur, fines imperii tetenderat. [was a very powerful ruler. His rule even stretched to the Humber, the greatest river, by which the people of the northern and southern Angles are divided.] Bede is making two statements here. The first, implicitly, is that Æthelberht was one of the list of English ‘overkings’ that he reproduces in 2.5. As will be shown in the analysis of that chapter, Bede copied his list from a written source in front of him (Shaw, 2018). This was apparently a list of overlords of whatever form and on whatever basis; for simplicity’s sake, I shall term it a ‘hegemon list’ document. The second statement concerns the extent of this overlordship. Bede is fairly consistent in his presentation of the hegemonic lordship as of the peoples south of the Humber (in 1.25, 2.3, 2.5 and 5.23). This was apparently the usage in his own day as is attested by Æthelbald of Mercia’s dispositio in the Ismere charter, S89, an original diploma of 736.48 As a result, faced with a list of hegemons, Bede simply assumed that their power mirrored the overlordship he knew from his own day (Shaw, 2018). There is, however, no reason to think the Humber was a decisive political border until the later seventh century,49 and archaeology confirms that culturally, the river united more than it divided (Dumville, 1997: 372–73). Therefore, Bede’s knowledge that Æthelberht was potentissimus came from a written source, but his assertion about the extent of that overlordship was mere extrapolation from what appeared to be the comparable overlordship of his own day. Est autem ad orientalem Cantiae plagam Tanatos insula non modica, id est magnitudinis iuxta consuetudinem aestimationis Anglorum, familiarum DCrum, [On the eastern side of Kent is the large island of Thanet, which, according to traditional English reckoning, is 600 families (hides) in size.] The fact that Thanet was an island to the east of mainland Kent need be no more than Bede’s general knowledge. He possessed some geographically specific information about the island in relation to tides, as will be seen in

Gregory and the mission   37 a moment. The hidage figure Bede uses shows that he was working from a source, which must have been a written one.50 An examination of his references to hides, or familae, as he calls them,51 permits a clearer understanding of the nature of his source. Bede makes seventeen references to hides in the HE. These divide neatly into two groups. The first group follows what might be termed the ‘charter type’ in that these examples set out the amount of land gifted to an individual or a monastery or obtained as part of a transaction, which would have been recorded in writing.52 The second group can be classified as ‘tribute type’.53 These cover larger areas, either kingdoms or territorial units within them.54 It is from this latter group that the present reference to the size of Thanet derives. As shown in more detail elsewhere, Bede’s language and knowledge, both in the HE and the HA, suggest that documentary sources, and probably charters, lay behind several of his ‘charter type’ hidage references (Shaw, 2016c). On the other hand, the ‘tribute type’ references are most plausibly understood as excerpts from a single document of a similar type to, though on an even grander scale than, the ‘Tribal Hidage’.55 Bede has not invented these details, and they are too widespread geographically to have been common knowledge,56 or a standard part of a monastic education.57 The information must have come from somewhere, but the figures are not integrated into the stories in which Bede inserts them, making it unlikely that they constituted part of the material he received from his source for the rest of the account. Furthermore, in some places, as with Anglesey and Man, it is extremely difficult to see how Bede can have had a specific informant able to provide such a detail. The hidage figures are much more likely to have come from a single source. This is a far simpler explanation for the sheer variety and geographical spread of the regions for which Bede possessed hidage information. The distribution is too random and too widespread to make it likely that each of Bede’s nine ‘tribute type’ statements had its own separate source, each with a specific number. It is much more plausible that his figures were all underpinned by a broader, more comprehensive, single written source. Indeed, a source of precisely this type survives and offers a neat parallel: the Tribal Hidage. In some cases, Bede’s figures are even identical to those in this document: for instance, the 7,000 hides both attest for the South Saxons. Bede was not using the Tribal Hidage itself because there are differences in their information. The Wightgara in the Tribal Hidage are only ‘assessed’ at 600 hides, but Bede accords them twice that: 1200. Nor does the Tribal Hidage have figures for all the areas that Bede gives. Thus, the evidence suggests that Bede had his own ‘Tribal Hidage’, or at least a document of the same type, that would have looked similar in form and content to the Tribal Hidage. This text, on its own, would explain most, and perhaps all, of the HE’s ‘tribute type’ hidation references, although these would represent only his selections from such a document. Given Bede’s access to this source, such a document was presumably a ‘tribute’ list, or something similar, from the Northumbrian hegemony of the

38  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent seventh century. If that is the case, then the document can only reasonably have come from the reign of one of four monarchs: Edwin, Oswald, Oswiu or Ecgfrith. Because Ecgfrith was the founder, or at least patron, of both Wearmouth and Jarrow, perhaps he stored the text in one of those houses.58 But details such as the reference to the extent of Edwin’s hegemony, which appears to be tied to Bede’s hidage information about Anglesey and Man, suggest the document’s origins lay earlier. The reference to Iona, however, can scarcely have come from Edwin’s time; it makes more sense as being from the reigns of Oswald or Oswiu. The former’s hegemony is described in grand terms by Adomnan,59 but the inclusion of the detail about the South Mercians – a division apparently made by Oswiu – makes it difficult to believe the text came from before the latter’s reign. Indeed, Bede specifically says that Oswiu ‘subjugated and made tributary the peoples of the Picts and also the Irish who hold the northern parts of Britain’ (HE 2.5). Such a description would implicitly include Iona. Therefore, while certainty is impossible, it probably makes most sense to see the origins of Bede’s source, in the form he knew it, lying in Oswiu’s reign – although perhaps the text was an updated version of an earlier document and was only deposited at Wearmouth-Jarrow by Ecgfrith. The text represents an intriguing documentary source available to Bede, which provided him with a range of supplementary information that he would include, as here with Thanet in 1.25, to add to his account and showcase the breadth of his knowledge. This wider discussion has been necessary to contextualise this apparently tiny reference in 1.25; at the same time, it has raised some potentially important points not only concerning the nature of Bede’s sources and what he had access to, but also about some of the administrative arrangements and records that were extant and available in seventh- and early eighth-century Anglo-Saxon England. quam a continenti terra secernit fluuius Uantsumu, qui est latitudinis circiter trium stadiorum, et duobus tantum in locis est transmeabilis; utrumque enim caput protendit in mare. [The River Wantsum divides Thanet from the mainland; this river is about three furlongs wide and can only be crossed in two places, since it runs into the sea at both ends.] The detail about the waterways around Thanet has been persuasively connected to a set of other entries Bede makes concerning locations on the coast of England and particularly the east coast (Stevens, 1985: 15 and 27–29, n. 45; Thacker, 2006: 42). This information appears to derive from a network of sources that Bede developed between writing the De temporibus/De natura and composing the DTR.60 Directly, then, the source for this statement will have been Bede’s own knowledge; indirectly, his information here points to his widespread ‘scientific’ contacts, in this case probably someone in a Kentish monastery – possible in Minster-in-Thanet itself.

Gregory and the mission   39 Interestingly, Bede speaks of the river in different terms later in the HE. In 1.25, he talks about Thanet and the River Wantsum, fluuius Uansumu, but in 5.8, when speaking about Reculver, he describes it as ‘to the north of the mouth of the river Genlade’. This inconsistency in names for what was the same river is probably a sign that each statement came from a different source. In hac ergo adplicuit seruus Domini Augustinus, et socii eius, [The servant of the Lord, Augustine, therefore, landed in this place, with his companions] This is the first element of Bede’s account considered so far that is neither dependent on an easily identifiable source – whether surviving or natural to ­assume – nor something that Bede could have simply added for rhetorical effect. As archaeology has shown, Thanet was a key location for communication and commerce with the continent in the late sixth century (Chadwick Hawkes, 1982; Moody, 2008: 158–69), but it was not so exclusively so that it would have seemed such a self-evident disembarkation point for Augustine that Bede felt confident in presuming it. Despite all the modern criticism of Bede for his bias and agenda, and the claims of his willingness to manipulate the facts, he was not in the habit of simply making them up. If Bede said they landed in Thanet, he must have had a source telling him this. Unfortunately, it is one that has not survived. Nonetheless, the clue as to its nature lies in the fact that the story of Thanet continues in the second half of the chapter. Bede’s comment here is part of the tale he goes on to tell at greater length in a moment. They are derived from the same single source. The ­nature of that source will be discussed in more detail at the end of the analysis of this Bedan chapter. Uiri, ut ferunt, ferme XL. [who, so they say, were nearly forty in number.] Once again, there is no easily identifiable source for this rather curious statement. Numbers, of course, could have deep spiritual significance for Bede. In his exegesis, he frequently extracts moral meaning from the figures in the Bible. The number forty could be particularly meaningful. For instance, in his Commentary on Genesis, Bede said, And since forty is made up of ten multiplied by four, the fulfilment of the divine law, which is accomplished through the grace of Christian doctrine, can rightly be signified in the number of days [before Noah opened the window of the ark and sent forth a raven], forty. For the Law is contained in the Ten Commandments, and the doctrine of the Gospel is described in four books. (Commentary on Genesis, 8.6; Kendall, 2008: 193) With Augustine and his party bringing both the Gospels and the ­Commandments to the pagan English, the number forty for his companions

40  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent apparently could not be more fitting. As a result, some might argue that the figure is Bede’s own invention and that he is leaving the message implicit, confident that his readers, familiar with such exegetical tricks, will be able to draw their own conclusions. In reality, such an interpretation is scarcely credible: for one thing, numbers did not have a fixed and necessary meaning in exegesis – even in Bede’s own. For example, his interpretation of forty was quite different in his Commentary on Acts, I.3: ‘Now this number [forty] designates this temporal earthly life, either on account of the four seasons of the year, or on account of the four winds of the heavens’ (Martin, 1989: 10). Furthermore, Bede’s qualification of the number with ferme seems necessarily to preclude a precise exegetical interpretation. More importantly, despite the many criticisms of his modern detractors, Bede did not make up ‘facts’ (Levison, 1935: 124). Even if the evidence had suggested that he did, his use of ut ferunt here strongly suggests that he had a source. His use of words and phrases, such as fertur, ut ferunt, and the like, is revealing not only about his sources but also about his methods.61 His employment of these terms has often been taken to reflect his reliance on oral, or even ‘hearsay’, evidence (Plummer, 1.xlv, n. 3; Higham, 2011: 6). As shown in detail elsewhere, however, on several occasions, these expressions relate to information that he has undoubtedly taken from written sources (Shaw, 2015). This is the case both in the HE,62 and elsewhere in his corpus.63 So, phrases such as fertur need not mean that Bede received the information orally, or aurally – and are definitely not a sign that the material so qualified represents information he has invented. Instead, these terms represent occasions on which Bede wished to add a caveat to the apparently more extravagant claims being made – such as entertaining angels (VCP, 7), prophesying someone’s whole life (VCP, 8), or that the Picts came from Scythia (HE 1.1) – to hint that he finds the source less trustworthy, at least on that topic – or simply to distance himself from the information he is including.64 Moreover, within such parameters, he is particularly cautious when, as here, numbers are involved.65 Therefore, Bede’s decision as to whether or not to condition his statements in this way was based not on the nature of the source – that is oral or written – but on his perception of its reliability as a witness. Thus, the ferme XL in this phrase means that Bede took the detail from a source, which may or may not have been written but about which he felt some reason for caution. The figure fits neatly within the account of the arrival of the party and is best taken as part of that narrative, which will be discussed shortly. Acceperunt autem, praecipiente beato papa Gregorio, de gente Francorum interpretes; [They had obtained interpreters from the Frankish people, following the command of Pope St Gregory.] As discussed in considering 1.23, this sentence points to Bede’s possession of either Gregory’s letter to Brunhilde, or his letter to her grandsons

Gregory and the mission   41 Theuderic and Theudeberht, or both. In these epistles, the pope requested that ­Augustine and his party be provided with Frankish priests: ‘We have also ordered that they should take some priests with them from nearby, through whom they might understand their thoughts, and whose advice might help them to get what they want, whatever God should give them’ (Gregory, ­Letters, 6.49, Martyn, 6.51). There was no reason for Bede, or us for that matter, to think that ­Gregory’s request was not acceded to. For the purposes pursued here, however, it is not a question of whether Bede’s claim is true or false. It might be right to conclude, on the basis of Gregory’s letters, that Frankish priests travelled to Kent with Augustine, but Bede is not evidence that they did. The basis for his statement is precisely the same as ours. et mittens ad Aedilberctum … iussit. [Augustine sent to Æthelberht {explaining that he had come to preach the Good News. The king provided for their needs while he considered what to do.}] This short section is probably connected to the story with which the chapter ends, but much of it might simply be Bede’s description of what he feels sure must have happened next. His phrasing about the nuntium optimum that Augustine brought, promising ‘eternal joys in heaven and a future kingdom without end with the living and true God’,66 is very likely to be his own rhetoric. Hence, for much of this section, there is no need to presume a source beyond Bede’s ability to fill in the gaps, amplifying on his basis for the story that he will shortly go on to relate in more depth. Nam et antea fama ad eum Christianae religionis peruenerat, utpote qui et uxorem habebat Christianam de gente Francorum regia, uocabulo Bercta; quam ea condicione a parentibus acceperat, ut ritum fidei ac religionis suae cum episcopo, quem ei adiutorem fidei dederant, nomine ­Liudhardo, inuiolatum seruare licentiam haberet. [For some knowledge of the ­Christian religion had also reached him (Æthelberht) beforehand, because he had a Christian wife named Bertha from the Frankish royal family. He had received her from her kin on condition that she should have the freedom to maintain the practice of her faith and religion inviolate, with a bishop named Liudhard whom they had given for her as a supporter for her faith.] Bertha and Liudhard are two highly interesting figures, despite the scanty attention Bede pays them in the HE. But what basis did he have for even the few statements he does make about them? Because he links them in this passage, perhaps in his evidence for these ‘Franks’, they were already connected. Thus, all of Bede’s references to the pair, directly or indirectly, will be considered here. In 1.25, Bede notes that Bertha was Æthelberht’s wife, she was a ­Christian, she was of the Frankish royal family, she was given in marriage a parentibus

42  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent on condition that she could practise her faith, and with her came a bishop, Liudhard. In 1.26, Bede says that Bertha used to pray in St Martin’s church in Canterbury; in 2.5, he states that she was buried (he does not say when) in the church of Ss Peter and Paul, Canterbury; and that Eadbald married her after Æthelberht’s death; in 2.6, Bede claims that Eadbald gave her up on coming (back?) to Christianity.67 Bede does not, therefore, display much knowledge about either individual; even so, it is not easy to deduce whence he derived the little information he does provide.68 The only other surviving source naming Bertha is Gregory the Great’s letter to her from 22 June 601 (Gregory, Letters, 11.35). Some historians believe that Bede did not possess this letter simply because he does not quote it. As has already been seen with other examples, this is meaningless as evidence. The balance of Bede’s work was already at risk of being seriously disturbed by the addition of the papal letters ­Nothelm had brought. Those he inserted had to fit his story, and the letter to ­Bertha added nothing to his account.69 Some information from the letter was, nonetheless, probably used elsewhere in the HE, since in 1.27 Bede notes that Laurence and Peter had been the messengers who returned to Rome in 601, bringing letters from Gregory back to Kent. This detail is only present in this letter.70 Even with the papal letter, however, Bede would have learned little more about Bertha beyond her name and that she was married to Æthelberht.71 Gregory’s impressive epistle gives no clues about her origins. This leaves only sources that have not survived. Bede gives a hint that he may have possessed at least one that might help solve many, if not all, of the problems. In 2.5, he states that Æthelberht was buried in the chapel of St Martin, in the church of Ss Peter and Paul, ‘ubi et Berctæ regina condita est’. There is only one way that Bede can have known that Bertha was buried there: her tomb must have had some form of epitaph. This epitaph would have included at least her name, but quite possibly there was more information: a mention of her as Æthelberht’s wife and of her origins in the Frankish royal family would seem quite plausible. In short, the very information that Bede replays here. It seems unlikely that Liudhard would be mentioned in Bertha’s epitaph, but he may have had his own. Bede makes no mention of his tomb in the church, but there was one by the eleventh century (Thacker, 1999: 374–77), and it seems difficult to envisage it being added later than the seventh.72 Assuming this to be the case, again, there must have been some form of ­epitaph, which probably would have identified him as bishop and could plausibly have noted that he too came from Gaul and possibly have connected him with Bertha.73 Even so, the epitaphs are unlikely to have explained Bede’s reference in 1.26 to Bertha’s praying in the church of St Martin’s. Unless this is to be viewed simply as rhetorical embellishment by Bede, it remains necessary to consider what type of source, which has not survived but makes sense as

Gregory and the mission   43 having existed, could have provided him with this information. One type of source that probably existed, although it does not today, is non-­funerary ecclesiastical epigraphy: in other words, ‘foundation stones’ with church dedication inscriptions. As will be seen later, there are other strong signs pointing to Bede’s possession of the texts of certain ‘foundation stones’, including information relating to the early mission. He would frequently have seen the one at Jarrow, which has survived (Okasha, 1971: 85–86). St ­Martin’s may well have had one too. These sources will be discussed in detail later; suffice it to say for now that such a source may be the most plausible basis for the association of St Martin’s with Bertha. In the face of the loss of whatever epigraphic material there might have been originally, certainty on this issue is not attainable. It does, however, seem likely that both the epitaphs and a (re)dedication inscription from St Martin’s did originally exist. Therefore, it is more than plausible that ­Bede’s information about Bertha and Liudhard here and later came from little more than their texts, the content of which Bede has creatively woven into his narrative.74 In short, Bede is again making the best of a very thin evidential basis: a letter, an epitaph and a church plaque. He does so well that the story has stood the test of time and become very difficult not to treat as a premise. Post dies ergo … Alleluia. [Some days afterwards … {the king met ­ ugustine on the island – in the open air, because he was worried about A Christian ‘magic’. The mission party approached the king and his counsellors, processing and bearing a silver cross and a picture of Christ. Augustine preached. Æthelberht’s sympathetic, but cautious reply is quoted. Finally, the king gives them a mansio in Canterbury and allows them to preach. The party enter the city singing a Rogation litany} … Alleluia.] The rest of the chapter is a single, coherent story: the meeting of Æ ­ thelberht with Augustine on Thanet, outside, and the discussion there, ending with the party’s entry into Canterbury singing litanies. Unfortunately, it is a story with no surviving source. Elements that have already been discussed – ­especially the arrival on Thanet but also the number of Augustine’s ­companions – apparently came from the same source. The precise nature and origins of this source will be discussed later, but here, some of its key characteristics will be set out. This needs to be done in some detail because other stories will soon emerge possessing similar aspects. The first characteristic of the tale that should be highlighted is how anachronistic it is. Æthelberht had a Christian wife and patronised a bishop. He did not fear meeting Christians indoors. The idea is ridiculous.75 The G ­ regorian letters clearly suggest that Æthelberht had requested the ‘mission’, underlining the implausibility of this claim of initial suspicion on the king’s part. The attitude that gave rise to such a story is quite easy to understand: it was one

44  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent that knew or cared little for England’s pagan past and that automatically assumed the barbarity of the people before the arrival of Christianity.76 This was, of course, Bede’s own attitude, but he would not have been the only one to hold it. The longevity of the story is a sign of how consistent the attitude has been. It is a testimony to Bede’s enduring influence that his (at best) secondary account, based on no known source and quite unconfirmed by any other, should be preferred to all the archaeological evidence, the coins, and the evidence of trade, which points to the very detailed awareness of the Frankish world in late sixth-century Kent. The absence of Christianity did not necessarily imply lack of all culture or awareness of a wider world, as archaeological evidence confirms (Brookes, 2007: 102–82). Another anachronistic element is the account of the party entering ­Canterbury singing the Rogation litanies. This passage is not from a contemporary source. The claim that Augustine and his party entered ­Canterbury singing the Rogation litany has been described as ‘another example of embroidery by Canterbury or Bede to enhance the tale of the first days of the mission of Augustine’ (Wood, 1994b: 4). For those who would like to see Bede as the great inventor, it would be tempting to claim this passage as his own creation. Certainly, the insertion or adaptation of a fitting liturgical or Biblical passage was not beyond Bede’s capacity and will.77 This is just the sort of dramatic moment he enjoyed recreating, and the idea of beginning the mission with prayers for the sins of the nation to bring about ­healing, which was precisely the purpose of the Rogation liturgies (Hen, 2001: 23–24), is so perfectly suited to Bede’s ideological agenda that it is right to be suspicious. Even so, the insertion of a caveat for this part of the story – fertur – strongly suggests that Bede had a source and was not simply adding his own fitting flight of rhetoric. His use of such caveats has already been discussed in detail, showing that they qualify material from written texts as well as from oral sources. Bede’s intent was not so much to convey an idea of the way he obtained the information as to suggest a view of its reliability or at least to distance himself from the content or source. The caveats were not used to cover his own creative additions. Therefore, it is possible to conclude that Bede’s ‘facts’ here were based on a source, possibly written, but one that, for whatever reason, he did not completely trust. Indeed, this should be considered another characteristic of this story because he qualified his statements in two places – the forty companions and the liturgical singing. Whatever reservations Bede may have had, in the last analysis, this story must have just been too attractive for someone trying to create a narrative with such limited resources to leave out. Other characteristics are simpler and yet more obvious. The story concerns Augustine and the early ‘mission’ fathers. It has a hagiographic tone and probably derives from Canterbury and Albinus (Kirby, 2000b: 69). More generally, it should be noted that this is an extended narrative, a single coherent story, albeit with a couple of elements dispersed elsewhere in the chapter. Almost certainly, the tale came from a single source. One or two small details may plausibly have been integrated from elsewhere: for instance, the reference

Gregory and the mission   45 to the gift of the mansio in ­Canterbury, which is as likely to be ­Bede’s own statement of what must have seemed obvious to him as derived from any specific source. Given the narrative nature of the story, it is not realistic to suggest that he built his story up by collecting and compiling different elements from a variety of sources. That is not to say that the HE’s phrasing need be that of the source. Bede was quite capable of paraphrasing his material to present the narrative more rhetorically, and in doing so, he may well have embellished the story beyond his source. It is especially likely that the direct speech represents his own words (Thacker, 2010: 171–72). In this, he was merely following classical historiographical tradition, though there is no reason to suppose the ­content would have been very different in his source.

What Bede had Following this discussion, it is possible to identify certain written sources Bede probably used in the writing of this chapter: - Letter of Gregory the Great to Augustine’s companions quoted in 1.23 [R: 6.50a; M: 6.53] - Sources providing him with knowledge of Æthelberht’s existence as king of Kent at the time of the mission: • Letter of Gregory the Great to King Æthelberht quoted in 1.32 [R: 11.37] • Kentish king list • Kentish royal genealogy • Æthelberht’s epitaph - ‘Hegemon list’ document - ‘Hidage document’ of the ‘tribute’ type, similar to the Tribal Hidage in form and content - Tidal information from his ‘scientific’ contacts - Letters of Gregory the Great to Kings Theuderic and Theudeberht and/ or to Queen Brunhilde [R: 6.49, 6.57; M: 6.51, 6.60] - Letter of Gregory the Great to Queen Bertha [R: 11.35] - Bertha’s epitaph - Liudhard’s epitaph - Inscription from the ‘(re)foundation stone’ at St Martin’s, Canterbury.

What Bede says for which it has not been possible to identify the source In this chapter, some information has been identified for which the source cannot be discovered, and which is not simply Bede’s deduction or rhetoric: - Augustine arrived in Thanet - He had about 40 people with him

46  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent - The king met him on the island – outside – because he was scared of being indoors - The group arrived at the meeting bearing a cross and an image of Christ - Following their preaching, the king said he was unwilling to convert instantly but granted the party leave to preach - He gave them a mansio in Canterbury - The party, taking possession of this dwelling, entered the city singing the Rogation litany. ­ ossible The nature of this source will be discussed later, but for now, it is p to summarise its characteristics: it is a coherent story about the early ‘­m ission’ fathers, which reads like it comes from a single source, probably hagiographic and almost without doubt from Canterbury. Its content is not ­explainable by documents that have survived nor is it easy to envisage what series of sources could have been compiled by Bede to create the narrative he provides. In two places at least, the content is evidently anachronistic, and Bede himself seems to have had his doubts about its reliability. At this stage, it is not necessary to address the question of whether it is more probable that the source be written or oral; once this tale has been compared with similar ones in HE Books 1 and 2, we will return to the issue. At that point, it will be apparent that the evidence makes it difficult to view these tales as from anything other than a written source. At present though, and in conclusion, it is enough to say that in the second half of this chapter, Bede builds his story around the reworking of a single narrative source, which has not survived. 1.26 – ‘How in Kent Augustine imitated the teaching and the life of the primitive church and how he received an episcopal see in the king’s city’ At ubi datam sibi mansionem intrauerant [And when they had entered the mansio given them] Here, Bede refers to his own comment in the previous chapter, 1.25, that Æthelberht gave the party a mansio in Canterbury. As seen above, this may well have been part of the same story that told him about the meeting on Thanet and the entry into the city, but equally, it may have simply been ­Bede’s statement of the apparently obvious. coeperunt apostolicam primitiuae ecclesiae uitam imitari. … Crediderunt nonnulli et baptizabantur, mirantes simplicitatem innocentis uitae, ac dulcedinem doctrinae eorum caelestis. [they began to imitate the apostolic life of the primitive church. … {Bede details what this involved: poor lives of prayer and preaching with a willingness to die for the faith} … Some, wondering at the simplicity of their innocent way of life, and at the sweetness of their heavenly teaching, believed and were baptised.] This account of how the mission lived in its early days is based on the account of the early Church in Acts 4.32.78 For Bede, the parallel was very

Gregory and the mission   47 apt. From the small group of disciples, surrounded by enemies, in the post-­ Ascension period in Jerusalem, the Church grew until, despite centuries of suffering, it had won over the entire known world. So too, from the seeds planted by Augustine and his companions, the Church among the English was to grow until every kingdom was Christian. At its most basic level, the HE is little more than an account of that process, so such a parallel, continuously present in Bede’s mind, was always likely to find its way into the work. Moreover, the section allowed Bede to set out plainly one of the key ­elements of his agenda that serves as a driving force in the HE: the encouragement of ecclesiastical reform and more intensive pastoral care through ­pious and learned preachers (Thacker, 1983; DeGregorio, 2010b; Darby 2018a). Through a simple description of the heroic life of these early mission fathers’ courageously bringing light to a strange and barbaric land, Bede set out an implicit but directed model of behaviour for those ecclesiastics of his own day whose lassitude he criticised in the Letter to Ecgberht, written in 734, perhaps even at about the same time as he was putting the finishing touches on the HE. So attached is Bede to the double analogy that he finds himself carried away rhetorically by his own passionate feelings, ending by claiming that the figures were ‘prepared to suffer any adversities – even death – for the sake of the truth they were preaching’. As Bede himself went on to relate in Book 2, when adversity did press, their reaction was, in fact, quite different. Thus, Bede’s exaggeration here is further evidence that this is a key section and a key chapter for understanding both his programme and the ways he attempts to convey it in the HE. As such, this passage and its context might seem at first glance to be little more than the product of Bede’s creative mind and a continuation of his ‘career’ in exegesis.79 There is a truth to this, but even though the apostolic picture of the ‘mission’ party’s living arrangements, and the success emanating from them, undoubtedly suited ­Bede’s motives, he was not without a source for the basic statement – that they lived like the Christians of the early Church – even if he has embellished and adapted his material to improve the narrative and better serve his agenda. Bede has deduced the basic fact, from which he feels justified in extrapolating, from a comment in one of Gregory the Great’s letters, specifically the Libel­ ugustine lus Responsionum, included in 1.27. In that document, Gregory tells A that he ‘should institute that way of life followed by our fathers at the very start of the Church: in which no one said that anything they possessed was his own, but all things were held in common’ (HE 1.27).80 This was Bede’s basis. His deductive logic is simple: Gregory said it should be done by ­Augustine, therefore, it was done by Augustine.81 Bede’s historiographical method here was precisely the same as that in 1.25 in his description of the Frankish ‘translators’. There too the basic information found in a papal letter – a­ ttesting simply to ­Gregory’s wishes – underlay Bede’s account, which assumed their fulfilment. Thus, ­Bede’s statements in both cases do not represent confirmation that ­Gregory’s intentions were, in fact, implemented. Bede’s evidence is the same as ours. He cannot be considered a source for his own deductions.

48  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent On the basis of the Libellus’ evidence, Bede then massaged the account, in a perfectly understandable manner, to suit his agenda by telling a story in which the type of monastic and episcopal living he advocated led to triumphant success.82 Erat autem prope ipsam ciuitatem ad orientem ecclesia in honorem sancti Martini [Near the east side of the city there was a church dedicated to St Martin] Bede’s knowledge of the existence and location of this church will have come, through Nothelm, from his Canterbury sources, that is, Albinus – unless one wished to argue that Bede had himself visited Kent. There is no way to disprove such an idea, which is not inherently unlikely, but nor is there any evidence for it. antiquitus facta, dum adhuc Romani Brittaniam incolerent, in qua regina, quam Christianam fuisse praediximus, orare consuerat. In hac ergo et ipsi primo conuenire, psallere, orare, missas facere, praedicare, et baptizare coeperunt; [built in ancient times, while the Romans were still in ­Britain, in which the queen who, as we said previously, was a Christian, was accustomed to pray. In this church, therefore, they first began to meet, to sing psalms, to pray, to say Mass, to preach, and to baptise] Historians and archaeologists now believe that it is very unlikely that the construction and dedication of St Martin’s church can have dated to before 410 (Collins and McClure, 2008: 38–39). In that sense, Bede cannot possibly have ‘known’ what he said, as it was not true. Thus, as far as the present analysis of his sources is concerned, it can confidently be concluded that he did not have evidence from Roman Britain on which to base his claim. Nonetheless, Bede will have had a source from which he derived his statement, even though it cannot have been one from the ‘Roman’ period. What might this have been? The potential answer was already hinted at in the analysis of the previous chapter: the text of a Canterbury ‘(re)foundation’ stone inscription, which Bede possessed, thanks to Albinus. There are signs that Albinus provided Bede with several such texts. Bede seems to have used information from a series of dedication or rededication inscriptions from churches connected to the mission fathers: from Canterbury – at Ss Peter and Paul’s, the ‘cathedral’, St Martin’s, and Mary, Mother of God; from St Paul’s, London; and from St Andrew’s, Rochester. How Bede benefited from these will be noted in each situation, but it is worth giving full consideration of the topic and the various pieces of evidence that point in that direction here so that the broader case might be more fully appreciated. Obviously, given the failure of these sources to survive, certainty is not possible; even so, there are sufficient indications to make Bede’s use of these

Gregory and the mission   49 dedication inscriptions likely, especially in the absence of other practical alternative explanations. The first point to make is that, even simply prima facie, the existence of such texts is not controversial and should be expected. The mission fathers were sent from Rome, where such records were often found on churches (Lapidge, 2007: 57), and similar inscriptions were a regular feature of churches in Gaul and Spain at the time (Handley, 2003). Anglo-Saxon church councils called for the permanent record of a church’s dedication; in many cases, it is likely that this record would have been carved in stone (Higgitt, 1979: 346). The failure of examples from the mission churches to survive is no ­argument against the presumption of their original existence. Relatively few ­physical specimens survive at all – let alone for England. In many cases, we have to rely on written collections of inscriptions, called sylloges, for our knowledge of the texts of such foundation stones and epitaphs (Sharpe, 2005: 172–73).83 Thanks to these documents, it is possible to be sure that they did originally exist in many places where the material evidence for such inscriptions long ago disappeared. Time and rebuilding – and not just Vikings and the Reformation – have destroyed many of the original monuments. The usual locations of such inscriptions made their survival even less likely: f­ requently placed above the altar or the entrance of the church, they would have been especially at risk from renovation and rebuilding work (Okasha, 1971: 86).84 Others may have been in a porticus adjoining the church – ­another ­location vulnerable to centuries of expansion and improvement.85 As a ­result, few dedication inscriptions survive, especially in situ and in England; fewer still survive from the early pre-Viking period. Elisabeth Okasha’s ­Handlist of ­Anglo-Saxon Non-Runic Inscriptions recorded a handful of examples, but only two or potentially three are from the eighth century or earlier. Jarrow is the obvious and best-preserved example (Okasha, 1971: 85–86, no. 61); there is a fragment of an inscription that was probably part of a dedication, and which was possibly as early as c.600, at St Martin’s Canterbury (­Okasha, 1971: 60–61, no. 220) and an even smaller (and now lost) fragment from ­Caistor, which may have dated to the eighth century, but was probably later (Okasha, 1971: 58, no. 18). Finally, Cuthbert’s portable altar has a dedication inscription (Okasha, 1971: 69–70, no. 35). Such meagre fare does not tell us much, but it does at least demonstrate that the (relative) absence of evidence is anything but evidence of absence. There were dedication inscriptions in seventh-century England. That these Canterbury examples no longer survive should not count against acceptance of their original existence. Given the basic plausibility of the existence of dedication stones in the churches used by the mission fathers, what material might Bede have taken from them? As often, it is the unexpected elements that are the most helpful in pointing towards the existence of a source and its nature. For instance, Bede places emphasis on the detail that it was Laurence and not ­Augustine who consecrated Ss Peter and Paul’s church (HE 1.33). Had Bede simply been

50  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent making an assumption he would have taken it for granted that ­Augustine founded the church; the fact that he does not signals that he possessed a specific source for such a claim. The name of the cleric who had consecrated the church – usually simply expressed as the ecclesiastic founder – is ­precisely the sort of information frequently found on the texts of dedication inscriptions. Equally telling is the odd detail in 2.3 that it was Æthelberht who built St Paul’s in London (HE 2.3). Bede is clear that London was in the East Saxon kingdom, so it is surprising that he should identify Æthelberht, rather than Sæberht, king of Essex, as the patron of the church of St Paul’s that was built in the city. This oddity suggests that Bede had a specific reason to make such a claim. Another similar statement is that it was Eadbald who built St Mary’s in Canterbury and Mellitus who consecrated the church (HE 2.6). As will again be seen below, the name of the secular patron was often included, either implicitly or explicitly, in foundation stone inscriptions. Dates were also often part of dedication inscriptions, and Bede seems to have had a year of consecration for St Paul’s and probably for Rochester as well.86 Finally, and crucially for the discussion of this passage in 1.26, there is the distinction Bede makes between, on the one hand, churches that are rebuilt versions of Roman churches and, on the other, churches that were built from the ground up. Bede claims that St Martin’s had been used by the Romans and that Bertha worshipped there (1.26). The implication is that the church had been restored to be brought back into use. Bede states this explicitly in the case of the ‘cathedral’, which he says was consecrated by Augustine (1.33). Indeed, his language here goes further in pointing towards a source: ‘Augustine … restored a church, which he had learned had been built in antiquity by Roman believers’.87 This implies not simply that Bede thought the church was built in Roman times, but that he believed that Augustine thought the church had been built then. In contrast, in the same chapter, Bede says that the monastery of Ss Peter and Paul’s was built a fundamentis (1.33). Later, he says the same about St Andrew’s Rochester, which, again, he thought was constructed a fundamentis by Æthelberht (HE 3.14). Bede had some reason for making these distinctions. His precision and the difference in his language point to his reliance on sources. The most credible and plausible sources for all these statements about the various churches used by the early ‘mission’ fathers would have been the texts of the inscriptions from their foundation stones. These elements are: who was the ecclesiastical patron/consecrator of the church?88 Who was the secular patron, founder, or supporter?89 What was the date of consecration?90 To whom was the church dedicated?91 And finally, was the church restored or built from scratch?92 These pieces of information are exactly the sort of detail that was recorded on comparable dedication inscriptions. Even though there are relatively few dedication inscription texts at all that have survived from the period, and fewer still from Anglo-Saxon England – even fewer of which are pre-Viking – it

Gregory and the mission   51 is still a simple matter to find analogues for all these elements, whereas  it is difficult to envisage practical alternative sources for such details. For instance, most of the elements mentioned earlier are present in the Jarrow inscription, which includes all of the points above apart from the last.93 The stone has the name of the ecclesiastical patron/consecrator (Ceolfrith), the year of consecration (in regnal years and according to the years of abbatial rule of Ceolfrith), the saint to whom the church was dedicated, and, implicitly, the name of the secular patron. This last element is found more directly in later Anglo-Saxon examples. Odda dux is recorded as the commissioner of Deerhurst chapel on its dedication stone, which noted the date of consecration (Okasha, 1971: 63–64, no. 28; see also, Okasha, 1994: 72). A fragmentary tenth- or eleventh-century inscription from York seems originally to have included the names of the secular ­patrons as well as the date of the church’s consecration (Okasha, 1971: 131–32, no. 146). Aldborough’s sundial from the same period mentions the name of the patron who ordered the church to be made (Okasha, 1971: 47, no. 1). Another sundial noting the name of the man who arranged the building, or in this case the rebuilding, of the church is found at ­K irkdale (­Okasha, 1971: 87–88, no. 64).94 A late eleventh-century fragmentary inscription from Lincoln also seems to include the name of the man who commissioned the church (Okasha, 1971: 92–93, no. 73). The name of the saint to whom the church was, after Christ, dedicated was standard in almost all surviving inscriptions. Even the fragmentary St Martin’s inscription shows that this was the case there.95 As given by Okasha, the surviving text reads, expanded, ‘omnium sanctorum’ (Okasha, 1971: 60–61, no. 22). As shown by her picture, however, and as confirmed by direct observation, more writing is legible (Okasha, 1971: no. 22 in picture section). There are recognisable letters on the line above: at least ‘ore’ can easily be made out. Given the other analogues, this is probably all that remains of in honore(m) plus the genitive (Routledge, 1897: 9; Higgitt, 1979: 368). This form is found in the papal Liber Diurnus in formulas for permissions to dedicate oratories, or shrines, or even to repair basilicas.96 Contemporary continental examples confirm that foundation stones included the type of information that I am proposing that the inscriptions on the mission churches incorporated. In Rome, because the analogues are predominantly papal monuments, one would not expect to find the names of secular patrons: the pope usually fulfilled that role in these instances. Even so, it is normal to find the name of the ecclesiastical patron/consecrator, as proposed for Ss Peter and Paul and the ‘cathedral’, as well as the names of the dedicatees, as can be assumed in all cases.97 The surviving texts of Roman examples from this time tend to be poetic, so they often include less detail: dating, for instance, is not normal in poetic inscriptions.98 Dating by regnal year is frequently found among the surviving texts of contemporary Spanish church inscriptions (Handley, 2003: 124). In Gaul, and specifically in the still highly Romanised Burgundy, dating in inscriptions was often

52  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent done by indictions (Handley, 2003: 128). Whatever the format, in both areas, the year of consecration was recorded on dedication inscriptions, just as proposed here for St Paul’s and Rochester. Some examples provide especially close parallels that are worth detailing. The seventh-century dedication inscription from the altar at Le Ham in France includes the name of the consecrating bishop and reference to the secular patron as well as the calendar date of the dedication, while a ­separate inscription on the altar includes the regnal year (Higgitt, 1979: 370).99 Similar content is found in the 644 inscription from Vejer de la ­Frontera in Spain. This includes the calendar date of the dedication as well as the year of the pontificate of the ecclesiastical patron, Bishop Pinmenus.100 The final element – the point about whether a church had been restored or not – is found very distinctly in Rome, which provides the most obvious epigraphic context for whatever inscriptions the Gregorian ‘mission fathers’ produced. An inscription from the sixth-century foundation of the church of Philip and James (LP: 306, n. 2) notes that it was begun by Pope Pelagius I (556–61) but only completed by Pope John III (561–74). Equally, one of the dedication inscriptions associated with Pope Honorius’s (625–38) building programme says that he reddidit a church (LP: 325, n. 2).101 The same language (reddidit) is used to describe the work of Pope John IV (640–42) at the church of the martyrs Venantius, Anastasius, Maurus and others (LP: 330, n. 3). Thus, it is apparent that there is strong Roman evidence for dedication inscriptions making reference to whether the church had been rebuilt: just the sort of detail that would make perfect sense as the basis for Bede’s own description of St Martin’s and the ‘cathedral’. When Bede wants to say that a church had been founded from scratch, he uses the phrase a fundamentis. Unsurprisingly, as with Jarrow, it is not usual for church inscriptions to state outright that they were entirely new foundations. The phrase a fundamentis is, however, found in seventh-­ century Roman church inscription texts. It is present, for instance, in one from ­Honorius’s pontificate. This describes him as building the church of St ­Pancras a fundamentis noviter (LP: 326, n. 16). This is just the sort of language that might well have given rise to Bede’s categorical statements of the original raising of the monastery of Ss Peter and Paul and of the episcopal church of St Andrew’s Rochester. Intriguingly, in the Honorius example, the pope was not really founding the church from the ground up: he was renovating it.102 This is interesting: Bede’s idea and indeed his very language seem to have come from the information on an inscription. But that does not mean he was right to take the language of such early seventh-century Roman-inspired inscription formulas in the way he did. It may be that the inscriptions Bede took as indicating that a church was built from the ground up originally referred to renovations of earlier edifices. To sum up: there are examples in comparable epigraphy – Anglo-Saxon examples from the seventh century and later, as well as contemporary

Gregory and the mission   53 continental inscriptions from Spain, Gaul and Rome – that include all the e­ lements in the HE that I am proposing came from dedication stones: the name of the ecclesiastical patron/consecrator of the church, the name of the secular patron or founder or supporter, the name of the saint to whom the church was dedicated, the year of consecration, and information about whether the church was restored or built from the ground up. The evidence suggests not only that it is plausible that such inscriptions existed originally but also that Bede drew his information from their texts. The distinctiveness of the details Bede includes implies he had a source, and these points are exactly the elements that are found on foundation stones. In contrast, no other obvious sources suggest themselves, and in most cases, as will be seen in considering 2.3, other options can be discounted. It is likely that Bede had and used the texts of such dedication inscriptions from the time of the mission fathers in putting together the HE. This is significant. First, it means it is necessary to revise current views about when the ‘epigraphic habit in England’, to use Mark Handley’s phrase, began; it was not a late seventh-century innovation, as he claimed (­Handley, 2003: 21) – it had been there from the start of the mission. Second, as is becoming clear from the present investigation, by the time Bede came to write the HE, not much written evidence from early seventh-century Kent survived. But the physical form of these inscriptions helped ensure their preservation in a way that was not possible with texts written in less durable materials than stone. Bede was able to use their information, which in this case probably represented primary source material for the period in question. The simplest explanation for Bede’s access to such texts is that they were collected together by Albinus, perhaps – given the inclusion of the inscription from St Paul’s – with the help of Nothelm, a priest of London. Nothelm would have brought the texts to Bede in what would have amounted to a sylloge, even if it were a more informal document than those from Rome. This document would probably have been prepared specifically for Bede rather than having a separate existence. As we will see in considering 2.3, this document would also have included several epitaphs from Kent that Albinus sent north and that Bede used. This Canterbury-produced sylloge would have represented some of the results of the research into the activities of the Gregorian Mission fathers that Bede, in the HE’s preface, said ­Albinus carried out and sent via Nothelm on the latter’s first visit. In summary, several pieces of information in the HE are best explained as coming from the texts of ecclesiastical dedication stones present in this ­Canterbury-produced sylloge. Each individual instance will be briefly discussed in its proper place, but in the context of this chapter, it can be ­concluded that the most plausible explanation of Bede’s information about the church of St Martin’s in 1.26 was a (re)foundation inscription.103 As we have seen, such an inscription at St Martin’s would be likely to have included details such as the claim of refoundation and the names of those

54  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent who had rededicated the church. This would explain both the origins of Bede’s idea that the church predated the coming of Augustine and Bertha’s association with it.104 This latter point is supported by the fact that, unlike the other churches Bede mentions, the king is not assigned the credit for giving, building, or restoring St Martin’s. It is associated solely with Bertha and the early mission. Bede did not go out of his way to draw attention to Bertha’s role in the HE. If she were the patroness of the church, then the inscription, while mentioning Augustine, may well have been in her name, thus explaining why she is mentioned here, and Æthelberht is not. Because Liudhard is not mentioned in this section of the HE, it seems probable that the inscription did not make mention of him either and is therefore more likely to date from Augustine’s time.105 From these very basic foundations, Bede adapted such information as the inscriptions provided into a form fit for insertion within a narrative history. Notice of refoundation on a church inscription from c.600 could only mean one thing as far as Bede’s image of the history of Kent in the fifth and sixth centuries was concerned: an original construction by the (Christian) ­Romans before their departure, followed by nearly two centuries of neglect or worse under pagan masters before the arrival of the mission, and to a lesser extent of Bertha and Liudhard, brought about the opportunity for restoration and reuse. Given Bede’s premises, it was not an unreasonable deduction from the bare bones of the inscription, even if modern historians are now able to state that he was very likely to have been wrong. It is not unlikely that the party did use old Roman buildings, possibly including churches, for their own churches. But that is not what is at issue here. The point is that Bede’s evidence was not good enough for us to treat him as a source for that conclusion or to build further deductions upon his statement. In a similar way, Bede’s description of the functions carried out by the party in the church – singing psalms, praying, saying Mass, preaching and baptising – did not derive from any specific, separate source. They were simply Bede’s statement of the obvious, premised on his knowledge of ­Augustine’s use of the church, thanks to the text of the inscription on its (re) foundation stone. donec, rege ad fidem conuerso, maiorem praedicandi per omnia, et ecclesias fabricandi uel restaurandi licentiam acciperent. [until, once the king was converted to the faith, they received greater freedom for preaching everywhere and for building or restoring churches.] The question of what lay behind Bede’s very vague statements in this chapter relating to Æthelberht’s conversion will be discussed shortly, but first, it is necessary to consider his claim here about its consequence. At first sight, it may seem natural enough: the king, having been converted, permitted the mission fathers to preach and build churches. But on examination, it is easy to see how flawed such a statement is, pointing to Bede’s lack of reliable

Gregory and the mission   55 sources. This deficiency compelled him to construct his own narrative by connecting and interpreting the few things he did have sources for in light of what seemed only natural and obvious to him. Bede’s statement here is in stark contrast to the very similar one he made in 1.25. It seems to have slipped his mind that, according to his own narrative, at the end of Æthelberht’s initial meeting with the mission party, the king had already given them permission ‘to unite all those you can to faith in your religion by preaching’.106 Now, Bede is saying that such a licence was only obtained after the king was baptised. What this and other similar inconsistencies show is that Bede was not working from any early sources, which could provide him with detailed information about events. Rather, he was operating in a near-void and having to fill this by using platitudes to create a layered narrative expounding the success of the mission in as credible terms as possible. The phrasing here is generic enough to pass anything but close inspection, and the story seems reasonable – but it is Bede’s story. He is simply saying what he felt was obvious: it made sense for the king to offer more active support only once he had been converted. Something very similar might be said about the actual content of what Bede says Æthelberht granted after his conversion: permission to build or rebuild churches. Bede possessed no original evidence beyond that which was examined in the last section for the rebuilding of churches, so this should not, for instance, be taken as independent evidence for the continuity of a Christian community in Canterbury or Kent.107 Perhaps more importantly, the very idea that Æthelberht only needed to give the party ‘permission’ (licentia), whether to build or to rebuild churches, is absurd. Of course, Æthelberht did need to give his permission, but the party needed a lot more than simple permission to build churches. The flippancy of the phrase reveals how distanced this account is from events. The reality is that the conversion to Christianity required a massive redistribution of resources on the king’s behalf simply to patronise the churches. Bede felt he had evidence that six churches were built or refurbished under Æthelberht. Four were in Canterbury: St Martin’s [1.26], holy Saviour’s, the cathedral [1.33], Ss Peter and Paul [1.33], and the church of the Four Martyrs [2.7].108 There was also one in London, St Paul’s [2.4], and one at Rochester, St Andrew’s [2.4]. Six is already a sizeable number of cases, yet in every instance, each newly endowed church had a variety of requirements. They needed empty land or an old building to locate the church; people to staff it – some to train as clerics and others to cook, clean and provide for the monks; land as endowment,109 to provide the community with food, clothing, and other material resources;110 and building work, which again required people, money, raw materials and other ancillary resources, such as those required for transportation and construction. Doing this once would have been no small feat – especially for the kind of kingdom that historians, following Bede, have generally estimated Kent in c.600 to have been. This apparently has to be envisaged happening not once but six times, including

56  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent probably at least once before Augustine arrived. Permission was necessary, but it was not enough. Churches could neither be built nor rebuilt without massive royal patronage, and Bede’s sources evidently gave him no indication at all of the significant shift – economically and indeed visually – that took place during Æthelberht’s reign. In short, Bede’s generic statements here and elsewhere on such topics reflect his own assumptions, not his possession of any early sources. At ubi ipse etiam inter alios delectatus uita mundissima sanctorum, et promissis eorum suauissimis, quae uera esse miraculorum quoque multorum ostensione firmauerant, credens baptizatus est, coepere plures cotidie ad audiendum uerbum confluere, ac, relicto gentilitatis ritu, unitati se sanctae Christi ecclesiae credendo sociare. [And when he (Æthelberht), and others also, delighted by the most pure life of the saints and by their most sweet promises, whose truth they also confirmed by the sign of many miracles, believed and were baptised, every day more people began to come together to hear the Word, and, leaving their heathen rites, to join in believing in the unity of the holy Church of Christ.] This eloquent passage is almost pure deduction, or perhaps rhetorical creation, on Bede’s behalf. He ‘knew’ that Æthelberht had been baptised at some stage by the ‘mission’ fathers and that is really all that he is saying here. On the other hand, whatever the nature of the source from which Bede had taken the account of the meeting on Thanet in 1.25, it is almost inevitable that this eventually mentioned Æthelberht’s conversion. Hence, it may well be the case that this source influenced Bede’s narrative. If it did, then it is clear that the source contained no contemporary details given how generic Bede’s account is here. To be perfectly just to Bede, he did have sources that told him that miracles had been worked through Augustine: in 1.31, Bede quoted from G ­ regory’s letter to the bishop, urging caution against the temptations of pride after performing miracles; Bede possessed a hagiographic story of Augustine’s cure of a blind man (HE 2.2); and Bede included Augustine’s epitaph in 2.3, which made direct reference to his miracles. Even so, Bede’s statement here claiming that Augustine’s miracles were the cause of Æthelberht’s conversion is entirely his own deduction, as is the wider claim Bede makes about the growth of the Church among the Kentish population.111 Quorum fidei et conuersioni ita congratulatus esse rex perhibetur, ut nullum tamen cogeret ad Christianismum; sed tantummodo credentes artiori dilectione, quasi conciues sibi regni caelestis, amplecteretur. Didicerat enim a doctoribus auctoribusque suae salutis seruitium Christi uoluntarium, non coacticium esse debere. [Although the king rejoiced at their faith and conversion, it is related that, even so, he forced no one to ­accept Christianity; but nonetheless he cherished believers with more affection as fellow citizens with him in the kingdom of Heaven. For he

Gregory and the mission   57 had learned from the teachers and informants of salvation that the service of Christ was voluntary and ought not to be imposed.] This passage reads very much as if it were Bede’s own view of the next stage, informed by his idea of how conversion should be carried out. There is a parallel comment in Bede’s contemporary Commentary on Ezra-Nehemiah, 7.13.112 Therefore, the view expressed in the section under consideration was definitely Bede’s, but the use of the word perhibetur probably points towards a specific source, which served as the ultimate basis for his claim. Bede’s use of such terms has already been discussed. Given that discussion, and what was said in considering the last section, it seems plausible that the account here is, at some level, a continuation of the hagiographic story of the missionaries that lay behind the 1.25 account of the meeting on Thanet, the entry into Canterbury and potentially the mention of Æthelberht’s conversion earlier in 1.26. The type of generic phrasing used in this section would be consistent with the anachronistic treatment seen in the earlier example. Such a narrative source having noted the king’s baptism might well be e­ xpected to describe some of its consequences, possibly including the claim that he did not compel others to convert. This can be no more than a plausible hypothesis, yet it is difficult to envisage from what other source the information could have been perhibetur. Thus, this section, and much of the second half of this chapter, could have consisted of Bede’s rhetorical development of a very generic mention in an anachronistic source of Canterbury origins, which he had already drawn from but about which he retained some reservations. Nec distulit, quin etiam ipsis doctoribus suis locum sedis eorum gradui congruum in Doruuerni metropoli sua donaret, simul et necessarias in diuersis speciebus possessiones conferret. [Soon after, he also gave a place for a sedes for his teachers, in his metropolis of Canterbury, suitable for their rank, at the same time also conferring on them the necessary possessions of various kinds.] Here, again, there is an apparent contradiction with the earlier account in 1.25, recalled at the beginning of this chapter: in that section, Æthelberht had already given the party a mansio. The present instance, however, is probably not a contradiction per se but a separate layer in Bede’s vision of how a conversion would be expected to progress. First, the party receive necessary support, almost as hospitality, and no obstacles in the way of their work. Then, on the king’s conversion, they receive active support and patronage – amounting to a larger endowment. Implicitly and somewhat confusingly, in this passage, Bede seems to be referring to the gift of land for a cathedral – a seat for the bishop. In 1.33, Bede states that he has already mentioned that Augustine received a seat for his bishopric; the recurrence of the word – sedis here, and sedem in 1.33 – suggests that this note is what he is referring back to in the later chapter. This is supported by the use of the descriptive phrase gradui congruum – suitable to their rank.

58  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent In terms of the basis on which Bede made the statement, there is no reason to expect a specific written source. Bede ‘knew’ that Augustine had been given land and property for an episcopal seat because Canterbury ‘­cathedral’ existed in Bede’s own day. This stage, after Bede had related the king’s conversion, would have seemed the most plausible for such a grant. The reference to the gift of ‘necessary possessions of various kinds’ is mere platitude and does not require a source. Bede made a similar sort of statement in 1.25, noting that the king promised to provide the mission party with ‘what is necessary’,113 as well as ‘sustenance’.114 Bede knew that new churches are given possessions, land, dues and exemptions, and Canterbury undoubtedly had plenty by Bede’s time. No doubt Canterbury claimed that many of these went back to Augustine and Æthelberht’s time, on whatever grounds, and Albinus may in general terms have been Bede’s source for that. But there is no specificity here. As with most of this chapter, therefore, this is a generic account of the apparently obvious, lacking specific details and structured within a teleological narrative framework. There are no grounds for seeing any early evidence lying behind the statements in this section. This does not make it untrue, of course. As presumptions go, Bede’s are good ones, but they are not built on early sources, so the account cannot itself be treated as a source.

What Bede had

- - - -

Libellus Responsionum [Libellus], included in 1.27 [R: 11.56a; M: 8.37] Bible: Acts of the Apostles Inscription from the (re)foundation stone at St Martin’s Letter of Gregory the Great to Augustine on miracles, quoted in 1.31 [R: 11.36] - Augustine’s epitaph, quoted at 2.3. ‘Orally’, Bede had basic Canterbury-sourced knowledge about the location of the churches in the city.

What Bede says for which it has not been possible to identify the source The only detail that has not been able to be explained fully above is the claim that the king did not compel anyone else to convert, which is qualified with perhibetur. As noted earlier, this would make sense as a continuation of the narrative hagiographic material seen in 1.25, which would probably have included mention of Æthelberht’s conversion and its consequences. The nature of that source remains to be discovered. 1.27 – ‘How Augustine was made bishop and how he told Pope Gregory about the things he had done in Britain, at the same time both asking questions and receiving replies about necessary things’. These questions and

Gregory and the mission   59 answers took the form of the Libellus Responsionum, which Bede inserts in this chapter Interea [Meanwhile] In assessing Bede’s sources, it is often worth pausing at words such as interea because they instantly signal his limited information, especially as regards dating, about what follows, and often about what has gone before.115 Here, there is even more reason than normal to dwell on the word because in addition to signalling Bede’s ignorance, it is a tacit admission than his broader narrative is, at this point, not completely consistent. In other words, he is about to contradict, or at least confuse, what has just gone before. In the last two chapters, 1.25 and 1.26, Bede has been telling a story that reads like that of the entire mission: it has a beginning, a middle and an ‘end’. Augustine and his party arrived on Thanet; Æthelberht met them and gave them freedom and support, including a place to live in Canterbury, but did not initially convert; then, impressed by their way of life and miracles, he, together with many of his people, was baptised, following which he patronised the Church he had joined and looked favourably on others who converted. Thus, within 1.25 and 1.26, perhaps influenced by a narrative Canterbury source, Bede has ostensibly wrapped up the entire story of the mission and the conversion. Yet, as Bede well knew, there was a problem with this simple, coherent and apparently complete version of events. Something significant was missing: Augustine’s episcopal consecration. In 1.26, Bede claimed that Æthelberht had given Augustine an episcopal seat, but there was no room in that neat little narrative for him to have become bishop. It is that necessary, but seemingly unconnected, story that Bede tells here at the beginning of 1.27. The account that follows does not so much contradict that in 1.25–26 as ignore it. These stories are not easily reconciled. Bede has to force the episcopal consecration into the other account he has given. The use of interea shows that he was aware of the inconsistency and was making an attempt to sidestep the difficulty of combining the stories, avoiding the question of why Æthelberht had given Augustine an episcopal seat before he had been made bishop. uir Domini Augustinus uenit Arelas, et ab archiepiscopo eiusdem ciuitatis Aetherio, iuxta quod iussa sancti patris Gregorii acceperant, archiepiscopus genti Anglorum ordinatus est; reuersusque Brittaniam [the man of God, Augustine, went to Arles and, in accordance with the orders of the holy father Gregory, was consecrated archbishop of the English people by Etherius, archbishop of that city. He returned to Britain] This deceptively straightforward passage raises some very difficult questions about what Bede thought he knew and why. He makes several claims here, some of which can be shown to be in error.116 Bede’s reasons for mistakenly

60  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent thinking that Etherius’s diocese was Arles and that he, and Augustine, were archbishops have already been mentioned in considering 1.24. But why did Bede believe that Augustine returned to Gaul for his episcopal consecration – something modern historians consider highly unlikely – and why did he think this occurred at the hands of Etherius at Arles? The idea that Bede might assume that Arles was the place of consecration could appear natural enough. As Wallace-Hadrill put it, ‘Arles seemed the natural place to go, in view of the letter in the following chapter’ (­Wallace-Hadrill, 1988: 32). There were lots of additional grounds for which Arles would have had a good claim. It had been the major ecclesiastical city in Gaul, with its bishop the papal vicar since the early sixth century. Britain had been part of the Prefecture of the Gauls, and Arles was the metropolitan see. Bede himself includes a Gregorian letter to Virgilius of Arles in 1.28, suggesting that Augustine might visit him; later in 1.27, in the Libellus, ‘Question’ 7, Gregory stresses the ancient authority of Arles and says that if Augustine goes to Gaul he must [debet] work with [agere] the bishop of Arles. Perhaps Bede inferred that any dealings with Gaul were primarily conducted through Arles. Therefore, Arles might seem to Bede the natural place for Augustine to go for consecration. Bede focuses the connection of Augustine with Gaul on Arles: two letters (in 1.24 and 1.28); a mention in the Libellus; and his episcopal consecration. In that context, it might be considered telling that here, Bede does not start by saying that Augustine was consecrated by Etherius but that he went to Arles. Nonetheless, if Bede were making an assumption, Arles was not quite as obvious a location as the points in the previous paragraph might suggest. It may have been the premier Gallic see in the late sixth century, but long before Bede’s time, Lyon had usurped that position (Mathisen, 2000: 288). Arles remained a metropolitan but could no longer be presumed to be the natural leader of the Frankish church. Nor is there any reason to believe Bede had accurate information about the historic situation. Moreover, if Bede’s claim was his own deduction, it was not one based on those instances of recent English episcopal consecration in Gaul of which Bede was aware. It was not at Arles that Bede says either Wilfrid or Berhtwald were consecrated. Berhtwald was consecrated at Lyon (HE 5.8)117 and ­Wilfrid at Compiègne by Agilbert of Paris (HE 3.28).118 Indeed, if Bede was going to make any assumption about where Augustine had been consecrated, then, without any other evidence, Rome would surely have been the obvious choice. The VG stated that Gregory consecrated Augustine in Rome before he left as a matter of simple fact (VG, 11). In this context, it can be seen that it was not so obvious that Augustine should have been consecrated in Arles that Bede could state this as fact without any supporting source. This raises a wider question too infrequently addressed by modern scholarship: why should Bede have made such a bald claim at all if, as historians often suggest, this was merely his deduction or invention (Wallace-Hadrill, 1988: 31)? This cannot be said to be his normal

Gregory and the mission   61 practice, at least as seen so far in this study. Bede does infer motivation and happily adds basic narrative connections or statements of the apparently obvious, but he does not invent wholesale such a careful set of details – ­especially about places, names and dates – without some evidence as a basis. That is not to say that no deductions have gone into his statement: rather, the probability must be that, at the most basic level, there was some source behind Bede’s assertion of consecration at Arles by Etherius. The most likely candidate for such a source was hinted at earlier in considering 1.24: the Canterbury episcopal list. Based on the HE, it is possible to see that this catalogue apparently included assertions about the place of consecration of each bishop and the name of the prelate who had consecrated them. Bede claims that Augustine was consecrated in Arles by ­Etherius (1.27); Laurence, Bede says, was consecrated by Augustine, and though no location is given, Canterbury is implied (2.4). There was no information, of course, about Mellitus and Justus for Canterbury because having already been bishops, they did not need separate consecration when they succeeded to the metropolitan see. Honorius, Bede states, was consecrated in L ­ incoln by Paulinus (2.16 and 2.18). In 3.20, Bede mentions that D ­ eusdedit was ­consecrated by Ithamar of Rochester in Canterbury. The pattern continues after the 660s. Theodore is said to have been consecrated by Pope Vitalian, with Rome assumed, and Berhtwald was consecrated by Godwin, with his see of Lyon the implied location. Even Tatwine’s consecration on 10 June 731, by bishops Daniel, Ealdwine and Ealdwulf, is given a specific location: Canterbury. Some of these cases may not have come from the Canterbury episcopal list. It is very hard to imagine that this was the case for Tatwine’s consecration, for example. Theodore’s too could be put down to different sources, though Berhtwald’s would be more difficult to account for. Other oddities within the list, however, argue for the information coming from such a central catalogue. The mention of Lincoln as the location for Honorius’s consecration is so random that it cannot possibly have been a deduction. Equally, there is something strange about Bede feeling the need to note that Ithamar came to Canterbury to consecrate Deusdedit. The fact that Bede’s presentation of the location of the consecration of Canterbury bishops, and the name of the consecrator, is so consistent suggests that he obtained his knowledge about Honorius, Paulinus, and Lincoln from the same place he gained his information about the other consecrations. The source that would have provided him with his comprehensive overview of the various bishops would have been the Canterbury episcopal list, no doubt provided by Albinus via Nothelm. It is easy to envisage such a list including notes about the consecrator and location of consecration. ­Arguably, Augustine’s consecration might have been an outlier, but the fact that Bede gives both the name of the consecrator and the location would fit perfectly with the rest of the list. As noted in 1.24, the Canterbury episcopal list would have been the reason Bede mistakenly believed Etherius was bishop of Arles. If the list stated that

62  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent Augustine was consecrated at Arles by Etherius, then Bede would automatically assume that Etherius was the bishop of that see.119 In reality, Etherius was bishop of Lyon, not Arles, but Bede simply did not have good enough information about the world c.600 to be able to avoid the trap in his source. Having resolved the question of Bede’s basis for the claims about the place of Augustine’s consecration and the name of his consecrator, it is still necessary to deal with the issue of why Bede believed that Augustine returned from Kent to Gaul to be consecrated. Modern historians tend to assume that Augustine received his consecration on the way to Kent (­Wallace-­Hadrill, 1988: 31–2; Brooks, 1984: 5). The main reason for this is that a letter from Gregory to Brunhilde written in September 597 refers to Augustine as ‘our brother and fellow bishop’ (Gregory, Letters, 8.4). If ­Augustine ­arrived in 597, as scholars tend to assume,120 then, so the argument goes, there seems no realistic opportunity – or reason – for him to have returned to Gaul for consecration in time for the pope to have heard about it by S ­ eptember. This hypothesis is supported by the natural, though not the only necessary, interpretation of Gregory’s letter to Eulogius of Alexandria from July 598, which appears to place Augustine’s consecration chronologically prior to his arrival in England (Gregory, Letters, 8.29). Bede did not possess either letter, so he made his deduction about ­Augustine’s return for consecration based on the more limited evidence available to him.121 Indeed, considering the evidence Bede had access to, it is no surprise he came to this view. Bede had at least one and probably several of the letters Gregory wrote to smooth the mission’s journey through Gaul in 596. Almost certainly, we have more than he did, but all of them still refer to Augustine simply as ‘monk’ or ‘servant of God’. None speak of him as bishop, nor do any make the slightest reference to, or request for, his episcopal consecration while going through Gaul. There was no basis for Bede to conclude that Gregory had asked for Augustine to be consecrated on the way. The next papal letters that Bede possessed were associated with the sending of the ‘reinforcements’ from Rome in 601.122 These letters provided Bede with his next datable event for the mission and therefore a later terminus ante quem for Augustine’s consecration than what the aforementioned ­September 597 Gregorian letter to Brunhilde allows historians today. Thus, the gaps in Bede’s evidence meant he had no reason not to think Augustine had sufficient time to return to Gaul. This must have seemed the only natural inference to Bede, given the lack of any reference to Augustine’s consecration in all of the 596 papal correspondence. Even so, as was seen in the last section, this deduction was still inconvenient for his broader narrative and led, incidentally, to the confusion between 1.26 and 1.27 described above. In summary, it has again been possible to understand how Bede came to his conclusions. This short passage is very revealing about both his sources and his method. This section provides a vital insight into the way he constructed history. Bede makes deductions, but he does not simply insert his

Gregory and the mission   63 own baseless speculations. Indeed, in some ways, proving Bede’s ignorance has further revealed his intelligence. This passage is one that shows Bede working most naturally as a historian. The process he is going through is no different from that of modern historians when they assert, albeit in contrast to Bede, that Augustine was consecrated on his way to England. Bede made the best use possible of the meagre sources at his disposal, and his errors were not based on conscious efforts to mislead.123 The aim of creating a coherent narrative history compelled him to make deductions, something that came naturally to him intellectually. The difficulty for modern historians is discerning between Bede’s inferences and the information that he derived directly from his sources. In this separation, however, lies the key to gaining a solid evidential basis for an understanding of Kent c.600. misit continuo Romam Laurentium presbyterum et Petrum monachum, [and at once sent the priest Laurence and the monk Peter to Rome] The ‘at once’ (continuo) is a Bedan addition and perhaps an attempt to redress the narrative complexities in which Bede had found himself, as discussed earlier. His knowledge that Peter had accompanied Laurence to Rome comes from Gregory’s letter to Bertha (Gregory, Letters, 11.35). The only other source that notes Peter’s presence on that journey is one of the textual versions of the Libellus but not that which Bede uses (Meyvaert, 1964: 24–25, n. 40; Meyvaert, 1971: 30).124 The fact that he does not include the letter to Bertha in his text is not, of course, evidence that he did not have it. Other signs that Nothelm brought more epistles from Rome than just those Bede directly inserts in the HE have already been discussed. Bede was a master of balance, and the papal letters were already taking up a significant proportion of his narrative. Including the letter to Bertha would have added nothing materially new. qui beato pontifici Gregorio gentem Anglorum fidem Christi suscepisse, ac se episcopum factum esse referent; [to tell Pope St Gregory that the English people had received the faith of Christ and that he had been made their bishop.] Here, Bede is merely presuming that this was the occasion on which ­Gregory learned of the success of the mission and of Augustine’s consecration. In fact, as we know, but Bede did not since he did not have the relevant ­Gregorian letter to Brunhilde, the pope had found out that the party had arrived and that Augustine had been made bishop by September 597 at the latest. Given all the evidence, however, it is not, in fact, impossible, or even unlikely, that the first direct contact that Gregory had from the party was the arrival of Peter and Laurence in late summer/early fall 600, or spring 601, which gave rise to the pope’s letters from that summer. The tenor of those epistles suggests that Gregory’s earlier information – from 597 – was as

64  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent likely to have come from Candidus, his agent in Gaul, as from messengers that Augustine had sent back to Rome. Even so, Bede is incorrect to suggest that this was when Gregory was informed of the conversions that they had made or of Augustine’s episcopal consecration. It is simply Bede’s deduction from the limited evidence at his disposal, which he is using as a link in the narrative. simul et de eis, quae necessariae uidebantur, quaestionibus eius consulta flagitans. Nec mora, congrua quaesitui responsa recepit; quae etiam huic historiae nostrae commodum duximus indere. [At the same time he [Augustine] sought his [Gregory’s] advice about some questions which seemed necessary. He received suitable answers to his questions without delay; and we have also thought fitting to put them into our History.] These linking sentences reveal nothing more than that Bede possessed the Libellus, which he then goes on to quote in full.125 As the ‘original’ version of the Libellus did not contain questions (Meyvaert, 1971: 26–29),126 this statement is further evidence that Bede’s only version was the one he included in the HE text.127 Bede’s comments about the timings involved are nothing more than rhetorical devices. The sentiment behind them is based on his immense respect for Gregory and on the assumption, for which he had no evidential basis, that the pope considered the English mission his highest priority and crowning achievement. One point does emerge from Bede’s language, however: the Libellus’ preface that survives in some versions of the text is clear that sickness meant Gregory was not immediately ready to reply to Augustine’s questions. In fact, the preface specifically states that Augustine’s legates in eadem me doloris afflictione relinquerent, and so the answers were sent on afterwards.128 Thus, when Bede says in 1.27 that Gregory sent the answers without delay (nec mora), it is evident Bede cannot have had access to the Libellus preface. This is significant. If Bede did not have the Libellus preface, then this proves he must have possessed Gregory’s letter to Bertha, even though Bede does not include it in the HE. The letter to Bertha is the only source apart from the Libellus’ preface that mentions that Peter travelled with Laurence to Rome, something Bede noted earlier in this chapter. This is a useful point of detail as far as his sources are concerned, but it demonstrates a more significant general point because it provides positive evidence for the argument made several times earlier: Bede possessed papal letters that he did not include verbatim in the History. The rest of 1.27 is the Libellus itself. The nature of this document remains uncertain. Parts are undoubtedly genuinely by Gregory – probably the whole is – but the complexities of transmission cloud the picture. Given the difficulties with the text, the Libellus will not be discussed in any detail here. What is noteworthy from the perspective of this present analysis is that Bede did not obtain the Libellus from Nothelm as part of the sheaf of papal

Gregory and the mission   65 129

letters he brought on his second visit. Such a conclusion is possible not because Bede’s use of the work in VCP, 16, necessarily places his possession of the text prior to Nothelm’s second visit (Meyvaert, 1971: 21), but because the work was not available in the papal archive (Boniface, ­Letters, 33). In any case, the version Bede used is so corrupt that even if Rome had still possessed a copy of the original, it was not that to which Bede had access.130 The Libellus did, however, travel in canonical and penitential collections, and it is from this tradition, with a text filtered through the continent, that Bede’s version derived (Levison, 1935: 139, n. 2; Meyvaert, 1971: 23–32; ­Elliot, 2014). One final point: Bede made no effort to correct the many textual errors in the document in front of him. The same is true in his copying of other papal letters, such as that of Pope Boniface V to Edwin in 2.10. Bede’s respect for written sources was so strong that he was even willing to perpetuate mistakes in language that he had the ability to correct.

What Bede had - Letter of Gregory the Great to Etherius, included in 1.24 - Canterbury episcopal list, including statements of places of consecration and of the names of consecrators - Letter of Gregory the Great to Queen Bertha [R: 11.35] - Libellus Responsionum. 1.28 – ‘How Pope Gregory sent a letter to the bishop of Arles so that he would help Augustine in the work of God’ Hucusque responsiones beati papae Gregorii ad consulta reuerentissimi antistitis Augustini. [Such were the answers of Pope St Gregory to the questions of the most reverend Bishop Augustine] This is simply a reference to and deduction from the Libellus, which Bede had inserted into the previous chapter. Epistulam uero, ad Uergilium dederat; [The letter was sent to Vergilius, ] This letter, which Bede goes on to include in its entirety in the second half of this chapter, was among those brought by Nothelm from the papal archives. quam se Arelatensi episcopo fecisse commemorat, [which he (Gregory) says he had written to the bishop of Arles] Gregory mentioned sending a letter to the bishop of Arles in the Libellus, at ‘Question 7’; that is what Bede is referring to here.

66  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent Aetherii successorem [the successor of Etherius.] This is Bede’s deduction and an error. The reasons for his belief that E ­ therius had been bishop of Arles have already been discussed at length. Given that Bede knows that this 601 letter is addressed to Vergilius as bishop of Arles, this statement about Vergilius’s succession is simply his perfectly understandable deduction: Etherius must have died in the meantime and been replaced by Vergilius. cuius haec forma est: … indictione IIII [This is the form of it: … {­Gregory asks Vergilius to receive Augustine if he should visit and listen to what advice he might have} … and in the fourth indiction.] This letter, which Bede quotes in its entirety, was brought to Bede by Nothelm.

What Bede had - Libellus - Letter of Gregory the Great to Etherius, included in 1.24 - Canterbury episcopal list from the information in which he had deduced that Etherius has been bishop of Arles - Letter of Gregory the Great to Vergilius of Arles [R: 11.45]. 1.29 – ‘How Gregory sent Augustine a pallium and a letter [explaining his plan for the organisation of the English church], and also sent more ministers of the Word’ Praeterea idem papa Gregorius Augustino episcopo, quia suggesserat ei multam quidem sibi esse messem, sed operarios paucos [Furthermore, because Bishop Augustine had told him that the harvest was great, but the labourers were few] This phrase sounds suspiciously like a Bedan deduction from the ‘knowledge’, which tends to be considered implicit in the Gregorian letters he possessed, that more ‘missionaries’ did indeed come in 601. This is probably at least partially the case. For one thing, the biblical language is Bede’s addition (Matt 9.37; Luke 10.2). Just as in 1.26, he is drawing attention to the link with the early Church. The imposition of such a New Testament framework upon his account of the ‘mission’ is hardly surprising but still needs to be noted as a reminder that in the absence of sufficient sources, the narrative was to a large extent his own creation. The form this took was influenced as much by his assumptions as his ideology, but it was not automatically self-evident in his sources. On this occasion, however, the root of Bede’s statement is probably based in an extant source: a letter from Gregory the Great. Among the many letters

Gregory and the mission   67 the pope sent with the 601 party to smooth the way with Frankish magnates they might expect to meet on the journey were two that specifically referred to Augustine’s expressed need for reinforcements. One, dated 22 June 601, was to Menas of Toulon, Serenus of Marseilles and a set of N ­ eustrian ­bishops and claimed that ‘Augustine asserts that those who are with him are insufficient to carry out this work through the various locations’ (Gregory, Letters, 11.41).131 Gregory went on, ‘We have therefore made provision for a few monks to be sent over to him, together with our most beloved and joint sons, the priest Laurence and the abbot Mellitus’ (Gregory, Letters, 11.41).132 The second letter, which was to Brunhilde, was perhaps more likely to have been Bede’s source. In this, Gregory noted that he had sent the new set of monks ‘due to the fact that he [Augustine] says those with him cannot be sufficient for him’ (Gregory, Letters, 11.48).133 Therefore, one or the other – or conceivably both – of these letters probably provided the basis for Bede’s statement here. misit cum praefatis legatariis suis plures cooperatores ac uerbi ministros; [Pope Gregory sent with the aforesaid messengers, several colleagues and ministers of the Word.] Bede’s statement that Gregory sent these reinforcements is again derived from whichever of the letters he had gained his knowledge that the extra monks were needed. It is worth mentioning that contrary to the general assumption (Wallace-Hadrill, 1988: 31), there is no reason to think that without such a letter Bede would have been able to deduce that other missionaries had come in 601 – apart from Mellitus apparently, to whom one of the other 601 letters is addressed and who is mentioned in others. None of the 601 papal letters included by Bede in the HE makes mention of sending more people – or doing so because Augustine had expressed a need for reinforcements. in quibus primi et praecipui erant Mellitus, Iustus, Paulinus, Rufinianus; [Among these, first and foremost were Mellitus, Justus, Paulinus, and Rufinianus.] Here, Bede is making a more complex set of deductions and, somewhat surprisingly, does not use all the information at his disposal. He ‘knew’ that Mellitus had only come in 601, thanks to the Gregorian letter addressed to him, which Bede inserts in 1.30. This letter might be taken to imply, though it does not state outright, that Mellitus is not returning to Augustine but coming to him for the first time. Mellitus was also mentioned in several of the letters addressed to correspondents in Gaul,134 though again, it is not clear from these that Mellitus was one of the reinforcements and that this was his first trip to England. Whatever our own uncertainties might be about whether Mellitus was a member of the original 596 party or the leader of the 601 reinforcements, Bede felt the latter answer was the right one.135

68  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent The reason for that probably lay in another deduction on Bede’s behalf. He knew that this ‘new arrival’ had become the bishop of London (HE 2.3). In this chapter, 1.29, Bede is connecting the arrival of the reinforcements with Gregory’s plans for the episcopate of what he calls the ‘new church of the English’ (noua Anglorum ecclesia). This juxtaposition shows that Bede had inferred – almost certainly correctly – that the intention in sending reinforcements was unambiguous: they were to fill the sees of the new ­bishoprics. Thus, just as Mellitus, the future bishop of London, had come in 601 – as Bede ‘knew’ – so Justus ‘must’ have done as well. Paulinus fell into the same category for although events meant that he only went to Northumbria perhaps two decades later, the sending of someone to York was obviously part of the original plan. Rufinianus did not become a bishop. Later Canterbury tradition considered him the third abbot of Ss Peter and Paul’s, following Peter and then John (Elmham, History: 126–27; 147–48),136 who the LP noted were part of the mission.137 This name, therefore, is likely to have come from A ­ lbinus, the contemporary abbot of Ss Peter and Paul’s. For some reason, Bede seems to have believed Peter died earlier than he did.138 One possible reason for this would be that Bede thought, presumably on Albinus’s authority, that Rufinianus was the direct successor to Peter and hence merited inclusion here. Perhaps the subsequent tradition, which led to the insertion of John’s name into the later Canterbury list as the second abbot, was merely an attempt to tie up a loose end: the presence of his name in the LP’s list of the missionaries. As a result, there is no reason to treat Justus, Paulinus, or Rufinianus as definitely among those who arrived in 601. Once more, Bede’s statements can be seen to be based not on sources from the time but on his own deductions. These deductions may perhaps have been correct, but Bede cannot be treated as a source for the arrival of these figures then. Historians wanting to reconstruct what happened have to begin in the same place he did – the Gregorian letters – but without assuming that the deductions he made from them are separately evidenced facts. et per eos generaliter uniuersa, quae ad cultum erant ac ministerium ecclesiae necessaria, uasa uidelicet sacra, et uestimenta altarium, ornamenta quoque ecclesiarum, et sacerdotalia uel clericilia indumenta, sanctorum etiam apostolorum ac martyrum reliquias, nec non et codices plurimos. [And with them he sent all things generally necessary for the worship and ministry of the Church: namely, sacred vessels, altar cloths and church ornaments, vestments for priests and clerics, relics of the holy apostles and martyrs, and very many manuscripts.] This list of the various necessities required for a functioning church need be no more than Bede’s view of what he knew every ecclesiastical institution required. Indeed, by his own phrasing, he almost seems to be signalling that

Gregory and the mission   69 the list is his personal assessment of the generaliter uniuersa … necessaria rather than anything more specific. His view may well have been informed by his rather better knowledge of what Benedict Biscop had brought back from his trips to Rome (for instance, HA, 6).139 Oral information from Albinus via Nothelm might perhaps lie in a general way behind the catalogue. Despite the gaps that have already begun to be seen in the Canterbury record, it is not implausible that some objects did survive. Nor is it unlikely that certain objects were furnished with a more venerable ancestry than they actually had. Alfred the Great thought that Augustine himself had brought a copy of Gregory’s Pastoral Care (­Wallace-Hadrill, 1988: 44). Even today, Cambridge preserves a sixth-­c entury Italian Gospel book, known as the ‘Augustine Gospels’ (CCCC, MS 286), a claim that continues to be widely asserted.140 Other books, however, which, at least later, Canterbury claimed Augustine brought, can be categorically shown to have arrived later (Budny, 1999: 252–54; Gameson, 1999b: 313). This seems the most probable explanation for the ‘Augustine Gospels’. The evidence suggests that by at least the eighth century, C ­ anterbury was passing off older or older-looking items as genuine relics of the original ­Augustinian mission. Bede’s statement, if it represents anything more than his own assumption, is evidence for eighth-century Canterbury claims, not for the items brought by the ‘mission fathers’. Incidentally, Bede’s assumption that everything the early English church possessed must have come from Rome displays his ignorance of the close connections the church in Kent had with its Gallic counterpart. Some items may even have been locally produced; otherwise, Gaul was a more obvious market than Rome. In fact, as is self-evident, most of the items Bede believes can only have arrived with the ‘missionaries’ must already have been available in Canterbury, even in the unlikely event that Liudhard and Bertha were the only ones attending church. Bede’s omission of the Gallic dimension may be a conscious one, but it is likelier to reflect his lack of genuinely early source material about the early days of the church in Kent as well as his use of the contemporary situation to frame his understanding of the past. Misit etiam litteras, in quibus significat se ei pallium direxisse, simul et insinuat, qualiter episcopos in Brittania constituere debuisset; [He (­Gregory) also sent a letter in which he stated that he had dispatched a pallium to him (Augustine) and at the same time laid down how he ought to establish the bishops in Britain.] This sentence provides nothing more than a précis of the letter Bede is about to quote. quarum litterarum iste est textus: … indictione IIII. [Here is the text of the letter: … {Gregory gives Augustine the pallium and sets out a plan for the English church with a bishop of London and one of York, both

70  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent with twelve suffragens. Augustine is also granted authority over all the bishops of Britain} … and in the fourth indiction.] Bede has derived the text of the letter, which he inserts in its entirety, from Nothelm. Bede knew this letter by the time he composed the MC, which was written as part of the DTR. Historians have sometimes claimed that there is a radical difference between his narrative of the mission in the MC, dating to 725, and that in the HE, completed c. 731 (for instance, Meyvaert, 1964). From this, they have argued that Nothelm brought Bede the papal letters after 725. Paul Meyvaert even envisaged that the letters had arrived immediately before the finalisation of the HE. Such arguments are based on a faulty premise. There is no sign of contradiction between the MC and HE narratives. Moreover, there are several indications in the MC itself that Bede had already received the papal letters: the inclusion of a reference to this letter in the MC is merely the most obvious example. There is no reason to think that this letter alone had been preserved at Canterbury; indeed, there is plenty of reason to think that this letter in particular cannot have been. There are no hints that Canterbury – or Theodore, for instance – had any idea of the detail of the original Gregorian plan as they sought to revive and reform the Church in England in the later seventh century.141 It is true that the MC account of the mission does not mention that there were two parties who arrived from Rome, but there is no reason why it should have done. The MC account is a simple and accurate, if compressed, description of what occurred. Furthermore, even if it is compressed, the MC’s version is still revised from the one Bede included in the 703 MinC. In the MinC, Bede placed the mission’s arrival under the reign of the emperor Phocas. In the MC, this has rightly been changed to Maurice. The only reasonable basis for this correction is the information in the papal letters brought by Nothelm. Their dating clauses will have told Bede that it was ­ regory. Maurice, not Phocas, who was emperor when the party was sent by G Thus, Nothelm’s ‘second’ visit must already have occurred by 725.142 None of this is to argue that the arrival of the papal letters did not impact the construction of the HE, leading to qualitative changes between a putative ‘first draft’ and the version that survives today. Quite the opposite: the significance of the changes necessitated by the content of the letters was such that a more radical overhaul was required than the rapid revision envisaged by Meyvaert. An examination of how Bede wrote, and especially of how he gained and used his sources, sheds light on the wider question of the context for his authorship of the HE, although there is no space here to break down the stages of composition systematically.143 One further point arising from this letter should be dealt with briefly: what it tells us of Kent c.600. While this book is not intended as a direct analysis of the nature of early Christian Kent, here the question concerns Bede’s use of sources and so does fall within the present purview. It is often assumed that Gregory’s plan for the Church in England ‘had little relation to reality at the time’ (Chadwick, 1991: 200). Such a statement, however, privileges the

Gregory and the mission   71 Bedan narrative, whence such a view of contemporary geopolitics derives, over Gregory’s letter. There are no grounds for thinking that the pope’s plan, set out in 601, necessarily differed from Augustine and Æthelberht’s vision when they sent legates to Rome, probably in 600; nor should it be presumed that the strategy was impractical in terms of prevailing English politics.144 We have already seen compelling signs that Bede’s evidential basis for this period was extremely thin. It would be very unwise to rely on impressions of the early seventh-century political landscape inferred from his narrative – especially when doing so would involve contradicting the evidence of a source written at the time.

What Bede had - Letter of Gregory the Great to Menas of Toulon/Serenus of ­Marseilles/ Lupus of Chalons-sur-Saone/Agiulf of Metz/Simplicius of Paris/Melantius of Rouen/Licinus or perhaps more probably to Brunhilde or both [R: 11.41, 11.48] - Bible: Gospels - LP - Rochester episcopal list - Information about Paulinus from varied sources, several of which must have been oral, but also including a letter of Pope Honorius to King Edwin, included in 2.17 - Letter of Gregory the Great to Augustine about the organisation of the church in England [R: 11.39]. ‘Orally’, Bede probably had information from Albinus of uncertain value that Rufinianus had become abbot of Ss Peter and Paul, Canterbury, and possibly about treasures in books, cloths and sacred vessels, which, in the early eighth century, Canterbury claimed came from Gregory the Great. 1.30 – ‘A copy of the letter which Gregory sent to Abbot Mellitus [advising him on creative strategies for converting the English], who was travelling to Britain’ Abeuntibus autem praefatis legatariis, misit post eos beatus pater ­G regorius litteras memoratu dignas, in quibus aperte, quam studiose erga saluationem nostrae gentis inuigilauerit, ostendit [When the aforementioned messengers had left, the holy father Gregory sent after them a letter worthy of memory, in which he clearly showed how eagerly he watched over the salvation of our people] This sentence contains two deductions by Bede, both based on the letter that follows. The first is a strictly mechanical calculation. Bede possessed several Gregorian letters sent with Mellitus, Laurence and Peter, which were dated 22 June 601.145 In contrast, the letter to Mellitus that Bede includes

72  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent in this chapter was dated 18 July 601 and so was sent almost a month later. Indeed, it specifically referred to the departure of Mellitus and his companions.146 Therefore, Bede rightly inferred that the pope had sent the letter to the party after they had departed. Bede’s second deduction, his claim that the letter showed, aperte, how zealously Gregory sought the salvation of the English, was more subjective. This is Bede’s interpretation of the frankly much more ambiguous evidence of the letter in light of his own desire to see the pope as specially connected to the English. ita scribens: … indictione IIII. [writing in this way: … {Gregory gives Mellitus instructions for Augustine on how to ‘Christianise’ pagan places and practices in order to facilitate the process of conversion} … and in the fourth indiction.] The text of the letter, which Bede quotes in full, came to him via Nothelm.

What Bede had - Letters of Gregory the Great dated 22 June 601, as quoted elsewhere in the HE (1.28, 1.29, 1.31, and 1.32) - Letter of Gregory the Great to Mellitus [R: 11.56]. 1.31 – ‘How Gregory encouraged Augustine, in a letter, not to glory in his miracles’ Quo in tempore misit etiam Augustino epistulam super miraculis, quae per eum facta esse cognouerat, in qua eum, ne per illorum copiam periculum elationis incurreret, his uerbis hortatur: [At the same time he also sent Augustine a letter about miracles, which he had heard had been worked through Augustine. In the letter Gregory exhorts Augustine in these words not to incur the danger of being elated by their great number:] This statement is a deduction from the letter that follows, summarising the argument of the epistle. Strictly speaking the phrase in tempore is inaccurate because this letter was written and sent almost a month before that in the previous chapter. Bede possessed other information that told him that ­Augustine had worked miracles.147 Nevertheless, Bede’s statement here need be based on no more than the letter itself. Scio, frater carissime, … pro quorum tibi salute collata sunt. [I know, most beloved brother … {Gregory congratulates Augustine for the miracles he has worked, but warns him of the dangers of pride and urges him to maintain rigour in the practice of his faith} … for whose salvation they have been conferred on you.] The text of the letter was delivered to Bede by Nothelm. The letter itself was originally longer. Bede’s choice to edit is a sign of his sense of literary

Gregory and the mission   73 balance as an author and his desire to make the HE rhetorically effective. Gregory’s letter is a characteristically brilliant exposition of the subject, but it is very long, and not all of the content was relevant to Bede’s story.

What Bede had - Letter of Gregory the Great to Augustine about miracles [R: 11.36]. 1.32 – ‘How Gregory sent a letter and gifts to King Æthelberht’ Misit idem beatus papa Gregorius eodem tempore etiam regi Aedilbercto epistulam [At the same time Pope St Gregory also sent a letter to King Æthelberht] This statement is based on Bede’s possession of the letter, which he goes on to quote in full and which makes up the bulk of this chapter. This time, Bede is correct to say eodem tempore as this was another of the 22 June 601 letters. simul et dona in diuersis speciebus perplura, [as well as various gifts of many kinds.] Here, Bede is exaggerating for rhetorical effect in an attempt to underscore Gregory’s concern for the nascent English church. He is basing his statement on the pope’s own mention in the letter of unspecified gifts that he is sending the king; Bede is merely fleshing out that statement as part of his précis of the letter. In reality, the gifts mentioned by Gregory are not likely to have been numerous, or particularly varied, but they probably did include small relic crosses.148 temporalibus quoque honoribus regem glorificare satagens, cui gloriae caelestis suo labore et industria notitiam prouenisse gaudebat. [He was desirous to glorify the king with temporal honours, while he rejoiced that ­ regory’s Æthelberht had reached the knowledge of heavenly glory by G own labour and industry.] This statement is not directly derived from any source but is Bede’s own view of the pope’s attitude, inspired by the content of the letter he is about to quote. Bede is keen to present Gregory as intensely concerned with the mission and its success. This assumption – and even hope – affected Bede’s interpretation and presentation of material and influenced his rhetorical connection of pieces of evidence and indeed gaps in evidence. This emphasis on Gregory was in tune with Bede’s own sentiments and purposes in the HE, but it was also something that served Canterbury. Focus on Gregory and on his connection to, and significance for, the conversion of the English people drew attention to Canterbury as the origin and centre of the Church in England. Taking the sum of Gregory’s surviving letters and works into account, it may seem rather that the English church was only one among a very long list of priorities for Gregory and by no means the most important.

74  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent Exemplar autem praefatae epistulae hoc est: … indictione IIII. [This is a copy of the aforementioned letter: … {Praising the king, but warning him of the approaching end of the world, Gregory urges Æthelberht to listen to Augustine and do everything in his power to facilitate the conversion of his people, including destroying pagan shrines and prohibiting the worship of idols. The pope also gives Æthelberht some unnamed gifts.} … and in the fourth indiction] The rest of the chapter is merely the text of the letter brought by Nothelm.

What Bede had - Letter of Gregory the Great to King Æthelberht [R: 11.37]. 1.33 – ‘How Augustine repaired the church of the Saviour and built the monastery of the apostle St Peter; and about Peter, its first abbot’ At Augustinus, ubi in regia ciuitate sedem episcopalem, ut praediximus, accepit, recuperauit in ea, regio fultus adminiculo, ecclesiam, quam inibi antiquo Romanorum fidelium opere factam fuisse didicerat, et eam in nomine sancti Saluatoris Dei et Domini nostri Iesu Christi sacrauit, atque ibidem sibi habitationem statuit et cunctis successoribus suis. [And when Augustine, as we said previously, received his episcopal sedes in the royal city, he, with royal support, restored a church in it, which he had learned had been built in antiquity by Roman believers. He dedicated it in the name of the holy Saviour, our God and Lord, Jesus Christ, and he established there a dwelling for himself and for all his successors.] The narrative here appears to follow almost directly from where Bede left the story at the end of 1.26, with the gift of the ‘seat’, which, as shown above, was for the bishopric. In between is the series of chapters, 1.27–32, that is dependent on papal letters. Thus, perhaps in the ‘original’ draft of the HE, written before Nothelm’s second visit and the arrival of the papal letters, this chapter immediately followed ‘1.26’.149 The sense in which the first part of 1.27, and, to an extent, the rest of the material in the papal letter chapters, interrupts the story otherwise being told has already been discussed. Most of this section requires no specific source. Bede knew that the archbishops of Canterbury in his own time had a seat, and he knew that it was in Canterbury, and at a church dedicated to the holy Saviour. He would assume, probably correctly, that this was founded by Augustine. Even so, as already discussed at length, the mention of Augustine’s restoring an older church, which ‘he had learned had been built in antiquity’, probably points towards Bede’s possession of the text of the inscription of the church’s ‘(re) foundation stone’. This source was most probably conveyed to Bede from Albinus via Nothelm, presumably on his first visit, as part of a larger document

Gregory and the mission   75 containing several epigraphic texts collected by Albinus. It is not unlikely that such a dedication stone mentioned the cooperation of the king, but it need not be assumed that this part of Bede’s statement was based on anything beyond his own assumption and arguably his agenda for kings to work with ecclesiastical authorities for the building up of the Church in society.150 Fecit autem et monasterium non longe ab ipsa ciuitate ad orientem, in quo, eius hortatu, Aedilberct ecclesiam beatorum apostolorum Petri et Pauli a ­ ugustini, fundamentis construxit, ac diuersis donis ditauit, in qua et ipsius A ­ antiae poni et omnium episcoporum Doruuernensium, simul et regum C corpora possent. Quam tamen ecclesiam non ipse Augustinus, sed successor eius Laurentius consecrauit. [He also founded a monastery not far from the same city, to the east, in which Æthelberht, with Augustine’s encouragement, built from its foundations the church of the apostles Ss Peter and Paul and endowed it with diverse gifts so that the bodies of Augustine himself and of all the bishops of Canterbury and also of the kings of Kent might be placed in it. It was not Augustine himself, however, but his successor Laurence who consecrated the church.] The note about the geographical location of the church – ‘not far from the same city, to the east’ – presumably came from Albinus. Most of the rest of the information about the foundation and purpose of Ss Peter and Paul seems a simple case of a form of post hoc propter hoc logic on Bede’s behalf. He knew the monastery existed, he knew it was dedicated to Ss Peter and Paul, he knew that it was a well-endowed institution and he knew that the kings of Kent and bishops of Canterbury were buried there. This was all present tense. He knew all this to be the case in c.730, and he assumed that everything began in Augustine’s day.151 Nonetheless, beneath these layers of presumptions and deductions, there was almost certainly, as seen above, an earlier written source: Ss Peter and Paul’s foundation stone. This conclusion is hinted at by the specific reference to the church’s having been built a fundamentis, in contrast to those Bede notes as being rebuilt. The phrase a fundamentis is found in equivalent and contemporary Roman inscriptions. Equally telling is the reference to ­Laurence, rather than Augustine, as the consecrator of the church. As shown earlier, the name of the consecrator of a church is the sort of information found on such ecclesiastical inscriptions, and which it is difficult to envisage appearing in another source. Primus autem eiusdem monasterii abbas Petrus presbiter fuit [The first abbot of this monastery was the priest Peter] It is natural to presume that this information came from Albinus, the contemporary abbot of the monastery, without the need for any written source. Albinus’s own source is less obvious. Bede does not seem to have had an abbatial list for Ss Peter and Paul, given how little information he included

76  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent about its abbots,152 so presumably Albinus did not have a list either. Conceivably, Peter’s name was on the church’s dedication stone, but perhaps, to some extent at least, the information about Peter and his rank derived from the story that follows and therefore indirectly from its source.153 We know that Peter was the ‘abbot of Canterbury’ (abba de Dorouerno)154 because he subscribed as such to the canons of the Council of Paris in 614,155 but Bede did not possess that source. qui legatus Galliam missus … abstulerunt corpus, et in Bononia ciuitate iuxta honorem tanto uiro congruum in ecclesia posuerunt. [who was sent on a mission to Gaul … {Peter drowns and is buried unworthily, but a heavenly light guides the locals to his resting place, helping them to identify him as a saint} … they removed his body and placed it in a church in the city of Boulogne with all the honour fitting for so great a man.] This story, which takes up the whole second half of this chapter, is not from any surviving source. The characteristics of the account are clear, however. The story is a single, coherent narrative and almost certainly must have come from a single narrative source. There are no signs that the tale is, or could conceivably be, Bede’s compilation of elements derived from several sources. The story deals with one of the early ‘mission fathers’ and is self-­evidently hagiographic, with the miraculous appearance of the light directing locals to Peter’s tomb. There is anachronism – here, explicit – with the final denouement of the story being that Peter’s body, dishonourably interred, was only discovered to be that of a holy man some time later, thanks to the miraculous light. Moreover, the lack of any indications of dating within the story supports the general impression that the nature of the source is most naturally interpreted as a generalised hagiographic narrative. Another element pointing to the anachronistic character of this story is the extent to which the narrative is mere topos. Plummer noted two analogues within the HE itself: Oswald in 3.11 and the Hewalds in 5.10 (Plummer, 2.64). The account of the miraculous light showing where bodies should rest in 4.7 could also be added. Such borrowings from hagiographic tradition scarcely suggest any direct or early knowledge of the supposed events in question.156 These elements are strongly reminiscent of the characteristics found in the story Bede told of the meeting on Thanet in 1.25 and suggest, as will be discussed in more detail later, that the sources for these two ‘Canterbury tales’ might have been similar or even connected.

What Bede had - Inscription from (re)foundation stone at Canterbury ‘cathedral’ - Inscription from foundation stone at Ss Peter and Paul’s. ‘Orally’, Bede had basic Canterbury-sourced knowledge about the location of Ss Peter and Paul’s in relation to the city and he probably also had information from Albinus that the first abbot of his monastery was named Peter.

Gregory and the mission   77

What Bede says for which it has not been possible to identify the source In this chapter, it has not been possible to identify the source for the following details:

- - - - -

Peter, abbot of Ss Peter and Paul’s, was sent on a mission to Gaul He drowned in a bay of the sea known as Amfleat (Ambleteuse) He was given an unworthy burial But a heavenly light appeared every night above his grave At last, the people of the neighbourhood noticed it and realised it must have been a saint’s body - They found out who the saint had been - And they reburied his body honourably in a church in Boulogne. The nature of this source will be discussed in detail later, but for now, the above findings about its characteristics should be summarised: it is a single coherent story about one of the early ‘mission’ fathers, which reads like it comes from a single source, inevitably a narrative one, probably hagiographic and from Canterbury. Its content is not explainable by documents that have survived, nor is it easy to envisage what series of sources could have been compiled by Bede to create the narrative he provides. The content is both explicitly and implicitly anachronistic. Bede does not himself express any doubts about this particular story’s reliability, but otherwise, the characteristics of the tale and its source are essentially identical to those of the story Bede told in 1.25. So far, we have seen such a type of source for Augustine’s arrival and initial meeting with Æthelberht and now for the death, burial, and miraculous discovery of the body of Peter, as well as possibly for elements of the story underlying Bede’s narrative of the conversion of Æthelberht and its consequences in 1.26. As will be seen later, Book 2 contains other similar tales, again sharing these characteristics and following the same pattern. Through an examination of these stories, the probable existence of a single overarching hagiographic source from Canterbury will become increasingly clear. This drew together several hagiographic stories about the ‘mission’ party, but the anachronisms in the tales show that they must have been composed some time after the events in question, when direct knowledge of the mission had all but died out. Such a source can only reasonably have come to Bede from Canterbury and Albinus. In such a light, this source aptly fits the description in the HE Preface of the ‘written records … [of] all the things which were done in the kingdom of Kent or in the neighbouring kingdoms by the disciples of Pope St Gregory’ that Albinus had passed on to Bede via Nothelm on the latter’s first visit. 1.34 – ‘How Æthelfrith, king of the Northumbrians, crushing the Irish peoples in battle, expelled them from English lands’ Chapter 1.34 is the story of Æthelfrith with which Bede ends Book 1, bringing the narrative rather abruptly to Northumbria. This kingdom will

78  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent increasingly become the focus of the remaining books of the HE. ­Perhaps, in this chapter, Bede was signalling that ultimate shift in direction to the reader, hinting at what he considered the most crucial subject matter (­Wallace-Hadrill,  1988:  47); alternatively, Bede’s own Northumbrian contacts, and patrons, not least King Ceolwulf, may well have considered the tale of this king one that could not be omitted. Whatever the grounds for Bede’s insertion of this chapter, for the reasons set out in the Introduction, this investigation will not directly consider the HE’s Northumbrian sections. The focus, instead, will be on those parts primarily concerning Kent, so the analysis must now move on to Book 2, which will be considered in Chapter 3.

Notes 1 ‘[Q]uin multo digniores genti memoratae praecones ueritatis, per quos crederet, destinauit.’ 2 The indiction was a 15-year dating cycle that originated in imperial taxation practice. Each indictional year ran from 1 September to 31 August. From the time of Justinian, the indiction was a standard feature of dating formulas. They were used by the papacy into the eleventh century. Harrison, 1976a: 13 and 38–39. 3 In fact, Jones, 1947: 162, pointing out that Bede gave Maurice’s year of accession correctly, noted that the extant Dionysian tables (which were written later) placed it in 583. 4 Though, as Markus noted, Bede was not simply writing a supplement to cover an area neglected in the earlier work. 5 1.3: Claudius (fourth emperor after Augustus); 1.4: Marcus Antoninus Verus (fourteenth); 1.5: Septimus Severus (seventeenth); 1.6: Diocletian (thirty-third); 1.9: Gratian (fortieth); 1.10: Arcadius (forty-third); 1.11: Honorius (forty-fourth); 1.13: Theodosius the Younger (forty-fifth); 1.15, Marcian (forty-sixth), being made emperor with Theodosius; and finally, 1.23: Maurice (fifty-fourth). When Bede says that Maurice was the fifty-fourth from Augustus, he is following standard Latin practice, including Augustus in the count. Orosius counted the same way. This is not what would normally be meant by ‘from Augustus’ today, so perhaps the phrase would be better translated as fifty-third from Augustus. Bede uses the same practice in numbering Anglo-Saxon bishops. In 2.18, for instance, he describes Honorius’s succession at Canterbury after the death of Justus and calls Honorius quintus ab Augustino. Even so, to avoid confusion, Bede’s numbers will be retained here, but henceforth rendered as ‘including Augustus’, rather than ‘from Augustus’. 6 Siemens, 2013, is a notable exception. 7 The Laterculus does not number the emperors, but it is easy to count those given in its list. 8 ‘Titus, segregatis a numero principum Othone et Vitellio, ab Augusto octauus’. 9 See O’Brien, 2017a, for a discussion of other possible transitions at W ­ earmouthJarrow that occurred during Hwætberht’s abbacy. 10 Lapidge, 2006: 221, gave more than twenty examples. 11 For the second example, not all manuscripts contain the reading supposedly derived from Orosius. 12 Later copyists did, adding various emperors to Bede’s list. 13 Even though the later work is a vast improvement on the MinC, which was justly criticised by Levison, 1935: 116, the MC is itself often confused and confusing: Harrison, 1976a: 76–77.

Gregory and the mission   79 14 They are only used in the Retractations on Acts, the Commentary on Genesis and implicitly in the HE. 15 This used to be considered an early work, but a consensus is emerging that at least in its final form, it was late: Dionsotti, 1982. There remains a case for seeing the text as an early composition that Bede continued to update, but certainly nothing argues against Gildas’s work being obtained later in Bede’s career. 16 ‘Gregorius, natione Romanus, ex patre Gordiano, sedit ann. XIII mens. VI dies X’. 17 ‘Hic requiescit Gregorius pp. qui sed. an. XIII mens. VI. d. X. Dp. IIII. Id. Mar. post cons. dom. n. focae aug. an. ii’. Bede had access to a sylloge of such Roman epitaphs, though one that has not survived: Sharpe, 2005; Lapidge, 2007. Both suggested that the origins of Bede’s version lay in Aldhelm’s trip to Rome, but it seems as likely, or more so, that Northumbrian visitors to the city had made or copied their own collections and that Bede had direct access to one of these in the Wearmouth-Jarrow library. 18 Surprisingly, Jones mistakenly claimed that Bede had the year of Phocas’s reign wrong: Jones, 1947: 162. As will be seen, it is with the incarnational year that Bede is in error. In fact, as Harrison, 1976a: 95, pointed out, Bede’s equation of events with imperial years is much more successful in the HE than the MC. 19 Not that ours is a complete version of the original Register. 20 Isidore, Chronica maiora, 406, and Isidore, Chronicon B (from Etymologies, 5.38–39), 260. 21 Scholars remain divided on this question as on many relating to this ‘biography’. The balance of evidence seems to me to favour Bede’s knowledge of – and disrespect for – the work. 22 Some recensions of the LP give an indictional date for the death of Gregory’s predecessor Pelagius II, but this, the fifth indiction, is inaccurate. The correct indiction would have been the seventh. Bede did not have this version, or he would have made different errors. 23 Although the main traditions of the LP did not give the year, it was added in some recensions. In these, the year was correctly given as the seventh indiction. Again, Bede’s version did not have this, or he would not have made the mistake he did. 24 The dating of the death to 605 AD, saying that Gregory died in the eighth indiction and placing his accession in the tenth year of Maurice (which works out to 591). 25 This was the solution posited by Jones, 1947: 161–63. He was inhibited by an overly dogmatic reliance on his theory that Bede’s chronological statements derived, without alteration, from his source. (Deliyannis, 2001, made the same assumption more recently in a different context.) Bede’s language about dating can often be an indication of his source, but he was not such a simplistic author as to permit us to treat the claim as universal. Once it is evident that he calculated at least the incarnational dates he uses – something even Jones accepted in several places (such as the date of Maurice’s accession) – then it is clear that Bede was capable of producing chronological statements in forms different to those in which he found them in his source. 26 As Jones, 1947: 161–63, recognised. 27 As Jones, 1947: 162, acknowledged. 28 Incidentally, in making this mistake, Bede was falling into the very trap he warned others of at DTR, 48, where he noted the risk that imperial years shared between emperors might result in problems with the calculations of the chronology. 29 ‘[A]nno VIII imperii Focatis principis, indictione XIII, tertio die Kalendarum Martiarum’. 30 This is a further sign that Bede was working from an actual copy of an original document in 2.4. Had he deduced the date himself, using his earlier calculation and claim, the figures for either Phocas or the indiction would be one different.

80  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent 31 See O’Brien, 2015, for a discussion of Bede’s use of the image of the Temple in his writings. 32 Bede used versions of the phrase later in the HE, such as when Cuthbert was diuino admonitus oraculo that the day of his death was approaching (HE 4.29), and also in his third Advent homily: Bede, Homiliae euangelii, 1.3. The phrase was also a favourite of Alcuin’s, no doubt thanks to Bede; probably thanks to both of them, it became a favourite of ninth-century Carolingian authors. 33 I am analysing Bede’s use of such phrases throughout the HE in separate work. 34 The HE wording is similar to that in the MC: ‘Idem missis Brittaniam Augustino, Mellito et Iohanne et aliis pluribus cum eis monachis timentibus deum ad Christum Anglos convertit’. Nonetheless, the HE text is closer to the LP version (on which the MC itself drew), and it is evident that Bede has returned to that source to borrow from it directly here. 35 The letter to the kings is dated 23 July; that to Brunhilde was probably written at the same time. 36 ‘Atque ideo pervenit ad nos Anglorum gentem ad fidem christianam Deo miserante desideranter velle converti, sed sacerdotes e vicino neglegere … Ob hoc igitur Augustinum servum Dei praesentium portitorem … cum aliis servis Dei illuc praevidimus dirigendum.’ This version is taken from the letter to the kings; that in the letter to Brunhilde is little more than a paraphrase. 37 ‘[V]t per eos ipsorum potuissemus voluntates addiscere et de deorum conversione vobis quoque adnitentibus, in quantum est possibile, cogitare. Quibus etiam iniunximus ut, ad agenda haec e vicino secum debeant presbyteros ducere.’ 38 ‘Acceperant autem, praecipiente beato papa Gregorio, de gente Francorum interpretes.’ 39 It is not an argument against Bede’s possessing the letters that he did not include them in his account, contra Trent Foley and Higham, 2009: 167 and C ­ ollins and McClure, 2008: 32. Nor is there any justice in the latter piece’s claim that there is no evidence that Bede knew the letters, when we have now seen that at least three otherwise difficult to explain aspects of his account make perfect sense if Nothelm had brought him one or both of the letters. 40 As noted in the Introduction, the content within curly brackets – {} – represents my summary of information omitted in some of the longer ellipses in the sections under consideration. This is not a quotation from Bede, simply an attempt to help the reader follow Bede’s narrative and thus the subsequent analysis. 41 See, for instance, its continued acceptance in full by Gameson, 1999a: 9–10. 42 This was first suggested by Higham, 1997: 76. The same conclusion was reached, without reference to Higham, by Collins and McClure, 2008: 24–26, as well as Dunn, 2009: 51, and Amos, 2012: 17–18. 43 As underlined in the Introduction, this phrasing should not be taken to indicate that these two visits were Nothelm’s first and second trips ever to ­Wearmouth-Jarrow; rather, this language is a reference to Bede’s own description in the Preface of Nothelm’s visits to Northumbria providing material for inclusion in the HE. 44 References to the letter number in Martyn, 2004 (M) are only given where they differ from those in the MGH edition (R). 45 As opposed to the quoted source and the simply stylistic points or tangential material added for introductory context, which were again aimed at rhetorical effect. 46 Contra Martyn, Letters, 1.55, who claimed that Bede had ‘falsified the record’. 47 The VG, assuming Bede knew it, would have been a further source that ­Æthelberht was the king of Kent at the time of Augustine’s arrival. 48 ‘[R]ex non solum Marcersium sed et omnium provinciarum quæ generale nomine Sutangli dicuntur’. Other charters of Æthelbald with a similar usage include: S94, S101 and S103. See also, Wormald, 2006a: 125, n. 32.

Gregory and the mission   81 49 As suggested, for instance, by the shifting position of Lindsey in the seventh century: Yorke, 2009a: 84 and n. 12. See also Kirby, 2000a: 18–19. 50 The following discussion summarises the evidence, argument and conclusions of Shaw, 2016c: 412–34. 51 These were apparently units of fiscal liability amounting, by about 700 at least, to the land of one family. On hides, see, for instance, Campbell, 2009: 54–62. 52 There are eight examples in this group: 3.24 – Oswiu’s gifts of twelve estates and later of land to Hild (two examples); 3.25 – the gift of Ripon to Wilfrid; 4.3 – gift of land to Chad; 4.13 – Gift of Selsey to Wilfrid; 4.23[21] – gift of land for Hild’s first monastic establishment; and 5.19 –alternative description of Alhfrith’s gift of Ripon to Wilfrid (two examples). 53 This term is hopefully ambiguous enough to cover the spectrum of possibilities from taxation to a more traditionally ‘barbaric’ interpretation. 54 There are nine in this group: 1.25 – Thanet; 2.9 – Anglesey; 2.9 – Isle of Man; 3.4 – Iona; 3.24 – Southern Mercia; 3.24 – Northern Mercia; 4.13 – Sussex; 4.16[14] – Isle of Wight; and 4.19[17] – Ely. 55 On the Tribal Hidage, see, for instance, Dumville, 1989; Corbett, 1900; Hart, 1971; Davies and Vierck, 1974; Higham, 2000. 56 In that context, it is worth recalling that, despite their range, none of the references fall within ‘Northumbria’. 57 This is especially obvious for those outside the ‘English’ kingdoms: the islands of Anglesey, Man, and Iona. 58 Ian Wood has made a strong case for the role of Jarrow as a house designed by Ecgfrith for his own benefit, including as a treasury and archive: Wood, 2008a, b, 2010a. See also Grocock and Wood, 2013: xxv–xxxii and lix–lxi. 59 He calls him ‘totius Britanniae imperator’, in Life of Columba, 1.1. 60 Many of Bede’s connections, whether scientific or broader, were on or near the North Sea coast. Campbell, 2010: 34, noted that at least twenty-six of Bede’s historical or hagiographical accounts are located in this geographical location. Material finds suggest an east coast trade network: Cessford, 1999: 158. 61 The following discussion summarises that presented at greater length in Shaw, 2015. 62 For instance, in material taken from the Pseudo-Clementine Recognitiones in HE 2.4 or from his own De locis sanctis in HE 5.16 and 5.17. 63 For instance, in VCP, 7, referring to material taken from AnonVC, 2.2; or in ­Bede’s Commentary on the Song of Songs, in relation to information from Pliny’s Natural History: Stancliffe, 1999: 147, n. 119. 64 For instance, in the Letter to Ecgberht, 14, when Bede says that, as the ­p eople say (sicut uulgo fertur), bishops claim that only they have authority over monasteries. 65 Thirteen of the times he uses a word or phrase such as fertur in the HE, it relates to a number in one form or other. In total, Bede employs such qualifying language on fifty-six occasions in the work. 66 ‘[A]eterna in caelis gaudia, et regnum sine fine cum Deo uiuo et uero futurum’. 67 Some would prefer to see Eadbald’s marriage as having been to a different wife of Æthelberht (for instance, Nelson, 2004; MacCarron, 2017), but there is no evidence for that. If the story of the marriage to the stepmother is to be taken seriously, then, it needs to be taken in toto, despite how difficult it might seem. There is nothing inherently less probable about this tale than about Æthelbald of Wessex marrying Judith, his father’s widow, a century and a half later. Nor, self-evidently, need there be anything essentially ‘pagan’ in the action, despite the protestations of Bede and modern historians. 68 Gregory of Tours mentions that Ingoberga’s daughter with King Charibert had married the son of a certain king of Kent: Gregory, Histories, 4.26; 9.26. He

82  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent does not, however, mention the name of the daughter, of the Kentish king, or of his son. The identification of this figure with Bertha, while probable, is still an assumption working with Bede’s account as a premise. Although Bede possessed Gregory’s Histories, he is unlikely to have used them to deduce Bertha’s ­origins. The knowledge of this work that Bede evinces does not suggest that he had read it thoroughly enough to make this kind of inference, especially as Gregory does not give Bertha’s name. Bede’s reading may have been primarily aimed at immersing himself in examples of the ecclesio-historical genre. On Bertha and Gregory, see the discussion in Dailey, 2015: 36–38. 69 There are hints, which there is no space to explore here, that Bede did not have a wholly positive view of Bertha and thus that the omission may have been on more personal grounds. 70 It is present in one version of the Libellus Responsionum but not the one Bede quoted. 71 The latter is a deduction, taking this letter together with that to the king. 72 Whether he – or Bertha, for that matter – was genuinely buried in the tomb is quite another question. 73 Liudhard’s epitaph would not, of course, have been contemporary because his tomb was in Ss Peter and Paul’s church, which was only dedicated by Laurence (1.33). 74 The phrase about the precondition for Bertha’s marriage (the continued practice of her faith) need not be read as any more than a pious presumption by Bede – and perhaps an extrapolation from the remarkably similar story of Paulinus’s arrival in Northumbria and Edwin’s court with Æthelburh in 2.9. 75 Wallace-Hadrill, 1988: 33, accepted the event without giving it any real consideration. In contrast, some would still seek to argue for its historicity: for instance, Higham, 2006: 235, n. 169 – despite criticising others for taking the story on trust. 76 This is not to deny the apparent respect the HE gives to Æthelfrith (1.34), but there is nothing about the paganism of that king that Bede admires. Furthermore, it is difficult to judge the pressures Bede may have been under in presenting an account of the famous ancestor of the king to whom the HE was dedicated. 77 In HA, 14, Bede quotes from the psalm he says was being sung as Benedict ­Biscop lay on his deathbed. He draws attention to how fitting the text was for the moment. There is a strong argument, however, that he created this suitability himself by giving the psalm from the wrong day: Wood, 1995: 11. Cuthbert’s Letter on the Death of Bede strikes me as probably guilty of many such convenient inventions. 78 There is a discussion of Bede’s broader treatment of this passage in the Commentary on Acts in Olsen, 1982. 79 The importance of Bede’s exegetical and eschatological priorities is stressed in Darby, 2012. 80 ‘[H]anc debet conuersationem instituere, quae initio nascentis ecclesiae fuit patribus nostris; in quibus nullus eorum ex his, quae possidebant, aliquid suum esse dicebat, sed erant eis omnia communia.’ 81 Given that the Libellus was not composed before 601, Bede’s ordering of events is slightly out of synch, but this is a small crime on his behalf. Other minor inconsistencies in Bede’s story will be discussed later. 82 Bede makes very similar use of the Libellus in 4.27 to praise the arrangements of Aidan as bishop, but there, he is more direct, making specific reference to ­Gregory’s letter and even including the key quotation. 83 Sharpe stressed that the textual history of these surviving booklets is sufficiently complex to show that many more must originally have existed: for instance, the

Gregory and the mission   83 Roman sylloge that Bede used does not survive, although several of the Roman inscription texts he drew on from it are found in other sylloges that have. 84 Others were on the altar itself; a Roman example is recorded in LP: 309–10, n. 3. The portable altar from Cuthbert’s tomb is another example. 85 Bede’s poem for Hexham may have been in a porticus: Higgitt, 1979: 351. 86 This is the most likely explanation for Bede’s view, in 2.3, that Mellitus and Justus were consecrated in 604. 87 ‘Augustinus … recuperauit … ecclesiam, quam inibi antiquo Romanorum fidelium opere factam fuisse didicerat’. 88 Ss Peter and Paul (1.33) and the ‘cathedral’ (1.33). 89 St Paul’s, London (2.3), Rochester (2.3 and 3.14), St Martin’s (1.26), St Mary (2.6) and Ss Peter and Paul (1.33). 90 The probable basis for what Bede says about the consecration of bishops to St Paul’s (2.3) and probably Rochester (2.3). 91 This is the case in every example, although here, Bede’s knowledge need not have derived from any written source at all. While this information would probably be found on the dedication stones, it would be ‘known’ in Bede’s time because the churches were still in use. 92 St Martin’s (1.26), Ss Peter and Paul (1.33), the ‘cathedral’ (1.33) and Rochester (3.14). 93 ‘[Chi-Rho] DEDICATIO BASILICAE SANCTI PAVLI VIIII KALENDAS MAI ANNO XV ECFRIDI REGIS CEOLFRIDI ABBATIS EIVSDEM Q QUE ECCLESIAE DEO AVCTORE CONDITORIS ANNO IIII [The dedication of the church of St Paul (was) on 23 April in the 15th year of King Ecfrid and the 4th year of Ceolfrid the Abbot and, under God’s guidance, founder of this same church]’. Okasha, 1971: 85. Expansions of abbreviations underlined. 94 This dates from 1055–65. 95 This was probably part of a dedicatory inscription, though whether it was ‘original’ (that is, from c.600 – although if it was, it is no longer in its original place), it is not possible to say. Another alternative is that the surviving inscription came from an altar rather than the church itself: Routledge, 1901: 56. 96 For instance, Liber Diurnus: 10–11 (no. 11); 11 (no. 13); 19 (no. 27). 97 See, for example, the dedication inscriptions recorded in LP: 306, n. 2; 310, n. 5; 324–25, n. 2; 325, n. 8; 326, n. 16; 330, n. 3; 334, n. 9. 98 Thus, there are no dates either in Aldhelm’s Carmina ecclesiastica or Bede’s own similar poems for churches. 99 The full inscription is found in Le Blant, 1856: 1.181–82. 100 Higgitt, 1979: 370. The Spanish aera year date is also given. The full inscription is found in Vives, 1969: 102. 101 The topographies sometimes noted this information as well: for instance, stating that Honorius reparavit a church: quoted in LP: 326, n. 16. 102 In a similar way, the LP describes Pelagius II building a basilica over the body of St Laurence a fundamento, but he was really restoring and embellishing an earlier building. The phrase a fundamentis is also used twice in an early ninth-century letter of Archbishop Leidrade to Charlemagne, describing two separate acts of restoration work to churches in Lyon: quoted in Montfalcon, 1851: 1.299–301, n. 1. 103 Perhaps, but not necessarily, the fragment that survives of a dedication inscription from St Martin’s is all that remains of this. 104 With Bertha as dedicator, the choice of St Martin would make perfect sense: Wood, 1999: 72. 105 Liudhard’s historical association with St Martin’s is implied by the discovery of the Liudhard medalet in the environs of the church: Grierson, 1953; Werner, 1994.

84  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent 106 ‘[N]ec prohibemus, quin omnes, quos potestis, fidei uestrae religionis praedicando societis.’ 107 For example, Brooks, 1984: 17–20. Not that this is an impossible idea in itself or one for which there is not separate evidence. It is just that Bede’s statement is not more. 108 Bede is not clear under whose patronage this last example was built; it might have been Eadbald’s. 109 Brooks, 1984: 100–107, discusses the probable extent of some of these early donations. Bede makes only the most generic statements about Canterbury’s endowment, and there is no reason to believe he was aware of any details concerning them. 110 Gregory, Letters, 6.44, to Abbot Bona, from July 596, gives a good example of what Augustine and his companions would have expected even a small religious house to receive as an endowment necessary for its sustainability. 111 Once more, this does not mean it was not true; it simply means that Bede’s account is not based on sources providing contemporary testimony to the events. 112 Wallace-Hadrill, 1988: 37. Plummer, 2.44, noted that Bede contradicts this statement later, saying, in 2.5, that some had converted out of fear of the king. 113 ‘[Q]uae uictui sunt uestro necessaria’. 114 ‘[C]um administratione uictus’. 115 His temporibus is another example, usually meaning that while Bede could not precisely date the events he has just described, he does have a specific date for what follows. 116 The description of the extent of Augustine’s episcopate as over the gens ­Anglorum should be considered a Bedan assumption. Gregory, in both the Libellus Responsionum, quoted later in 1.27, and in his letter, quoted in 1.29, seems to have intended Augustine’s authority to be broader yet, including all the bishops in Britain. 117 The LP has a different story, claiming he was consecrated in Rome by the pope. 118 Bede had reason to believe that Wine had been consecrated in Gaul as well (3.7), but he does not seem to have known where. 119 Although natural, such an inference is not inevitable. It is plausible that ­Augustine might have been consecrated in Arles but by the bishop of Lyon. Wilfrid was apparently consecrated in the diocese of Soissons by the bishop of Paris: HE 3.28. 120 The assumption follows the figure given in Bede’s recapitulatio from 5.24. Logistically speaking, spring 597 may be the most likely date, but autumn 596 is not impossible. Moreover, it should be emphasised that even if 597 were the right year, the recapitulatio is not evidence for it. The year given there represents no more than Bede’s own deduction, based on less evidence than we possess. 121 Bede’s claim that Augustine’s consecration occurred with Gregory’s permission was probably also merely a statement of – to him, at least – the apparently obvious. There is, nonetheless, textual support for Bede’s view in Gregory’s letter to Eulogius. This says, ‘with my permission he [Augustine, who is not named in the letter] was elected bishop by the bishops of Germany (Qui data a me licentia a Germaniarum episcopis episcopus factus)’. Gregory, Letters, 8.29. There is good reason, however, to believe that Bede did not possess this letter. 122 Incidentally, none of these gave any direct indication of when or where ­Augustine’s consecration had occurred. From the surviving letters, it is clear that Gregory acceded to Brunhilde’s request to bestow the pallium on one of her favourites, Syagrius of Autun, because of the support and help he had given Augustine and the mission. Some have speculated that this should be taken as a sign that Syagrius played a role in Augustine’s consecration (for instance,

Gregory and the mission   85

1 23 124

125 126

127 1 28 1 29 130

131 132 133 1 34 135

136 137 138

Pietri, 1991: 116–17). But what is odd is that the latter event is not mentioned in the letter or at any other stage. Indeed, it should be acknowledged that the complete absence of any mention of a request to consecrate Augustine, or thanks for doing so, in Gregory’s letters to Frankish prelates or royalty remains a more telling difficulty than those proposing consecration en route generally acknowledge. Contra Martyn, 2004: 1.55. In the latter piece, Meyvaert, rather unexpectedly, suggested that Bede had two different versions of the Libellus: Meyvaert, 1971: 30–31. Flechner, 2012: 55, n. 55, made the same claim. There is, however, no evidence for this and much against, as Meyvaert himself essentially accepted. All the circumstantial evidence points rather to the letter to Bertha as Bede’s source here. Indeed, as will shortly be seen, Bede’s language categorically shows that he did not possess the preface to the Libellus. That he does give the complete text he possessed is stated in terms in 2.1 (totum ipsum libellum). While the traditional place to begin studies of the Libellus has been the work of Paul Meyvaert – it was Meyvaert, for instance, who first showed that the ­­Libellus had reached Bede in canonical collections – a more up-to-date discussion of the text and its presence in early canon law collections, which supersedes, and in important ways corrects, Meyvaert’s conclusions, is Elliot, 2014. One of Elliot’s key contributions was to show categorically that the ‘Capitula’ version is the earliest extant version of the Libellus, not the ‘Letter’ version as Meyvaert argued. That is the one known as the ‘Q and A’ version: Meyvaert, 1971: 23. The text of the preface can be found, for instance, in Milan Ambr. S. 33. sup., fol. 276v. As claimed, without evidence, by Flechner, 2012: 55. In the same way, while Plummer, 2.45, suggested that Bede’s copy was the one preserved at Canterbury, the corruptions in the text show that even if his version did come from Canterbury, which is again unlikely, it was not the ‘original’ version but one that had been obtained later, following a period of continental transmission. ‘Augustinus eos qui secum sunt ad hoc opus exequendum per diversa loca asserat non posse sufficere’. ‘[A]liquantos ad eum monachos cum dilectissimis et communibus filiis Laurentio presbytero et Mellito abbate praevidimus transmittendos.’ ‘[Q]uod illos qui secum sunt sufficere sibi dicit non posse’. For instance, Gregory, Letters, 11.41, quoted above. It can only really be inferred that he was genuinely ‘new’ thanks to the letter to Bertha, which mentions just Laurence and Peter as those who had come back to Rome. This is scarcely the strongest piece of evidence, but perhaps Bede, possessing the letter, made the same deduction, which reinforced his assumption based on the letter to Mellitus from 1.30. There is no reason to believe this source had any good information about the earlier period. As Emms, 1999: 410, put it, ‘the historical tradition embodied in … [Elmham’s] work misleads more often than helps us’. The LP’s account was followed essentially verbatim both by Bede in the MC in the DTR and by the VG. Based on the placement of the story of his death in 1.33, though such ordering is not a certain indication of Bede’s view of comparative chronology. Peter’s subscription at the Paris Council of 614 shows that he must have lived at least until then.

86  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent 139 Not that Bede’s statements about the precise journeys of Biscop on which specific items were brought should necessarily be accepted uncritically. 140 Though not usually without caveats: Marsden, 1999, and Gameson, 1999b. 141 The beginnings of the campaign to raise York to an archbishopric in the late 720s and early 730s are perhaps most plausibly explained as a consequence of the arrival of the letter in England and an awareness of the information about Gregory’s original plan included within it. 142 There are other signs in the MC that the papal letters had arrived by the time Bede was writing. One telling point is the MC’s description of Edwin as excellentissimus, a term that is copied from Pope Honorius’s letter to the king: HE 2.17. 143 I am undertaking this work separately. 144 Although evidently by 604, things had changed. 145 He included these in 1.28, 1.29, 1.31 (though in abbreviating this letter, Bede has omitted the dating clause) and 1.32. 146 ‘Post discessum congregationis nostrae, quae tecum est.’ 147 Augustine’s epitaph (2.3) and the first story of his meeting with the British ­clerics (2.2). 148 This seems to have been Gregory’s gift of choice; for instance, Gregory, Letters, 1.29, 7.23, 11.43. 149 Not that this chapter number need have been the same, of course. 150 See O’Brien, 2017b, for a recent discussion of Bede’s attitudes to kings and kingship in his writings. 151 These deductions could theoretically have been made first by Albinus and then passed on to Bede as fact. 152 After Peter, no one is named as abbot in the HE until Hadrian. The HA states that Benedict Biscop was Hadrian’s immediate predecessor, but this detail would have been based on Wearmouth-Jarrow traditions, rather than ­Canterbury information. 153 The only Gregorian letters to mention Peter – the preface to a textual version of the Libellus that Bede did not have and the letter to Bertha, which he probably did – do not call him abbot. The letter to Bertha describes him as ‘my monk’ (noster monachos). If he was the first abbot of Ss Peter and Paul’s, it had not been founded yet. 154 Not Dover, as Wood, 1983: 25, n. 105, thought. 155 De Clercq, 1989: 2.524. 156 The ‘Mildrith Legend’ includes a similar story: Rollason, 1982: 70.

3 The mission fathers HE 2.1–11 and 15–20

2.1 – ‘About the death of Pope St Gregory’. This chapter also includes an ­account of the pope’s life and ends with the story of his encounter with the Angli slave boys, which is credited, ultimately, with inspiring Gregory to send the mission to England. His temporibus, id est anno dominicae incarnationis DCV, beatus papa Gregorius, postquam sedem Romanae et apostolicae ecclesiae XIII annos, menses VI, et dies X gloriosissime rexit, defunctus est, atque ad aeternam regni caelestis sedem translatus. [At that time, that is in the year of our Lord 605, Pope St Gregory, after he reigned most gloriously over the Roman ‘seat’ and the apostolic church for thirteen years, six months, and ten days, died and was borne to the eternal ‘seat’ of the heavenly kingdom.] The sources of this statement and the various other references Bede makes to the dates of Gregory’s accession, length of pontificate and death were discussed in 1.23. In summary, Bede’s calculation of the incarnational date for the pope’s death, which has led him into error, is based on information from his own MC in the DTR. Bede knew the length of Gregory’s pontificate thanks to the information about the pope in the LP as well as from the details at the end of his epitaph. De quo nos conuenit, quia nostram, id est Anglorum, gentem de potestate Satanae ad fidem Christi sua industria conuertit, latiorem in nostra historia ecclesiastica facere sermonem. … nam signaculum apostolatus eius nos sumus in Domino. [It is fitting that we, the people of the English, converted by his industry from the power of Satan to the faith of Christ, include a fuller section on him in our Ecclesiastical History. … ‘for we are the seal of his apostleship in the Lord’.] This ‘purple’ passage is not based on any source. Rather, the section is Bede’s justification for interrupting the narrative of the HE with an entire chapter in praise of Gregory. This is Bede’s expression of his own deeply held views about the Providential purposes of the English conversion

88  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent (Wallace-Hadrill, 1988: 49). As noted previously, he takes the opportunity to associate the form of the English mission with the model of the early Church through the judicious use of biblical quotations, as here from Acts 26.18 and 1 Corinthians 9.2. As such, the content of this passage is Bede’s own creation and design, written in a rhetorical manner, intended to paint the ‘apostle of the English’ in the best possible light while expressing Bede’s own personal sense of gratitude and appealing to his countrymen and readers to recognise their own debt to the pope.1 Erat autem natione Romanus … Nam mercedem operum iam sine fine tenes. [He was of Roman nation … {Bede traces the life of Gregory as reconstructed from the pope’s own writings and the LP; he ends by inserting the poetic epitaph in full} … For you already hold without end the reward for your work.] Most of the rest of the chapter is brilliantly woven together from various bit of biographical information drawn from Gregory’s works, mingled with information from the LP and his epitaph, the poetic part of which Bede quotes in full. This assemblage is bound together by his rhetorical expressions and infused by his desire to praise the pope. The resulting product is much more than the sum of its parts and is one of the most impressive passages of the entire HE, showcasing ‘Bede’s view of the ideal episcopal career’ and thus providing a model for ecclesiastics of his own day (Wallace-Hadrill, 1988: 48). Nonetheless, because the content of this section does not refer directly to the Gregorian mission, or make use of evidence derived from Bede’s Kentish sources, there is no reason to provide a detailed breakdown of what lies behind each of his statements in this passage, though such a task would not be complicated. Even so, it should be emphasised that this section represents further evidence of the view to which we have been frequently led throughout this analysis: one of the most marked aspects of Bede’s genius was his ability to create a convincing story from mere scraps of evidence, setting out a narrative that reads like a source itself (Thacker, 2010: 188). Noteworthy too is the complete absence in his account of English traditions about Gregory the Great.2 Canterbury has been able to pass on nothing from the memories of the ‘mission fathers’ about their mentor. Knowledge of Gregory’s works in Anglo-Saxon England in c.700 far superseded knowledge of Gregory.3 This is another sign, in line with others seen earlier, that continuous Kentish tradition about Gregory and the mission had disappeared. Nec silentio praetereunda opinio, quae de beato Gregorio traditione maiorum ad nos usque perlata est; … Haec iuxta opinionem, quam ab antiquis accepimus, historiae nostrae ecclesiasticae inserere oportunum duximus. [Nor should we pass over in silence the tale about St Gregory which has reached us as a tradition of our forefathers. … {Bede relates how prior

The mission fathers  89 to becoming pope, Gregory met some English slaveboys in the Roman market. Following a conversation, involving a series of puns on their place of origin, king, etc., Gregory decides on the conversion of that people, though he is unable to carry out the task himself} … We have considered it fitting to insert this story, which we have received from our ancestors, into our Ecclesiastical History.] This is the famous tale of Gregory and the English slaves who are said to have inspired the future pope with the idea of a mission to England. After the careful crafting of the rest of the chapter, this odd story, which Bede both begins and ends by qualifying, reads like something of a last-minute, halfhearted addition. Indeed, Bede’s discomfort with the material is signalled by the frequency of the caveats he includes in this section.4 Bede’s use of caveats and what this reveals about the nature of his sources, and how he conceived of their reliability, have already been discussed. Of all those instances, this seems to be the one that made him the most uncomfortable. Given how ­coherent – this passage aside – the rest of the chapter is, it seems likely that this story represents precisely what it looks like: an addendum to Bede’s original material rather than the earlier content of his ‘first draft’ of the HE.5 But from where did Bede obtain the story? A slightly different version had already appeared in the VG, which he arguably knew – though he may just have had access to some of the materials on which it was based. If it is derived from the VG’s story, then Bede has tidied up the narrative, though in doing so, he needed nothing but his own intelligence and rhetorical instincts, not a separate source. His use of caveats, such as those employed here, does not mean his source was not a written one. Indeed, this remains likely, even if his direct source was not the VG (Wallace-Hadrill, 1988: 52). Alan Thacker has made a persuasive case for believing that this story about Gregory emanated from Rome, where it was concocted in the midto late seventh century (Thacker, 1998: 59–84). From there, it was brought to England during the episcopate of Theodore, or perhaps later, reaching Northumbria by at least c.700, where it was presumably embroidered to enhance the links to Deira.6 Theodore seems to have made a significant and successful effort to promote Gregory the Great’s cult among the English (Thacker, 1998, 1999: 380–81). Therefore, this tradition – even if mediated through the VG – formed the basis for Bede’s account. In either case, it is apparent that he was not drawing on a source contemporary with events for his description.

What Bede had

- - - -

Bede’s own MC from the DTR LP Gregory’s full epitaph Bible

90  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent - Writings of Gregory the Great: Moralia on Job, Dialogues, Pastoral Care, Homilies on the Gospels, Homilies on Ezechiel, Libellus synodicus and Libellus Responsionum - Life of Gregory or stories in written form used by that work. 2.2 – ‘How Augustine warned the bishops of the British on the subject of Catholic peace and how he also performed a heavenly miracle in their presence; and about the punishment which came upon them because they spurned him’. The chapter includes accounts of two meetings between Augustine and the British and ends with a description of Æthelfrith’s victory at the later battle of Chester. Interea [Meanwhile] As noted previously, Bede’s use of the word interea consistently displays his lack of a precise date for the story that followed. Furthermore, it suggests that he is not clear even whether the story came before or after the events in the surrounding chapters. He is placing the content where he thinks makes most narrative sense and disguising his ignorance through the rhetorical use of interea. This stage provides an opportunity to pause before proceeding to the analysis below. In order to help navigate this chapter’s complex narrative, it is worth starting with a somewhat more detailed summary of its contents. In short, 2.2 comprises three interlinked stories in the HE. The first two are accounts of meetings between Augustine and British clerics.7 The shorter first story focuses on Augustine and includes his cure of a blind man, ending with the British on the verge of accepting his authority. The longer and more detailed second story focuses on the British: following the advice of a Welsh hermit, they reject Augustine at a second meeting after he does not stand up to greet them. Augustine then threatens them with dire consequences for their recalcitrance. This threat links the first two stories in the chapter with the third, which describes, again in striking detail, a great British military disaster at the hands of King Æthelfrith of ‘Northumbria’. At this battle, many monks from the monastery involved in the earlier meetings with Augustine were killed, and so Augustine’s prophecy was apparently fulfilled. With this summary in mind, it is now possible to examine Bede’s sources for these stories in more detail. Augustinus adiutorio usus Aedilbercti regis conuocauit ad suum colloquium episcopos siue doctores proximae Brettonum prouinciae in loco, ubi usque hodie lingua Anglorum Augustinaes Ác, id est robur Augustini, in confinio Huicciorum et Occidentalium Saxonum appellatur; coepitque eis fraterna admonitione suadere, ut pace catholica secum habita communem euangelizandi gentibus pro Domino laborem susciperent. … Nec mora, inluminatur caecus, ac uerus summae lucis praeco ab omnibus praedicatur Augustinus. [Augustine, making use of the help of King Æthelberht, called together the bishops and teachers of the neighbouring British kingdom to meet him at a place on the border of the Hwicce and the West Saxons which even today is called in English Augustinæs Ac, that is Augustine’s Oak. He began to urge them with brotherly admonition, that, preserving Catholic peace with him, they would undertake the joint labour of evangelising the heathen for the Lord. … {The British refuse, and Augustine suggests the matter be settled by a trial of spiritual strength. While the British are unable to cure the blind man brought forward, Augustine is successful.} … Without delay, the blind man was illuminated and Augustine was said by all to be a true herald of the heavenly light.] This tale of the first meeting with the British and the miracle that Augustine performed is the first of the three stories in this chapter; it has no surviving source. The account is interrupted by a short excursus on the British party’s paschal errors and contains one or two extra details that Bede may have ­embedded into the narrative,8 but otherwise, it represents a single, distinct tale. Although the context is the council, this is a miracle story. There is no sign that Bede knew about the meeting from one source and about the ­m iracle at the meeting from another. He briefly details the ‘debate’ before moving on to the exhibition of virtue that proves Augustine to be in the right. As a result, this section represents a single, coherent story, focusing in a laudatory way on the early mission fathers and almost certainly deriving from Canterbury. In this, it follows the pattern of other similar tales examined earlier. The rest of the characteristics of those earlier narrattives are seen here as well. Like them, this is, as the miracle shows, a hagiographic account; as with the others, the lack of any detail in this story points, if not to strict anachronism, then at least to distance from the events in question. The nature of the miracle strengthens this sense because, as in the account of abbot Peter in 1.33, it could hardly be more of a topos. Ian Wood noted how similar this work of healing was in both content and context to one credited to St Germanus that Bede had inserted earlier in the HE (1.18). As a result, Wood proposed that Bede himself invented this miracle of Augustine (Wood, 2000a: 166–68). There is a strong parallel with Germanus’s miracle, and there are even better ones in other hagiography.9 But there is no reason to accuse Bede of such uncharacteristic invention. As has been argued previously, he does not make up events, though he is willing to manipulate the way a story is told to serve his agenda or suit his narrative. Nevertheless, the

92  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent parallels and the tale’s formulaic nature do suggest that, as for the story of Peter, Bede’s source for his account was composed considerably later than the events in question. Of course, the fact that ‘Augustine’ is an element in the name given for the meeting’s location points in the same direction. Thus, it is evident that now, for at least the third quite distinct time, Bede is telling a short story that apparently came from a hagiographic narrative source of Canterbury provenance concerning the early ‘mission fathers’, but which was composed significantly after the events in question. Evidence for a body of such stories is beginning to accumulate: more such tales are to come. Even though Bede was working from a source for this story, he included his own rhetorical devices in its telling. Since his source has not survived, this makes it difficult to tell how independent the phrasing is in the HE’s account. The direct speech seems to be Bede’s own composition. Charles Plummer noted that Augustine’s speech included a favourite Bedan biblical text from the Psalms (Ps. 67.7; Plummer, 2.74).10 The description of Augustine as ‘true herald’ (uerus praeco) picks up on something Bede had said in 1.22 (Stancliffe, 1999: 147, n. 106). There, in concluding his section on post-Roman Britain, Bede gave advanced notice that following the refusal of the British to preach the faith to the English, God had appointed for the latter other, better ‘heralds of the truth’ (praecones ueritatis). Non enim paschae diem dominicum suo tempore, sed a XIIII usque ad XX lunam obseruabant; quae computatio LXXXIIII annorum circulo continetur. Sed et alia plurima unitati ecclesiasticae contraria faciebant. [For they did not observe Easter Sunday at the proper time, but from the fourteenth to the twentieth day of the lunar month; this computation comes from an 84-year cycle. But they were also doing several other things contrary to the unity of the Church.] This parenthetical statement about the precise nature of the British failings is based on Bede’s own knowledge and is quite separate from the rest of the story into which it is inserted. Computus was one of Bede’s specialities and emphasis on the subject is found throughout his corpus. His continuing annoyance at what he saw as British intransigence on this issue, which had continued even into his own day and would take another half-century to begin to shake, is well known. Bede does not mention, assuming he knew, that following contemporary Roman practice, Augustine himself would not have been keeping the ‘proper’ Easter at that time either. Or, to put it another way, Augustine would not have been keeping Easter according to the precise rules Bede advocated. Rome was still using the Victorian tables in c.600, and Augustine would have followed that practice (Harrison, 1976a: 58–62). At this stage, Bede does not mention what the alia issues were, preferring to leave that for Augustine to state later in the chapter.

The mission fathers  93 Tum Brettones confitentur quidem intellexisse se ueram esse uiam iustitiae, quam praedicaret Augustinus; sed non se posse absque suorum consensu ac licentia priscis abdicare moribus. Unde postulabant, ut secundo synodus pluribus aduenientibus fieret. [Then the Britons confessed that they understood that it was the true way of justice which Augustine preached; but they could not disown their ancient customs without the consent and permission of their own people. Thus, they asked that a second synod be held with more people coming.] Conceivably, at least the first part of this statement comes from the same source as the rest of the synod/miracle story. Despite the reality of failure in this case, hagiographers often struggled to separate the actual result of the miracle from what they considered the logical, sensible reaction.11 The second part of the statement, however, which links the first meeting of Augustine and the British with the second council, which Bede is about to describe, is his own addition. He is connecting the two ‘synod’ stories, for which he has different sources. To Bede, it seemed evident that the accounts were linked and should be placed consecutively. The only question was the order. Neither has any indication of dating, but because the one discussed above ended positively for the ‘Roman’ side, and the other ended negatively, it made sense for Bede to place the latter story after the ‘Canterbury tale’. The situation in Bede’s own time was enough to show him that whatever negotiations there had been must have ended with the British rejecting the ‘Romans’. Quod cum esset statutum, uenerunt, ut perhibent, VII Brettonum episcopi et plures uiri doctissimi, maxime de nobilissimo eorum monasterio, quod uocatur lingua Anglorum Bancornaburg … Fecerunt, ut dixerat. Factumque est, ut uenientibus illis sederet Augustinus in sella. Quod illi uidentes mox in iram conuersi sunt, eumque notantes superbiae, cunctis, quae dicebat, contradicere laborabant. [When this had been decided upon, it is said that seven British bishops and many learned men came, chiefly from their most famous monastery which in English is called Bancornaburg (Bangor Iscoed). … {Before going to the ‘synod’, the British party met a hermit who advised them to arrive second at the meeting and to follow Augustine if he rose to greet them, but to despise him if he did not} … They did as he (the hermit) had said. As they came in, Augustine remained in his chair. Seeing this, they immediately turned to anger, and, charging him with pride, tried to contradict everything he said.] Here begins the second of the three stories in the chapter: the second ‘synod’ narrative. This story and the next one – about the British defeat at the battle of Chester and the massacre of monks there – while very similar to one another, are quite different from the first story, which was considered earlier, in terms of both content and tone. The shift from the narrative of the first

94  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent tale – the generic account of Augustine’s miracle and apparent success – to the markedly detail-laden second and third stories is a noticeable ­stylistic change. There is general acceptance that Bede’s source for the ­second and third stories was the same (Charles-Edwards, in the appendix to ­Wallace-Hadrill, 1988: 218; Stancliffe, 1999: 127). As a result, it makes sense to deal with both tales here, together with the question of what that common source was.12 There has been significant debate about the nature of this source, although there is apparent consensus that British materials must be involved on some level at least. Thomas Charles-Edwards best set out the case for an early seventh-century Canterbury document relying on British information (Wallace-Hadrill, 1988: 218–19). Clare Stancliffe’s arguments that the text Bede was using was a British source written later in the century are, however, more persuasive, answering Charles-Edwards’s linguistic objections and developing a comprehensive case that deals with all the oddities in the narrative (Stancliffe, 1999: 125–29).13 Such a conclusion is in many ways the obvious one from reading Bede’s account. The level of detail concerning specifically British individuals and institutions makes it very difficult to believe that Bede’s source can have been anything other than a written one of British origins. The underlying negative tone towards Augustine and the English is further evidence. The very frequency of the caveats through which Bede qualifies his account points to his discomfort at borrowing material from the schismatic British.14 His dislike and distrust of the British in both secular and religious terms would be a natural basis for these signals to his readers to treat the material derived therefrom with caution. Thus, Bede can be seen to have used a British written source as the basis for his account. He possessed so few channels of information about Augustine that he had no real choice but to include whatever he had (­ McCready, 1994: 211). Bede attempted to tone down and counteract the original pro-British and anti-Augustinian tone. Some terms seem explicitly added to reassure the reader about which side Bede is on: for instance, the description of the British as both perfidi and, separately, as a gens perfida, while calling their army a nefanda militia. Even so, he has not been able to remove entirely the original perspective of the text he was working from, as it was so integral to the narrative. The underlying antagonism to Augustine has not been completely eliminated. Indeed, the Welsh hermit whose advice apparently led to the British refusal to accept Augustine’s authority is still praised as sanctus ac prudens! This is quite revealing about the way Bede worked and what he was and was not capable of as a narrator. For all Bede’s genius in combining information from a variety of sources to create a narrative that went well beyond the sum of its parts (Markus, 1975: 7), he struggled to do more than merely paraphrase when faced with only a single source for an event. Walter Goffart noted something similar about the nature of Bede’s authorship more generally (Goffart, 1988: 249).

The mission fathers  95 The same point could be made about his revision of the Passion of Anastasius. Bede described the earlier version as ‘badly translated from the Greek, and amended even worse by some unskilful person’ (HE 5.24), but his own ‘corrected’ version is scarcely pure.15 He was prevented from writing a ‘perfect’ work by his difficulty in departing from his source. Faced by a single source, as in this instance, Bede struggled to digest its content and completely reframe and rephrase its narrative according to his own objectives. The difficulty of this task should not be underestimated. How does one take a source that – as the basis for the story of the second ‘synod’ – doubtless began as a tale of wise British ascetics, enlightened and pious, insulted by the arrogance of an ignorant Roman interloper, and make it a tale about British perfidy? How does one start with an account that – as the basis for the third story in this chapter, the battle of Chester – ­presumably included the tragic telling of a disastrous defeat of the pious (British) army, including the massacre of holy monks by a terrifying pagan host, and transform it into a story in which the English are glorified, and the British are justly punished? Given the circumstances, Bede has shown great skill in recasting the narrative, but it is still not enough to hide completely his source and its tone. This leads to a further, connected conclusion about Bede’s way of working that can provide a better understanding of his methodology as well as its shortcomings. Single sources concerning an individual enabled Bede to craft consistent pictures of these people in the HE. Arguably, the same was true when he faced an essential absence of sources. When, however, there are apparently conflicted perspectives on a protagonist’s character in the HE, as with Augustine,16 this points to Bede’s use of a variety of sources whose conflicting approaches he has not been able to harmonise. What can at first appear a reflection of his opinion, therefore, may often instead be an indication of the limitations, or contradictions, of his sources. Taken at face value, this can appear confusing, but viewed more creatively, these incidents offer interpretative opportunities. If we can discern between the sources, then it is possible to assess the quality of evidence within them and go on to make independent judgements irrespective of Bede’s conflicted narrative. This enables the modern historian to add greater clarity and nuance to the characterisations provided by Bede, even at times excising error. Dicebat autem eis quia ‘… cetera, quae agitis, quamuis moribus nostris contraria, aequanimiter cuncta tolerabimus’. [Then he said to them: ­{Augustine calls on the British to concede on three points: keep Easter at the proper time, follow the Roman baptismal rite and preach to the English} … ‘then we will calmly tolerate all the other things you do contrary to our customs’.] The story of the second ‘synod’ continues with this speech credited to ­ ugustine. Direct speech in the HE is usually best understood as Bede’s own A

96  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent composition, even if his source may well have contained its own version. This present speech fits somewhat oddly within its context, suggesting that such is the case here too. There is special reason to believe that Bede is taking the opportunity to provide Augustine with ‘the best lines’ as the speech interrupts the otherwise essentially negative perspective found in the narrative from his British source. Nonetheless, there are no grounds for thinking the original source could not have included a speech by Augustine at some stage setting out his demands, if not his side of the case. The reference to the rite of baptism as one of the elements of contention is something that occurs in no other source for ‘Roman’-‘Celtic’ ecclesiastic disputes. Consequently, the inclusion of the issue here may be a sign that it was found in the original source – and may point to a relatively early date for that source (Stancliffe, 1999: 132). At illi nil horum se facturos, neque illum pro archiepiscopo habituros esse respondebant; … Quibus uir Domini Augustinus fertur minitans praedixisse, quia, si pacem cum fratribus accipere nollent, bellum ab hostibus forent accepturi; et, si nationi Anglorum noluissent uiam uitae praedicare, per horum manus ultionem essent mortis passuri. Quod ita per omnia, ut praedixerat, diuino agente iudicio patratum est. [But they answered that they would do none of these things, nor would they have him as their archbishop … The man of God Augustine then, so it is said, prophesied, in a threatening manner, that, if they did not want to have peace with their brothers, they would have to take war from their enemies; and if they did not want to preach the way of life to the English nation, they would suffer the punishment of death at their hands. By the workings of divine judgement, this was fulfilled in every way as he had foretold.] As this account of the second ‘synod’ comes to a close, and Bede sets the scene for the next tale – the third in the chapter, the account of the battle of Chester – it becomes more difficult to tell what is ‘Bede’ and what is his source. Bede may have been responsible for all the connections drawn between the two passages. In other words, the threat might be considered his addition based on his knowledge of the story about the massacre of the monks of Bangor that he is about to tell. As discussed in considering 1.25, however, the inclusion of the caveat fertur points towards Bede’s use of a source, at least as a basis for his statement that Augustine threatened his interlocutors. Even so, it seems likely that much of the form the narration takes in this passage is of Bede’s own devising, intended rhetorically to reinforce the narrative points about the British that he is seeking to highlight, and which he will continue to underline in the next section. Before moving away from the second ‘synod’ narrative, one further point should be noted. Although this chapter includes accounts of two separate meetings between Augustine and the British, there seems little reason to multiply entities. Bede had two sources, each speaking of a meeting between Augustine and the British. He therefore inferred that there were two such meetings, but there is no reason to posit more than one. Bede’s sources are

The mission fathers  97 not so detailed or trustworthy that it is possible to be certain they really represent accounts of two originally quite separate meetings rather than simply two diametrically opposed versions of the same meeting. Both stories contain hagiographic elements, and neither is a particularly credible narrative. Thus, the fact that they differ so significantly hardly argues against the theory that there was only one meeting. The continued implicit trust for Bede’s account,17 despite all the criticisms of him and his History, has obstructed scholars’ recognition of this apparently obvious conclusion. Siquidem post haec ipse … inermes ac nudos ferientibus gladiis reliquit. [For after this … {Æthelfrith fought the British at Chester. First, he slew about 1200 monks from the same monastery as those who had gone to the ‘second’ meeting with Augustine. These were on the sidelines praying for the success of the British troops. Those guarding the monks fled} …and left them unarmed and exposed before the sword blows.] Historians believe that Bede’s source for this – the third, and final, story in the chapter18 – was the same as that for the second.19 The shared tone and similar treatment by Bede, especially through the use of caveats, points in the same direction. Thus, the source for this passage has already been discussed: it was a written source of British origins. At least one element of the narratives – the reference to different British baptismal practice – may suggest that Bede’s source perhaps drew on near contemporary materials for parts of its account. At the same time, the hagiographic and ‘saga’ overtones of both these tales should not engender too much confidence about their reliability. Sicque conpletum est praesagium sancti pontificis Augustini, quamuis ipso iam multo ante tempore ad caelestia regna sublato, ut etiam temporalis interitus ultione sentirent perfidi, quod oblata sibi perpetuae salutis consilia spreuerant. [Thus, even though holy Bishop Augustine had already a long time before been borne up to the heavenly kingdom, his prophecy was fulfilled: because these heretics spurned the advice of perpetual salvation, they experienced the punishment of temporal death.] The chapter ends with Bede pointing out the moral of the story and indeed of the chapter – and in some ways, arguably, of the HE as a whole. Whether his source connected the two stories or whether he was the first to do so, most of this closing statement is Bede’s own inference and not derived from any specific evidence. The exception is his note that the event took place long after Augustine’s death (multo ante tempore). Although Bede does not provide a date for the battle of Chester,20 his statement here suggests that he probably did have one. His ‘knowledge’ probably derived not from his source for the events of the battle, however, but from a version of the Irish annals to which he seems to have had access.21 From these, the text of his version of which was apparently somewhat corrupt, Bede seems to have obtained the information he used in 3.27 about the eclipse and plague.

98  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent This still leaves the question of how Bede knew the battle had taken place long after Augustine’s death, when, as will be seen later, Bede did not know the precise year Augustine died. Despite this, thanks to Nothelm, Bede did possess some papal letters dating to 610, including at least one from Boniface IV to ‘archbishop’ Laurence. Bede could tell Augustine had died before that point and so some years before the battle of Chester, even if his ambiguous phrasing, multo ante tempore, is a reminder that he did not know precisely how many.

What Bede had - A version of ‘Irish’ annals (probably somewhat corrupt) - Letter from Pope Boniface IV to Laurence, dated to 610.

What Bede says for which it has not been possible to identify the source No other written material survives directly underlying the material in this chapter. Nevertheless, at least one of his sources – that used for the second and third stories in the chapter – can be identified, even if only in the most general way. - A written source of British origins telling the story of the ‘second’ council and of the battle of Chester. In addition to the material Bede obtained from that British source and the various rhetorical adjustments he made, there is information at the start of this chapter that does not derive from an obvious source, though it shares characteristics with others noted earlier.22

- - - - - - - -

Augustine met British ecclesiastics at Augustine’s Oak He urged them to work with him They were unwilling to agree In order to test the justice of each case, a blind man was brought in The ministrations of the British bishops failed But the man was cured by Augustine [The British acknowledged Augustine’s righteousness] [Augustine prophesied that they would be punished for their unwillingness to help.]

2.3 – ‘How Augustine made Mellitus and Justus bishops, and about his own death’ Anno dominicae incarnationis DCIIIImo, Augustinus Brittaniarum archiepiscopus ordinauit duos episcopos, Mellitum uidelicet et Iustum; [In the year of our Lord 604, Augustine, archbishop of Britain, consecrated two bishops, that is Mellitus and Justus:]

The mission fathers  99 Jones suggested that the placing of two events in one year meant that Bede had found this information in a Dionysian Easter table (Jones, 1947: 165). Kenneth Harrison demonstrated why this was essentially impossible (­Harrison, 1976a: 62–65 and 97).23 Instead, he proposed the initially appealing alternative that Bede had calculated the year from the bishops’ lists for ­London and Rochester (Harrison, 1976a: 97). Although Harrison did not enter into the details of his suggested solution, in order for it to be practical, one needs to infer both that Bede’s episcopal lists for these sees included the length of years of each bishop’s reign and that Bede possessed fixed chronological pegs upon which to hang this comparative chronology. Only with these premises would he have had the material necessary to work back to 604 as the date of consecration of Justus and Mellitus. Once this is appreciated, it quickly becomes clear that Harrison’s solution is not sustainable. Bede almost certainly did have access to an episcopal list for Rochester, and possibly for London too, though the evidence for this is much less obvious. His episcopal list for the diocese of the East Angles does seem to have included the lengths of each episcopate, so there was a good precedent.24 On examination, however, it is apparent that Bede’s putative episcopal lists for London and Rochester cannot have included even such comparative dating or, if they did, it was only partial; Bede definitely never had enough to calculate 604 from them. This is particularly obvious for London. There was a significant gap between the apparent expulsion of Mellitus from the see (2.5) and the arrival of the next bishop, Cedd. Bede is able to give no date for Cedd’s accession (3.22), and what information he does have about the re-establishment of Christianity in Essex apparently came not from any bishops’ list but from Lastingham (HE Preface). The extended vacancy between Mellitus and Cedd means that even if an episcopal list had included the lengths of episcopates, this could not have provided sufficient information from which to calculate the origins of the see. Bede’s account in 2.5 reveals that he did not have a figure for the length of Mellitus’s episcopate at London. Given that Mellitus was apparently exiled, such a figure would have been difficult to assess exactly anyway: was he technically bishop of London until he became bishop of Canterbury in 619? But Bede did not even have a date for the expulsion. The fact that the story is told in the same chapter as the one recounting Æthelberht’s death as in 616 is no evidence at all for the year of the events in the colourful story about Mellitus. Hence, even assuming Bede had a bishops’ list for London, it did not include the lengths of episcopates and could not have provided sufficient information from which to calculate the date of 604 for Mellitus’s consecration. While Bede’s possession of an episcopal list for Rochester is more evident from the information he provides in the HE, it is equally certain that this did not provide him with any detail about the lengths of each bishop’s episcopate. Like London, Rochester had vacancies that interrupted succession to the see. Leaving aside the significant gap in the 660s,25 there was another

100  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent one much earlier, between Romanus and Paulinus, about which Bede was able to provide no details. He did not know when Romanus died; nor did he know when Paulinus succeeded.26 Therefore, his episcopal catalogue for Rochester could not have contained comparative dates for each prelate. As a result, bishops’ lists did not lie behind Bede’s calculation of the date 604 as the moment of creation of the two dioceses. Another type of source that might include reference to length of pontificate is epitaphs. But epitaphs cannot have been much help here either. Bede states in 2.7 that Mellitus died after ruling over the church (of Canterbury) for five years. As will be seen when considering that chapter, the source of this statement is not obvious but may well derive from his epitaph. Either way, Mellitus’s epitaph did not record even a comparative figure for his prior episcopacy over London because Bede did not know when that ended. Equally, Justus’s epitaph is scarcely likely to have given Bede any information about his rule over Rochester when it apparently did not provide any about the length of his rule over Canterbury. Bede did not know when Justus died or for how long he had been the metropolitan. Thus, the epitaphs for these individuals could not have provided the basis from which Bede could have deduced 604. As a result, the present analysis undermines claims that Bede could have calculated the year 604 by working back from comparative information for later figures about whom he possessed positive dating. Bede’s source must have more directly provided him with the figure necessary to transform into the incarnational date of 604. Having accepted that, a very plausible source, whose existence has already been proposed, comes into play. As discussed in depth earlier, it seems very likely that Bede obtained some of his information about the early churches used by the mission fathers from the inscriptions on their (re)dedication stones, even though none of these survive.27 It seems quite reasonable to suppose that at least one of the foundation stones inscribed by Augustine and his party included a dating reference. This, therefore, could have provided the material Bede required to come up with 604 as the date of Mellitus and Justus’s consecration. Some of the details Bede gives later in this chapter point again to his possession of such foundation stone inscriptions for St Paul’s, London, and for St Andrew’s, Rochester. He referred to both churches as being built by Æthelberht, which is somewhat unexpected in the case of St Paul’s. Even making the justifiable assumption that Bede’s desire to present royal support for ecclesiastical foundations in his own day might mean he would be willing to exaggerate accounts of this in the past would not explain the claim of Æthelberht’s involvement here. As far as Bede was concerned, London was not part of Æthelberht’s kingdom. If Bede had been inventing the detail of who had built the church, he would have been more likely to credit it to King Sæberht of the East Saxons. Bede had no reason to invent the statement that Æthelberht was the king responsible. Thus, his claim was probably based on information in the source he had. The most likely source

The mission fathers  101 for such a robust assertion is the text of a foundation stone crediting the construction to that king while referencing Mellitus as bishop. Equally, in 3.14, Bede says the church of St Andrew’s, Rochester, was built a fundamentis. This precise language is found on seventh-century Roman dedication inscriptions. As a result, it is quite likely that Bede possessed the texts of foundation stones for both Rochester and St Paul’s. Either or both of these inscriptions may well have included a year of consecration – as was the case for many comparable contemporary continental (and later, Anglo-Saxon) examples. This figure would have been the basis for Bede’s statement about the year of the two bishops’ consecration. The next question is what form the dating information in the inscription could have taken.28 Two options are possible, though there is not sufficient information to decide conclusively between them. The first is an indictional date. With such a reference, Bede would have found it a simple matter to calculate the incarnational year. Given the Roman background to the mission, an indictional dating would perhaps seem the most likely. The alternative – dating by regnal years, as in the Jarrow stone – is also plausible. Bede had a regnal list for Kent, which seems to have provided the lengths of each king’s reign. In 2.5, he claims that Æthelberht ruled for 56 years. In 3.8, Eorcenberht is said to have reigned 24 years. Eadbald is said to have died in 640 (HE 3.8), a figure Bede probably arrived at by s­ ubtracting the 24 years of Eorcenberht’s reign from his year of death, 664 (HE 4.1).29 ­Although Eadbald is not assigned a specific length of reign in the HE, it seems likely that using 616 as the date of death for Æthelberht (HE  2.5) merely represents Bede’s subtraction of a regnal length of 24 years for ­Eadbald from 640, the year Bede had calculated he died. In 4.1, ­Ecgberht is given a nine-year reign; in 4.5, Hlothere is credited with 11 years, 7 months;30 in 4.26, Eadric’s rule is described as lasting a year and a half; and finally, in 5.23, Wihtred is said to have governed for 34 and a half years. Some of these figures may be calculations, but the consistency with which this information is presented in the HE strongly suggests that Bede’s king list for Kent included regnal years as a general rule. Because he seems to have possessed a firm date for Eorcenberht’s death, the information in the regnal list would have given him the basis to calculate an incarnational date from a regnal year if one were present in the St Paul’s, London, and/or St Andrew’s, Rochester, foundation stone inscriptions. Therefore, whether Bede’s basis for calculating the year 604 lay in an indictional figure or a regnal year, Dionysian tables, episcopal lists and epitaphs are all impossible; instead, he is most likely to have found the relevant information in an ecclesiastical inscription from St Paul’s, London, and/or St Andrew’s, Rochester. Finally, Bede’s description of Augustine as ‘archbishop of Britain’ – ­Brittaniarum archiepiscopus – should be noted. This is not based on any early source,31 but rather reflects later Canterbury ambitions, including those that perhaps underlay Albinus’s initial commissioning of the writing of the HE.

102  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent Mellitum quidem ad praedicandum prouinciae Orientalium Saxonum [Mellitus to preach to the province of the East Saxons] The information in the HE does not give much reason to believe that Bede possessed an episcopal list for London and the East Saxons. He did have a narrative source, which will be discussed in 2.5, that told the story of ­Mellitus’s expulsion from London and so directly associated him with the East Saxons. But as proposed earlier, Bede may have needed no more than the information in the St Paul’s foundation stone, which would have mentioned both Æthelberht and Mellitus, as a basis for the statement he makes here. For Bede, the bishop of London was the bishop of the East Saxons. He did not require an additional source to ‘know’ that.32 qui Tamense fluuio dirimuntur a Cantia, et ipsi orientali mari contigui, quorum metropolis Lundonia ciuitas est, super ripam praefati fluminis posita, et ipsa multorum emporium populorum terra marique uenientium; [who are divided from Kent by the river Thames and who border on the sea to the east. Their metropolis is the city of London, situated on the banks of the aforementioned river; it is an emporium for many peoples coming to it by land and sea.] Bede did not require any specific source to make these geographic statements. In terms of geography, he was especially well informed about the rivers and the coast on the east side of Britain. His views of boundaries, control of cities, or commercial success should not be taken as evidence for events or the political or economic situation in c.600, rather than simply at the time of Bede’s writing, c.730. in qua uidelicet gente tunc temporis Saberct nepos Aedilbercti ex sorore Ricula regnabat [At that time Sæberht, nephew of Æthelberht via his sister Ricule, was ruling that people] There is no reason to think Bede had separate dating information here nor is there any direct sign in the HE that he possessed a king list or genealogy for the East Saxons.33 He does, however, seem to have had access – no doubt thanks to Albinus, via Nothelm – not only to a regnal list for the kings of Kent but also to a genealogy. Possibly, this lies behind the information in this passage, which relates as much to the Kentish royal family as it does to the East Saxon. quamuis sub potestate positus eiusdem Aedilbercti, qui omnibus, ut supra dictum est, usque ad terminum Humbrae fluminis Anglorum gentibus imperabat. [although he was under the authority of Æthelberht, who, as we said above, was overlord of all the English peoples up to the Humber.]

The mission fathers  103 Bede’s reasons for claiming a hegemony for Æthelberht and his view that this applied to the southern kingdoms have already been mentioned and will be discussed at greater length in considering 2.5. The statements here are merely Bede’s deduction from the materials noted in analysing 1.25 – primarily a ‘hegemon list’ document and the situation in his own time, especially the forms of expressing the overlordship of the contemporary Mercian king Æthelbald. Ubi uero et haec prouincia uerbum ueritatis praedicante Mellito accepit [And when this kingdom also received the Word of truth through the preaching of Mellitus] This optimistic statement in praise of Mellitus is merely Bedan rhetoric and is not based on any direct source. The story Bede tells in 2.5 assumes the conversion of Sæberht, but the idea that the East Saxons as a whole accepted Christianity is Bede’s deduction and is contradicted by the narrative in that later tale. fecit rex Aedilberct in ciuitate Lundonia ecclesiam sancti Pauli apostoli [King Æthelberht built the church of the apostle St Paul in the city of London] As discussed at the beginning of this chapter, the idea that Æthelberht, rather than Sæberht, is named as the founder of the church of St Paul’s in London is a surprising one, given all that Bede has just been saying about London being in the kingdom of the East Saxons of which Sæberht was the king. Thus, it requires some explanation. Such a positive affirmation of a fact that is inconsistent with the surrounding narrative suggests that Bede was basing his claim on a specific piece of information. The most probable source, as seen above, would have been the text of the church’s foundation stone, which credited Æthelberht directly with the foundation. in qua locum sedis episcopalis, et ipse, et successores eius haberent. [in which place Mellitus and his successors had their episcopal seat.] Bede’s statement here is merely an extrapolation on the practice current in his own times. The claim is not accurate, even by Bede’s own later account of the see. When the episcopacy of Cedd is discussed in 3.22, it is apparent that he was not based in London but operated out of various other houses, including Bradwell-on-Sea and Tilbury. Iustum uero in ipsa Cantia Augustinus episcopum ordinauit in ciuitate Dorubreui, [Augustine consecrated Justus bishop in Kent itself, in the city of Rochester]

104  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent Bede had a bishops’ list for Rochester, though not one that included the lengths of episcopates. This list would have told him that Justus was the first bishop of the see. Bede could deduce that Augustine consecrated him without the need for any new specific source.34 quam gens Anglorum a primario quondam illius, qui dicebatur Hrof, Hrofæscæstræ cognominat. [which the English people name Hrofæscæstræ, after one of their chief men once whose name was Hrof.] Unsurprisingly, Bede’s etymology here is completely fanciful (Ekwall, 1960: 390). Whether this claim was his own best guess or, perhaps more probably, was based on oral information from his Canterbury contacts, no early source lies behind this. Distat autem a Doruuerni milibus passuum ferme XXIIII ad occidentem [It is nearly twenty-four miles west of Canterbury] Bede does not include mileage figures very often in the HE. There are thirteen instances in total, including 19 specific mileages.35 Most of these appear to be integrally connected to the stories in which they are found and so probably derive from his sources for these accounts. There are two apparently from Lindisfarne sources,36 one from Acca,37 one from Lastingham,38 one from Whitby,39 one from Abbot Berhthun,40 and one from whatever Bede’s source was for the tale of Oswine.41 Others may simply be based on Bede’s own knowledge and experience.42 References in HE 1.1 to Britain’s length, breadth and perimeter are based on Gildas and other, more ancient, sources (Plummer, 2.9). Those to the dimensions of the Isle of Wight in the account of Vespasian’s conquest of the Isle of Wight in 1.3 do not occur in Eutropius, Bede’s source for the rest of that passage (Plummer, 2.14). ­Perhaps these figures, together with the distances of the island from the mainland given in HE 4.16, came from Daniel, bishop of Winchester, since the Preface specifically noted that he provided information relating to the Isle of Wight. This leaves only the reference in 2.3 to the distance between Rochester and Canterbury. As can be seen from the above catalogue, there is no sign Bede possessed an Itinerary or similar, single written document that formed the basis for all his mileage data (Morris, 2004: 18). Instead, such details ­either come from Bede’s own knowledge or derive from information included in his source for the story he was recounting. Consequently, we must assume that Bede received this detail about Kent, odd though it is, from his ­Canterbury sources, that is from Albinus, via Nothelm, presumably on the latter’s first visit. in qua rex Aedilberct ecclesiam beati Andreae apostoli fecit [and in it King Æthelberht built the church of the apostle St Andrew]

The mission fathers  105 Given that Bede refers in 3.14 to this church as being built by Æthelberht, a fundamentis, St Andrew’s probably had a foundation stone, the text of whose inscription Bede seems to have known. This will no doubt have named the bishop who had consecrated it and the king who was its patron as well as the saint to whom it was dedicated. Even so, Bede’s statement here was a much simpler one to infer than those concerning St Paul’s and London. Who else but Æthelberht would have built the church in Kent’s second ‘city’? Bede knew the dedication of the church from his own time, and he would have been quite content to make the reasonable assumption that this had been maintained from its foundation. qui etiam episcopis utriusque huius ecclesiae dona multa, sicut et Doruuernensis, obtulit; sed et territoria ac possessiones in usum eorum, qui erant cum episcopis, adiecit. [he also gave many gifts to the bishops of both of these churches as well as that of Canterbury; and he added both lands and possessions for the use of those who were with the bishops.] Bede did not need specific evidence to make rhetorically phrased statements of the obvious such as this, especially when they fit so well his own agenda of promoting church-state cooperation in mission, pastoral care and reform. That is what kings did and should do. It is easy to envisage Albinus drawing attention to how well endowed these foundations were, but we should not imagine any early source lying behind this claim. Defunctus est autem Deo dilectus pater Augustinus, et positum corpus eius foras iuxta ecclesiam beatorum apostolorum Petri et Pauli, cuius supra meminimus, quia necdum fuerat perfecta nec dedicata. [Father A ­ ugustine, beloved by God, died and his body was buried outside, but near, the church of the apostles Ss Peter and Paul, which we mentioned above, because it was not yet either finished or dedicated.] There is no reason to assume that Bede had a source for this story of the fate of Augustine’s body. It seems more likely to have been a deduction on his part. Thanks to Albinus, Bede ‘knew’ that Augustine was buried in Ss Peter and Paul. He also knew, probably thanks, as was seen in analysing 1.33, to the foundation stone for that church, that it had been consecrated by ­Laurence, not Augustine. In other words, Bede could see that Ss Peter and Paul cannot have been ready to receive Augustine’s body when he died, and so, initially, he could not have been buried in the church. Bede neatly sidesteps this problem by stating as certain what was only likely: Augustine had been buried nearby until the church was ready. Bede’s method allowed him quite confidently to state deductions as fact. Mox uero ut dedicata est, intro inlatum, et in porticu illius aquilonali decenter sepultum est; in qua etiam sequentium archiepiscoporum omnium

106  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent sunt corpora tumulata praeter duorum tantummodo, id est Theodori et Berctualdi, quorum corpora43 in ipsa ecclesia posita sunt, eo quod praedicta porticus plura capere nequiuit. [But immediately after the church was dedicated, his body was carried inside, and fittingly buried in the porticus on the north side. In the same place were also buried the bodies of all succeeding archbishops, except only two – that is Theodore and Berthwald, whose bodies were placed in the church itself, because the aforementioned porticus could not contain any more.] These statements were based on the information provided by Albinus who, as abbot of that monastery, obviously knew the location of the tombs. Given that Berhtwald died on 14 January 731 (5.23), this information at least came to Bede after that date, possibly significantly later, up to c.734. For at least several of these figures, Bede apparently also possessed epitaphs, provided by Albinus, via Nothelm. Bede’s claim about the motivation for burying the later archbishops in the church itself may be grounded in information from Albinus, but it is just as likely to be Bede’s own attempt at explaining the shift. In reality, part of the reason for the change was the erosion of the older, Roman sense, apparently maintained by the early ‘missionaries’, that burials should occur outside churches. By the end of the seventh century, this had ceased to be an issue, even in Rome. Thus, interring the later prelates away from the crowded porticus would no longer have caused a difficulty. Again, Bede’s confident, if misleading, statement of his deductions as fact reveals more about his methods. Habet haec in medio pene sui altare in honore beati papae Gregorii dedicatum, in quo per omne sabbatum a presbytero loci illius agendae eorum sollemniter celebrantur. [This porticus has – almost in the middle – an altar dedicated in honour of Pope St Gregory, at which Masses are solemnly celebrated in their memory by a priest of that place every Saturday.] Albinus is again the source for this information about contemporary practice in his monastery. Although Bede implies that the altar to Gregory was present from the early seventh century, this could have been a more recent addition or dedication (Thacker, 1998: 75). The ways in which the agendae of the earlier bishops of Canterbury may have been celebrated will be discussed in more detail in Chapter 6; suffice it to say for now that Colgrave’s rendering, included in the previous quotation as ‘Mass’, may be too narrow. Scriptum uero est in tumba eiusdem Augustini epitaphium huiusmodi: ‘Hic requiescit domnus Augustinus Doruuernensis archiepiscopus primus, qui olim huc a beato Gregorio Romanae urbis pontifice directus, et a Deo operatione miraculorum suffultus, Aedilbertcum regem ac gentem illius ab idolorum cultu ad Christi fidem perduxit, et conpletis in pace diebus officii

The mission fathers  107 sui, defunctus est VII Kalendas Iunias, eodem rege regnante’. [This is the epitaph written on the tomb of Augustine: ‘Here lies lord Augustine, first archbishop of Canterbury, who once was sent here by St Gregory, bishop of the city of Rome; and supported by God in the working of miracles, he led King Æthelberht and his people from the worship of idols to faith in Christ and ended the days of his office in peace; he died on the twenty-sixth day of May during the reign of the same king’.] Here, Bede inserts Augustine’s epitaph, the text of which must have been sent north with Nothelm by Albinus, presumably on the former’s first visit. As already noted, and as will be seen in more detail below, there is good reason to believe that Bede possessed the texts of the epitaphs of all the ­Canterbury bishops up to Theodore. Judging by Augustine’s, however, they should not be assumed to be primary documents. In a sense, of course, ­Augustine’s could not have strictly speaking been a primary source as he was not buried in Ss Peter and Paul’s initially. More importantly, the reference to A ­ ugustine as ‘archbishop’, and especially as the archiepiscopus primus, shows that the text can have been written no earlier than the episcopate of Theodore, who was the first to adopt the term to describe his position and authority (Thacker, 2008: 55–69). Indeed, it might plausibly have been written even later, under Berhtwald (692–731).44 As already noted, Bede did not know the year of Augustine’s death. ­Historians have given various versions, which tend to be in or shortly after 604 (Thacker, 1999: 374). This view is based on the extremely unreliable premise that Bede mentions Augustine’s death in the same chapter that he begins with an event dating to 604. The reality is that Bede did not know when ­Augustine died, so arguing from where he placed the event in the HE makes no sense.45 The question will be considered in the next chapter in which, as will be seen, Bede provides sufficient material to deduce an answer. Having seen Bede’s use of Augustine’s epitaph here, it is worth pausing a moment, as we did in considering dedication inscriptions in 1.26, to analyse in advance and together other occasions where Bede seems to have had access to epitaphs from Kent. As with the foundation stones, these instances will be considered in individual cases, but by giving a fuller treatment to the converging pieces of evidence pointing towards such sources, the broader case can be more fully appreciated. It seems likely that thanks to Albinus, Bede had access to all the epitaphs of the bishops of Canterbury. He includes Augustine’s epitaph in full. He also includes verbatim extracts from Theodore’s epitaph in 5.8. In this case, therefore, as with Augustine’s, it is evident that Bede possessed the text. Given his knowledge of these two epitaphs, his possession of the texts of the others is a reasonable presumption. It is not likely that Augustine’s and Theodore’s were the only ones that existed or that Albinus chose to send to Bede via Nothelm. We can go ­further than this because, even though Bede does not include their texts, there is enough evidence in the HE to suggest that he was drawing on them.

108  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent Bede knew, for instance, where all the bishops of Canterbury were buried.46 If the location of the tombs was known, as well as the identity of those interred, then there must have been some form of epitaph, even if it provided no more detailed information than a name. The existence of Augustine’s epitaph is proof that this was not mere assumption on Bede’s part: the epitaphs did exist, and their texts included more than simply the identification of the individual. Even though Bede does not include these other epitaph texts, his language suggests his use of them. When giving the calendar dates of death for ­Laurence and separately for Mellitus (2.7), Bede does not say that they died on those days but that this was when they were buried, sepultus. Hence, it seems likely that such epitaphs existed and that Bede possessed and used their texts and the information within them. To say that the epitaphs existed is not, however, to say that they were produced immediately after each prelate’s death and interment. This is very unlikely. It is evident that the epitaph of Augustine that Bede possessed cannot have been produced before the advent of Theodore because of the use of the word archiepiscopus and the description of Augustine as primus in this role. If Augustine’s epitaph was not produced before the late seventh century, then it is probably safe to assume that the others, up to Deusdedit’s, were drawn up with it. That is, they were presumably produced at essentially the same time as one another, at some point not before the pontificate of Theodore, the first bishop of Canterbury to lay claim to the title of archbishop. This is crucial for our understanding of what material they might have included and what Bede might have taken from them and should affect historians’ view of what use can be made of them. In examining the information Bede may have taken from early seventh-century dedication inscriptions, it made sense to use contemporary Roman and Gallic ones as a basis of comparison. We found that the material Bede seemed to have gained from these foundation stones neatly paralleled the type of information found in comparable continental examples. Here, however, such a comparison does not work. The texts of many Roman epitaphs from the early mission period survive, including that of Gregory the Great. Nonetheless, since the epitaphs of the mission fathers were not produced in the immediate aftermath of each prelate’s death, but were instead later Canterbury creations, the natural analogue would not be one of the epitaphs of the city from which the mission fathers came. Rather, what is required is one produced in late seventh-century Canterbury and specifically one relating not to contemporaries, such as Theodore, but written retrospectively. Fortunately, of course, one such epitaph survives: that for Augustine, which Bede includes here in 2.3. In other words, the natural comparison for the potential epitaphs of Laurence, Mellitus, and so on is not the epitaph of Gregory the Great, or even of Theodore, but that of Augustine. This helps direct and define our understanding of what these other epitaphs would probably have included. Augustine’s epitaph is a short prose

The mission fathers  109 piece rather than a more extended poetic composition like Gregory’s or Theodore’s. The author of Augustine’s epitaph, writing long after he had died, did not possess sufficient information to produce an expansive elegy. If the mission fathers’ epitaphs were composed together, then the same situation would apply for all of them. Some examples may have had slightly more detail, especially where the gap between the bishop’s death and Theodore’s pontificate was shorter. But the basic information provided by Augustine’s epitaph is what can reasonably be expected. This includes the location of the tomb,47 the calendar date of the bishop’s death,48 and perhaps a reference to the name of the reigning king. Thus, when Bede has calendar dates of death for Laurence, Mellitus, ­Justus, Honorius, and Deusdedit, it is likely that this information came from the texts of these bishops’ epitaphs, just as the epitaph of Augustine had been the source for Bede’s knowledge of his calendar date of death. Perhaps it might be argued that Bede took these details from a martyrology rather than epitaphs. Bede’s use of Augustine’s epitaph would argue against such a theory, however. Bede’s language helps us here. As noted above, when giving the calendar dates of death for Laurence and Mellitus in HE 2.7, Bede says they were buried, sepultus, on that day. He is specific about the location of their tombs – just as he had been with Augustine. Bede also directly mentions which king’s reign Laurence and Mellitus died under. These details could simply be Bede’s assumptions, but Augustine’s epitaph’s mention of Æthelberht as the ruling king may suggest that this was a standard piece of information contained on these ‘texts’. Bede’s, and therefore our, information on Laurence, Mellitus, and, less so, Justus parallels that given on ­Augustine in his epitaph perfectly, even in its meagreness. Because Honorius and Deusdedit died nearer the time of Theodore, it is perhaps no surprise that there are signs more detail was apparently available to Bede. He knew not only their calendar dates of death but also the year. Presumably, this detail too was recalled and recorded on their tombs: the epitaphs were more informative because less time had passed and so, naturally, the composers would have been better informed. Bede seems to have had access to other epitaphs beyond those of the bishops of Canterbury. He knew the location of the tombs of both Æthelberht and Bertha (2.5). Some of the other information about Æthelberht, as will be seen in considering 2.5, makes most sense as coming from his epitaph, particularly the calendar date of his death and probably the years since his conversion. None of this should be taken as evidence that the writing of the epitaph need have predated the composition of Augustine’s. Probably like Augustine’s, Æthelberht’s was not produced before Theodore’s arrival.49 As seen in dealing with 1.25, Bede did not know much about Bertha. Some of his information – that she was a queen and married to ­Æthelberht – ­probably came from a copy of Gregory the Great’s letter to her. But Bede knew that she was from Gaul, and the pope’s letter did not mention that. B ­ ecause Bede knew where Bertha was buried, even though he did not provide a date of

110  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent death for her, the existence of an epitaph is implied. His knowledge of her origins probably derived from this epitaph, which no doubt would have confirmed her rank and marriage to Æthelberht. Again, the epitaph is unlikely to be earlier than the others considered so far. The same can be said for the last Canterbury epitaph Bede probably knew: that of Liudhard. Liudhard’s place of burial is not mentioned by Bede, but it was later known to be in the same church of Ss Peter and Paul’s (Thacker, 1999: 374–77), so his epitaph was plausibly the source of Bede’s knowledge of his existence, name, and perhaps origins.50 Finally, moving away from Canterbury, Bede gives the location of ­Paulinus’s burial in the church at Rochester (HE 3.14), so once more, there must have been an epitaph. Bede knew Paulinus’s calendar date of death, 10 October, and the year, 644 (3.14). Both these details would make sense as coming from the epitaph.51 This may well be the source of Bede’s knowledge of Paulinus’s length of time as bishop: 19 years, 2 months, and 21 days (3.14). This kind of figure was standard on papal epitaphs, though it usually formed part of the short prose summary that accompanied the main poetic text. In Paulinus’s case, unlike the Canterbury examples, it is possible that the inscription was produced immediately after his death. There is no evidence that it was not, and this explanation may account for the extra information here: the year of death and the length of time since Paulinus’s consecration.52 All of these epitaphs were from Kent, and most were from Canterbury, specifically Ss Peter and Paul’s. The most likely source of Bede’s knowledge of these texts is Albinus. He presumably collected these inscriptions at the same time as collating those from the dedication stones of the various churches that were discussed in examining 1.26. Thus, the manuscript that Albinus would have given Nothelm to bring up to Bede would have included the texts of both epitaphs and dedication inscriptions and would effectively have been a sylloge. There is no reason to think that this document had an independent existence as a literary work before being produced as a source for Bede. Its existence would do much to justify, and indeed explicate, Bede’s description of Albinus’s researches (HE Preface). Interestingly, it seems as if the dedication inscriptions were original, while the epitaphs of the mission fathers, apart from Paulinus’s, were not. They were produced long afterwards and were anachronistic. For Bede, however, and even perhaps for Albinus, there would be no line drawn between these two sources. Bede would have considered them of exact equivalence and assumed that both reflected genuine first-hand information from the period of the mission fathers. This is not to say that Bede made no assessment of the reliability of his sources. It is just that in this case, and especially if they were all in a single manuscript, he had no reason to doubt their authenticity. Thus, for Bede, these sources could all be treated as of exactly equivalent and, in fact, excellent value, having, he thought, been produced at the time. This is important to grasp in understanding how Bede worked and his attitude to, and treatment of, his material. It is also significant in showing where

The mission fathers  111 we can add nuance beyond the knowledge available to Bede, informing and improving modern uses of these sources.

What Bede had - Inscription from foundation stone for St Paul’s, London, including a date, either indictional or regnal - Inscription from foundation stone for Rochester, including a date, either indictional or regnal. Perhaps only one of the dedication stone inscriptions required a date - Kentish king list, which included the length in years of each king’s reign - ‘Hegemon list’ document - Kentish royal genealogy - Rochester episcopal list - Inscription from foundation stone for Ss Peter and Paul, with Laurence, not Augustine, as the consecrator - Augustine’s epitaph. ‘Orally’, Bede had information from Albinus about the location of tombs and altars and contemporary liturgical practices in Ss Peter and Paul’s, Canterbury. From this source, he seems to have gained the detail about the distance from Rochester to Canterbury and probably about the etymology of ­Rochester. Other basic geographical information about the boundaries of kingdoms and the location of London were part of Bede’s own general knowledge. 2.4 – ‘How Laurence and his fellow bishops warned the Irish about the unity of the holy Church, especially to follow in the observation of Easter; and how Mellitus went to Rome’ Succesit Augustino in episcopatum Laurentius, quem ipse idcirco adhuc uiuens ordinauerat [Laurence succeeded Augustine in the episcopate. Augustine (while he was still alive) had consecrated him] Bede possessed a Canterbury episcopal list. This would have told him that Laurence followed Augustine as bishop of Canterbury. The more surprising statement is that Augustine consecrated Laurence. Bede’s efforts later in the chapter to defend this action through reference to apostolic precedent reveals that he realised how uncanonical such behaviour was and shows that it can hardly have been his own assumption or deduction.53 VG, 11, claimed to have a tradition – dicitur – that Mellitus had consecrated Laurence, which prima facie sounds much more reasonable. Therefore, for Bede to have made the radical claim he does here, he must have been basing it on some specific source.54 This source was probably the Canterbury episcopal list itself because, as argued in considering 1.27, this list noted both the place where each bishop had been consecrated and the name of the prelate who had consecrated

112  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent him. Thus, Bede would have ‘known’ that Laurence was consecrated by ­Augustine, presumably at Canterbury. Bede may have felt that the Libellus Responsionum, which he had inserted at 1.27, provided some support for this. In his ‘answer’ to ‘Question  6’, ­Gregory gave Augustine permission to consecrate other bishops alone. There were several occasions in Bede’s own lifetime in which this type of practice had occurred. His own former diocesan, John of Beverley, had consecrated his successor at York (HE 5.6). Such instances would have given Bede confidence that the controversial claim in his source was credible. ne, se defuncto, status ecclesiae tam rudis uel ad horam pastore destitutus uacillare inciperet. [lest, when Augustine died, the church, being in so rudimentary a state, might begin to falter when deprived of its shepherd even for an hour.] This statement about Augustine’s intentions, as is generally the case when Bede posits motivation as ‘fact’, is merely his assumption of what seemed the most plausible thinking behind the action. There is no need to presume that any source lay behind his claim. In quo et exemplum sequebatur primi pastoris ecclesiae, hoc est beatissimi apostolorum principis Petri, qui, fundata Romae ecclesia Christi, Clementem sibi adiutorem euangelizandi, simul et successorem consecrasse perhibetur. [In this he was also following the example of the first pastor of the Church, the most holy Peter, chief of the apostles, who, when the Church of Christ was founded in Rome, is said to have consecrated Clement to help him in evangelising and at the same time to be his successor.] Plummer argued that this parallel, while deriving ultimately from the Ps-Clementine Recognitiones, was taken by Bede from the LP.55 This is quite possible, but there is separate evidence that Bede made direct use of the Recognitiones in other works,56 and so may well have also done so here.57 Laurentius archiepiscopi gradu potitus [When Laurence had gained the rank of archbishop] Calling Laurence ‘archbishop’ is an anachronism resting on Bede’s extrapolation from later, Theodorean and post-Theodorean practice back to the early Canterbury church: it is not taken from an early source. strenuissime fundamenta ecclesiae, quae nobiliter iacta uidit, augmentare, atque ad profectum debiti culminis, et crebra uoce sanctae exhortationis, et continuis piae operationis exemplis prouehere curauit. [he took care to diligently augment the foundations of the church, which had been so nobly laid, and to raise it to its due height, both by frequent words of holy exhortation and by continuous examples of pious work.]

The mission fathers  113 This passage is little more than Bede’s rhetorically phrased praise for someone he had next to no information about. He is taking the opportunity to promote one of his underlying agendas in the HE: the importance of preaching by prelates and the necessity that those preachers should lead by example. That the famous names of the earlier English church should be presented as exemplary reformist bishops who offered a heroic model to the Church of Bede’s own time is standard practice in the HE. Such clichés were not based on sources and do not offer information on which any reliable narrative can be built. Denique non solum nouae, quae de Anglis erat collecta, ecclesiae curam gerebat, sed et ueterum Brittaniae incolarum, necnon et Scottorum populis pastoralem inpendere sollicitudinem curabat. [Indeed, he not only took care of the new Church, which had been gathered from the English, but he also endeavoured to uphold with pastoral care both the older inhabitants of Britain and also those Irish peoples] This statement is merely Bede’s deduction based on the letter to the Irish that he possessed and from which he is about to quote. He has no independent reason to believe that Laurence took particular pastoral care of the Irish. qui Hiberniam insulam Brittaniae proximam incolunt [who live in Ireland, an island next to Britain.] Bede’s statement about the geographical location of Ireland is based on his own general knowledge. He had already given his readers a description of Ireland’s juxtaposition with Britain in HE 1.1. Such an emphasis is surprising, pointing perhaps to a sense of an audience for the HE that reached beyond the obvious ‘Northumbrian’ or Canterbury ecclesiastical elites.58 Siquidem ubi Scottorum in praefata ipsorum patria, quomodo et ­Brettonum in ipsa Brittania, uitam ac professionem minus ecclesiasticam in multis esse cognouit, maxime quod paschae sollemnitatem non suo tempore celebrarent, sed, ut supra docuimus, a XIIII luna usque ad XXam dominicae resurrectionis diem obseruandum esse putarent; scripsit cum ­coepiscopis suis exhortatoriam ad eos epistulam, obsecrans eos et contestans unitatem pacis et catholicae obseruationis cum ea, quae toto orbe diffusa est, ecclesia Christi tenere; [For, when he recognised how in the aforementioned country of the Irish, just as in Britain among the British, their life and profession were not in line with the Church in many things – especially that they did not celebrate the solemnity of Easter at its proper time, but, as we have said above, thought that the day of the Lord’s resurrection should be observed from the fourteenth to the twentieth day of the moon. Thus, with his fellow bishops, he wrote a letter of exhortation to

114  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent them, beseeching and imploring them to keep the unity of peace and of Catholic observance with the Church of Christ, which is spread over the whole world.] This extended statement combines an extrapolation from the text of the letter to the Irish, which Bede is introducing, with his own knowledge of the ‘Irish’ computistical errors. Bede’s deduction that Laurence is writing because he has heard about Irish errors in calculating Easter is likely to be correct, but neither that, nor the lengthy description of the motivation, make it any less a deduction. cuius uidelicet epistulae principium hoc est: … uoluit. [This is the beginning of the letter: … {The bishops emphasise the esteem in which they had previously held both the British and Irish before becoming aware of their odd customs. Now, however, they find that some Irish clerics, such as Dagan, will not even eat with them}.] Bede next inserts part of the letter. There are various possible reasons why he only includes a selection from the text, but it is very unlikely to be because he did not have the whole letter. He is more likely to have limited himself to the start of the epistle on the grounds that the rest of the text either described the ‘Irish’ position in a way that he believed to be inaccurate or explained the ‘correct’ position in a way that revealed Laurence to be following Victorian tables and calculations rather than the more accurate Dionysian ones promoted by Bede. The question of how Bede obtained the letter is an interesting one, and its answer is revealing about the nature of his sources. This letter would obviously not have come from Rome, but nor is it likely to have come from Canterbury.59 The idea that Canterbury, having lost all record of the papal letters sent to it, should still somehow preserve a copy of a scarcely essential epistle that they themselves had sent is not credible. Like most of Bede’s computistical materials, this letter concerning the paschal issue would have been obtained quite separately to his accumulation of sources for the HE. Bede derived his computistical materials from Irish sources (Jones, 1937: 204–19; Ó Cróinín, 1983, 2003; MacCarron, 2015). In this instance, there is specific evidence that the letter was preserved in an Irish context. The Stowe Missal, which preserves Irish liturgical traditions of the seventh century, commemorates Laurence, Mellitus and Justus, following the ordering of the letter here. The simplest explanation for their presence together  – ­significantly, Augustine’s name is not included – in a seventh-century Irish commemoration of the dead is that the letter, which was sent by the three bishops, and which Bede quotes from here, was preserved in Ireland.60 There is evidence that the letter of pope-elect John, which Bede quotes from in 2.19, was preserved in an Irish context. An Irish computus collection

The mission fathers  115 includes a sentence from the part of the letter omitted by Bede (Ó Cróinín, 1982: 409). As a result, he had probably, as usual, obtained his computistical materials both in 2.19 and from Irish sources.61 There is no evidence that he obtained any of his computistical materials from Canterbury; in fact, there is very limited evidence of any materials not directly related to the compilation of the HE reaching Bede from Canterbury. Misit idem Laurentius cum coepiscopis suis etiam Brettonum sacerdotibus litteras suo gradui condignas, quibus eos in unitate catholica confirmare satagit. [Laurence, with his fellow bishops, also sent a letter, worthy of his rank, to the British bishops, endeavouring to bring them into Catholic unity.] Such statements summarising letters are usually based on Bede’s possession of the epistle(s) in question. That may well be the case here. If so, like the letter to the Irish, and the rest of his computistical materials, Bede probably obtained it from Irish sources. Given, however, that such a letter would seem so precisely to suit Bede’s anti-British perspective in the HE, it is strange that he does not quote at all from it or at the very least provide a more extended summary underlining the negative criticisms of the British position. ­Perhaps, therefore, his knowledge of the letter to the British was not direct but rather came from the omitted parts of the letter to the Irish. Even the section of the letter to the Irish from which Bede does quote refers to the British, so the excised parts may very well have mentioned an earlier letter to them. Sed quantum haec agendo profecerit, adhuc praesentia tempora declarant. [But how little he achieved by doing this, the present time still shows.] Bede cannot resist adding his own comment and implicit critique of the British and their position, which had endured into his own time. No source is required. His temporibus [At this time] Bede’s use of this phrase points to his ignorance of a precise date; here, it is the date of the incidents in the first half of the chapter that he does not know. He had a very specific date for the central event in the half of the chapter that follows. uenit Mellitus Lundoniae episcopus Romam…. anno VIII imperii Focatis principis, indictione XIII, tertio die Kalendarum Martiarum; … confirmaret [Mellitus, bishop of London, went to Rome … {While there, he attended a synod, the canons of which Bede dates precisely to} the eighth year of the Emperor Phocas, on 27 February and in the thirteenth indiction. {Mellitus was one of those who ratified the canons}.]

116  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent Bede’s statements about motivations are not to be relied upon. Because he presents them as simple matters of fact, however, they can mislead us into thinking that he possessed separate information on which to base them when this is very rarely the case. This example is no exception. Bede has no source behind his extremely generic claim that Mellitus went to ‘consult about the needs of the church of the English’. Bede has simply tried to make sense of why Mellitus might have gone.62 The real reason provides an insight into a question that historians have never been able to answer: when did Augustine die? As shown elsewhere in more detail,63 the primary source evidence for journeys from early Christian Kent to Rome associates such trips with the request for, and collection of, the pallium for the new bishop of Canterbury. The papal letters that survive refer to this in 601,64 625,65 and 633.66 On two other occasions, Bede refers to papal letters to Canterbury bishops, but in these cases, he does not include the texts of the letters. One is following Laurence’s death at Mellitus’s accession (HE 2.7): once more, this was a time when a pallium would have been sent. The only other time Bede mentions a visit to Rome, and letters being brought back, is here in 2.4, where, as will be seen in a moment, papal epistles were sent to ‘archbishop’ Laurence. Given that, self-evidently, Augustine had died in the meantime, it is difficult to avoid the conclusion that requesting the pallium was the motivation for the journey on this occasion as well. The papal letter has not survived, but because Bede gave the date of the synod Mellitus attended in Rome, 27 February 610,67 as well as the Julian date for Augustine’s death, 26 May, it is a simple deduction that he died on 26 May 609 (Shaw, 2016b). Certainty is never achievable in such matters, but we can be relatively confident in accepting this as the natural implication of the evidence, which, on this question at least, represents primary sources. Thus, it is possible to say, categorically, that Bede’s claim of motivation was not correct. His statement that Mellitus visited Rome and attended the synod, however, is on a much firmer basis. The precision of Bede’s dating of the synod shows that he had a copy of the decrees in front of him ­(Levison, 1935: 139; Jones, 1947: 166). This is confirmed by the form of the dating he gives, which is indictional. As Harrison pointed out, ‘Throughout the ­Historia we discover the indiction only in official documents with one exception and that in a papal context’ (Harrison, 1973: 58). This is that one exception. Bede has not chosen to insert an indictional date because he favoured that form of dating; he inserted it because it was present in his source – a copy of the canons of the synod. Mellitus’s presence would have been easy to deduce from that document’s list of subscriptions. Unfortunately, only forged versions of the canons survive (Plummer, 2.84). Bede’s statement about the nature of the topics considered in the council is still in line with what other information suggests were the sort of questions at issue in seventh-century Rome (Llewellyn, 1974; Noble, 1995). This – more than mere coincidence – points again to Bede’s possession of

The mission fathers  117 copies of the original canons. Given that the synod is mentioned together with papal letters – which Bede apparently possessed, though he did not quote from them – presumably, like the letters, he had obtained the synod document from Rome via Nothelm. ac Brittaniam rediens secum Anglorum ecclesiis mandanda atque obseruanda deferret [and returning to Britain, he brought them with him for the notice and observance of the English churches] While uncontroversial enough, Bede’s statement that Mellitus brought the canons back with him, and his claim about the reasons for so doing, are no more than assumptions on his behalf. una cum epistulis, quas idem pontifex Deo dilecto archiepiscopo Laurentio et clero uniuerso, similiter et Aedilbercto regi atque genti Anglorum direxit. [along with letters which the pope had written to Archbishop Laurence, the beloved of God, and to all the clergy, and likewise to King Æthelberht and the English people.] As with the decisions of the 610 Rome synod, there is good reason to believe Bede possessed the texts of these epistles, though he does not quote from them. The references to letters sent to the clergy and to the ­English people might sound at first like mere generality covering ignorance. The Register of Gregory the Great, however, shows that these forms for addressees reflected actual papal practice. Gregory sent several letters to comparable groupings.68 This is not the sort of phrasing Bede can be expected to have stumbled on fortuitously. The exact number of letters of Pope Boniface IV in question here is not certain; unfortunately, Bede does not quote from the main text of any of these letters, and they have not survived separately.69 Like most of his papal letters, Bede obtained these from Rome via Nothelm. Hic est Bonifatius, quartus a beato Gregorio Romanae urbis episcopo, qui inpetrauit a Focate principe donari ecclesiae Christi templum Romae, quod Pantheon uocabatur ab antiquis, quasi simulacrum esset omnium deorum; in quo ipse, eliminata omni spurcitia, fecit ecclesiam sanctae Dei genetricis atque omnium martyrum Christi; ut, exclusa multitudine daemonum, multitudo ibi sanctorum memoriam haberet. [Boniface was the third bishop of the city of Rome after St Gregory. Boniface obtained for the Church of Christ from the Emperor Phocas the gift of the temple at Rome that was known in ancient times as the Pantheon, as if it were representing all the gods. After he had eliminated every abomination from it, he made a church for the holy Mother of God and all the martyrs of Christ, so that, since the multitudes of devils had been driven out, it might be a memorial for a multitude of saints.]

118  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent This description is taken from the LP’s account of the pontificate of Boniface IV, apart from the last line explaining that the pope consecrated the shrine to honour the multitude of saints rather than demons. This is not in the papal biography but is rather a Bedan touch, quietly demonstrating that he knows what Pantheon means and indulging in a little wordplay to display that knowledge to other initiated readers.

What Bede had - Canterbury episcopal list, including the names of each consecrator and the places of consecration - LP - Information from the Ps-Clementine Recognitiones, a text Bede may have obtained from Irish sources - Letter of Laurence, Mellitus and Justus to the Irish, probably mentioning having sent an earlier letter to the British. Bede is likely to have obtained this from Irish sources - Possibly the letter to the British if this was not simply mentioned in the letter to the Irish - Canons of the 610 Rome synod from Rome via Nothelm - Letters of Pope Boniface IV from Rome via Nothelm. 2.5 – ‘How when Kings Æthelberht and Sæberht died, their successors restored idolatry; because of which Mellitus and Justus left Britain’. The first half of this chapter gives a summary of Æthelberht’s reign and achievements Anno ab incarnatione dominica DCXVI, qui est annus XXI, ex quo Augustinus cum sociis ad praedicandum genti Anglorum missus est, … Aedilberct rex … subiit [In the year of our Lord 616, the twenty-first year since Augustine and his companions had been sent to preach to the English people, … King Æthelberht … died] This chapter, like 1.23, represents something of a ‘waypoint’ in the HE’s narrative. As in that earlier chapter, Bede’s attempt here to render his content more rhetorically impressive through the provision of layers of detail, especially involving figures, leads him into contradictions and into making statements that have confused historians ever since. In this specific passage, there are two questions: where does Bede’s figure of 616 for Æthelberht’s death come from? And what is his basis for claiming that the king died 21 years after the departure of Augustine from Rome? Indeed, there are also third and fourth questions, given the other related material Bede includes later in the chapter:70 why does he go on to say, in apparently plain contradiction of his claim here, that Æthelberht died 21 years after accepting the faith? And what made him think that the king’s death was on 24 February? All these questions will be considered together. The last mentioned – that Æthelberht died on 24 February – should be considered first because it is

The mission fathers  119 the simplest. Perhaps Æthelberht was commemorated liturgically at Canterbury (Jones, 1947: 166),71 but this should not be assumed.72 Bede does not seem to have derived his dates for early Canterbury figures from records of liturgical commemoration. A more likely source for the date of the king’s death would have been information from his epitaph. That an epitaph for Æthelberht existed at Canterbury in the early eighth century is evident, even if it contained no more than his name, because Bede, thanks to Albinus, knew that the king was buried in the chapel of St Martin, in the church of Ss Peter and Paul, Canterbury. That Bede notes this in the same sentence in which he gives the Julian date for Æthelberht’s death is circumstantial support for the suggestion that the dating information came from the epitaph. Augustine’s own epitaph, which Bede cited in 2.3, included the date of his death, though not the year, so the one proposed for Æthelberht would parallel that perfectly. If the text of the king’s epitaph might well have been Bede’s source for the date of his death, did it provide the basis for the year Bede gives? This is not impossible,73 although Augustine’s, which is the epitaph most obviously comparable to Æthelberht’s, did not.74 Thus, the epitaph should not be considered the most likely source of the incarnational year Bede gives. To discover where the figure 616 does come from, it is necessary to start by recognising that, at some level at least, being an incarnational date, it must represent a calculation (Harrison, 1976a: 46). The question, then, is whether it was a direct calculation – that is, a simple ‘translation’ of an indictional or regnal year, as would have been the case, for instance, if either had been included on the epitaph – or whether it was a more indirect calculation, with Bede working out the date from other materials in his possession. If the king’s epitaph should be dismissed as a source of direct information for the year of Æthelberht’s death, it is not easy to envisage from what other source Bede could have made a straight ‘translation’. On the other hand, he probably possessed enough information to deduce 616 without any need for a direct source. He ‘knew’ that Deusdedit, the bishop of Canterbury, died on 14 July 664 (HE 4.1).75 He ‘knew’ that King Eorcenberht had died on precisely the same day (HE 4.1). Finally, as argued earlier, Bede possessed a king list for Kent that included regnal years. He could subtract the 24 years that Eorcenberht had reigned and so infer that Eadbald had died in 640, which he notes at 3.8. Then, he could subtract 24 years for Eadbald’s reign to arrive at a date of 616 for Æthelberht’s death. Given the information that we can deduce that Bede possessed, this process seems the simplest interpretation of the calculation Bede made to reach 616.76 This leaves only the confusing double references to Æthelberht’s death having been ‘21 years since’ two separate events that in Bede’s account, and probably reality, were in different years. First, Bede claims that Æthelberht died 21 years after the mission party left Rome; later, he says that the king passed away 21 years after receiving the faith. This contradiction has affected modern historians’ attitude toward the question of Æthelberht’s death. ­Nicholas Brooks, for example, claimed that historians should consider dating

120  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent the king’s death to 618 rather than 616 (Brooks, 1989a: 65), while H ­ arrison argued that the second figure was a scribal error (­Harrison, 1976a: 79). Such approaches tend to privilege one of Bede’s contradictory statements over the other without considering the source for either.77 Given the argument above that Bede reached 616 for the king’s date of death through a calculation entirely separate from this ‘21’ figure, it might be argued that the number 21 was simply Bede’s own calculation.78 According to such a hypothesis, he would then have included the calculated figure of 21 years for purely rhetorical purposes. The first reference to Augustine’s departure would fit neatly with such an explanation, connecting this chapter again to 1.23. Yet this rationale does not explain the second, contradictory reference. Repeating his calculated figure but giving a different reference point would not be characteristic of Bede’s usual methods. The repetition of the number points more probably to its derivation from a source. The contradiction shows Bede attempting to make sense of that figure when it is not consistent with other information he possessed. But which of the two statements was in Bede’s source? If Bede possessed a source with a reference to Æthelberht dying 21 years after a certain event, which of the two events he mentions is it most likely to have been? In a sense, the answer should be obvious: it is self-evident that in a notice of the king’s death, a reference to his conversion is intrinsically much more likely than one to the date of departure of Augustine and his companions from Rome. This common-sense conclusion is apparently confirmed by the context of the second reference. This reference – to Æthelberht’s dying 21 years after his conversion – comes immediately after the Julian date of the king’s death and directly before the detail about where he was buried. Consequently, it seems most likely that, as with the Julian date, the 21 years (since his conversion) was originally in the text of the king’s epitaph. Parts of the beginning of this sentence in the HE might even have been taken directly from the actual inscription. Incidentally, it should be noted that from Bede’s perspective, this reference alone would not have provided sufficient information to deduce an actual year for Æthelberht’s death. Instead, having already calculated that this year was 616 in the manner outlined above, the 21 years reference would have left Bede with a problem. Twenty-one years from a date of death that Bede had deduced as 616 implied that the king ‘received the faith’ in 596.79 Bede had no other direct information other than this about when Æthelberht had been baptised, but he ‘knew’ that it could not have been before Augustine arrived, and although Bede does not provide an incarnational year for Augustine’s arrival in the main narrative of the ‘mission’, he assigns it to 597 in the recapitulatio in 5.24. Thus, Bede slightly adjusts the claim at the start of the chapter when he uses the same figure, 21 years. There, he relates the ‘21 years’ to the departure of the mission from Rome, which, as he knew from the Gregorian letters, had set out in 596. This was 21 years before 616, the date Bede had calculated for Æthelberht’s death, so using the

The mission fathers  121 mission’s departure as the reference point fitted his wider narrative much better. Such an allusion served his purposes of subtly connecting this chapter with 1.23 in the reader’s mind. In repeating the figure later in the chapter in its more correct context, Bede returned to the original wording, or at least meaning, and so has confused historians ever since. This extended analysis of such apparently small details leads to some valuable conclusions, not only about the nature of Bede’s sources for these statements but also about his methods of working, how he drew his inferences, and how he dealt with apparent contradictions in his sources. These findings will hopefully provide a firmer basis for further consideration of the questions of when Æthelberht did die and when Augustine did arrive. Aedilberct rex Cantuariorum post regnum temporale, quod L et VI annis gloriosissime tenuerat, aeterna caelestis regni gaudia subiit; [King Æthelberht of the Kentish, after most gloriously holding his temporal kingdom for fifty-six years, entered into the eternal joys of the heavenly kingdom.] As shown in considering 1.25, Bede knew Æthelberht’s name, and his rank, from a variety of sources he possessed, including a letter from Gregory the Great and a Kentish king list and genealogy. The Kentish king list he possessed included regnal years for each monarch and was thus the basis for Bede’s statement here about the length of Æthelberht’s reign.80 qui tertius quidem in regibus gentis Anglorum cunctis australibus eorum prouinciis, quae Humbrae fluuio et contiguis ei terminis sequestrantur a borealibus, imperauit; sed primus omnium caeli regna conscendit. … Sed haec postmodum. [He was the third king of the English people who ruled over all the southern kingdoms, which are separated from the north by the river Humber and the territory surrounding it; but he was the first of all of them to enter the kingdom of heaven. … {Bede gives a list of hegemons interspersed with certain details about the individual rulers} But of this more later.] This list of overlords has inspired a great deal of academic comment (John, 1966; Vollrath-Reichelt, 1971; Fanning, 1991; Keynes, 1992, 2001a: 74; Mayr-Harting, 1994: 367–74; Yorke, 2009a; etc.). This has focused primarily on the issue of what relation Bede’s list has to the ‘title’ Brytenwalda found in ASC 829 (Wormald, 2006a: 131–34) and secondarily on the question of whether Bede was using a source or invented the catalogue for his own purposes. The former question is not directly related to the search in this study for his sources or to the attempt to understand his method, but the latter is.81 There are several insuperable difficulties with believing that Bede fabricated the list: Bede’s information here is inconsistent with that found elsewhere in the HE and even seems incoherent within the passage itself;82 he

122  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent omits hegemons he knew about83 and includes others he apparently knew nothing else about;84 and the catalogue does not obviously serve a rhetorical function or fulfil a clear Bedan agenda,85 and even, in its length, seems something of an interruption to the main flow of the chapter (Dumville, 1997: 352). All of these difficulties are resolved by assuming Bede’s list was copied from a source, the basic structure of which he interlaced with other details he had gathered about the various monarchs. This conclusion is more consistent with what has already been seen of Bede’s working methods: Bede did not invent such lists or fill gaps with his own fabrications. In the first half of 2.5, as should already be apparent, Bede is collecting what he knows of Æthelberht in order to draw readers’ attention to the section. The chapter serves a rhetorical purpose for Bede. The text itself, however, is not some mere product of oratory and invention: it is compiled from details derived from sources, the information from which he is bringing together in one place. The list of hegemons, therefore, came from a written source – a ‘hegemon list’ document. The same cannot be said of the description of the extent of their overlordship – of the southern kingdoms bounded by the River ­Humber. Bede’s view of the borders of this hegemony was defined by contemporary circumstances and, indeed, the actual expressions and descriptions of hegemonic power of Æthelbald of Mercia.86 That Bede was apparently well aware of this view seems clear given how close his description of Æthelbald’s power in 5.23 is to claims such as those in S89. Thus, the boundaries Bede gives here and in 1.25 and 2.3 represent the usage of his own day, unconsciously but anachronistically, extrapolated back into the past. They have no validity for the time of the lordship of the individuals in the list – the seventh century or before – when the Humber played nothing like the divisive role it did later in the century (Dumville, 1997: 372–73; Kirby, 2000a: 18–19). Bede was ‘projecting back the Humber as a major political boundary between northern and southern peoples into the sixth and early seventh centuries’ (Yorke, 2009a: 84). The list is not a list of English hegemons who held power south of the Humber. It is just a list of English hegemons. It was Bede who assumed that hegemony meant power south of the Humber, because that is what it represented in his own time. What, then, was the origin of Bede’s source? The names on the list could suggest that a ‘southern’ list had been added to by ‘Northumbrians’ during their hegemony in the mid-seventh century. The first four kings are all southern: ‘South Saxon’, ‘West Saxon’, Kentish and East Anglian. The following three are the ‘Northumbrian’ overlords: Edwin, Oswald and Oswiu. In this light, it makes sense to see the ‘hegemon list’ document, in the form in which Bede knew it, as a Northumbrian text,87 presumably dating from the reign of the last-named king, Oswiu (Shaw, 2018). His son, Ecgfrith, as the patron of both Wearmouth and Jarrow, may well have deposited the text in that monastery’s archives.

The mission fathers  123 Interestingly, examining Bede’s source for his hidage references of the ‘tribute type’ in 1.25 led to a similar conclusion (Shaw, 2016c). Thus, Bede had a seventh-century list of hegemons, which is most naturally understood as coming from Oswiu’s reign; Bede also had a seventh-century document, which probably served as a tribute list – thereby implying hegemony – and which, again, makes most sense as deriving from the time of King Oswiu. One crucial piece of evidence suggests that this may be more than mere coincidence. In setting out the hegemon list, Bede states that it was under Edwin that the Isle of Man and Anglesey were Anglorum subiecit imperio. Bede possessed specific figures for the assessment of both these islands (HE 2.9). These figures are likely to derive from the hidage document of the ‘tribute’ type, which he possessed. The fact that Bede makes specific reference to these islands twice – once here as part of the discussion of the hegemons and once with reference to their hidages – suggests that his two sources for these statements were connected. In other words, the ‘tribute’ document, which included the figures for assessment, was associated with the list of ‘hegemons’ and may even have been part of the same text, or at least manuscript, in front of Bede. Defunctus uero est rex Aedilberct die XXIIII mensis Februarii post XX et unum annos acceptae fidei [King Æthelberht died on 24 February, ­twenty-one years after he received the faith] This passage was considered with that at the start of the chapter. There is no need to repeat the earlier analysis here. Suffice it to say that Bede has probably obtained these figures from the text of the king’s epitaph: this sentence may even preserve some of the original wording from that inscription. The epitaph is likely to have paralleled Augustine’s and to have been composed in the same period – at some stage after the arrival of Theodore. atque in porticu sancti Martini intro ecclesiam beatorum apostolorum Petri et Pauli sepultus, ubi et Berctæ regina condita est. [and was buried in the porticus of St Martin, within the church of the Apostles Ss Peter and Paul, where his queen, Bertha, also lies.] This information derived from Albinus’s own knowledge, conveyed to Bede via Nothelm either in a letter or orally. Albinus’s knowledge only extended to the names ‘on’ the tombs, derived from epitaphs; he had no means of independently verifying that these claims were correct. Such a point may seem pedantic; but in addition to highlighting Bede’s lack of primary sources, it is worth remembering that Canterbury had its own reasons to make claims, which might not necessarily have been true. Qui inter cetera bona, quae genti suae consulendo conferebat, etiam decreta illi iudiciorum, iuxta exempla Romanorum, cum consilio sapientium

124  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent constituit; quae conscripta Anglorum sermone hactenus habentur, et obseruantur ab ea. In quibus primitus posuit, qualiter id emendare deberet, qui aliquid rerum uel ecclesiae, uel episcopi, uel reliquorum ordinum furto auferret; uolens scilicet tuitionem eis, quos et quorum doctrinam susceperat, praestare. [Among other good things which he conferred upon the people under his care, he also established with the advice of his counsellors decreta iudiciorum following the exempla of the Romans. These were written in the English language and are still kept even now and observed by the people. Among these he first set down what kind of restitution ought to be made by anyone who steals anything belonging to the church or the bishop or any other clergy; he introduced these laws namely because he wanted to afford protection to those whom, together with their teaching, he had welcomed.] There has been a great deal of scholarly discussion about what precise meaning should be ascribed to Bede’s use of ‘legal’ terms, such as decreta and exempla (Wallace-Hadrill, 1988: 60–61; Wormald, 1999b: 180–82 and 197–98). Much of this is based on precisely the assumption of semi-sacred status for each word in the HE that the present analysis is undermining. Not every statement of Bede’s should be treated as if it possesses an inherently deep meaning, unless there has first been a thorough examination of the material at his disposal. There is no reason to believe that Bede has secret sources supporting all his passing remarks. As far as the present search for Bede’s sources is concerned, it is fortunate that he chose to summarise the first few laws. These match the text of ‘Æthelberht’s Laws’ that was preserved in the Textus Roffensis and so have survived into modern times. As a result, it is clear that Bede had seen the actual text of the laws. This does not prove that the laws were ­Æthelberht’s; but it does mean that Bede was working from a written source and one which it is probably safe to assume looked similar to that which survives today. One difference worth noting is that Bede’s version may have included the law code’s original preface (Liebermann, 1903–16: 3.3). Bede describes Æthelberht drawing up the laws cum consilio sapientium. Conceivably, this could merely be his rhetoric, but such language would make sense as a direct borrowing translated from a phrase in the prologue. Judging by contemporary, or near contemporary, analogues, some form of introduction would be expected. The surviving versions of the Laws of Wihtred and Ine preserve their prefaces and mention the king taking counsel.88 The absence of Æthelberht’s prologue from the only extant copy of the laws, a twelfth-century manuscript, is no evidence that it was lacking in the original code.89 Bede’s expression of the purpose of the laws – ‘to afford protection to those whom, together with their teaching, he had welcomed’ – was probably his own assumption. His statement is reasonable, but, as with most

The mission fathers  125 occasions on which he asserts motivation, it is unlikely to have been based on a source.90 Erat autem idem Aedilberct filius Irminrici, cuius pater Octa, cuius pater Oeric cognomento Oisc, a quo reges Cantuariorum solent Oiscingas cognominare. Cuius pater Hengist [Now this Æthelberht was the son of Irmenric, whose father was Octa, whose father was Oeric whose surname was Oisc, from whom the kings of the Kentish are known as Oiscingas. Oisc’s father was Hengist] Bede’s inclusion of part of a Kentish genealogy immediately after the mention of the laws – a mention that, as seen earlier, was based on having seen their text – is probably a sign that the manuscript containing Bede’s version of the laws included a Kentish royal genealogy (Wallace-Hadrill, 1988: 61).91 Such a juxtaposition is paralleled in continental laws.92 The manuscript probably included other Kentish laws beyond Æ ­ thelberht’s. Bede’s description of the decrees of Eorcenberht, in 3.8, suggests that he had seen these too. Equally, the statement that Æthelberht’s Laws were still in force in Bede’s own time implies a wider knowledge of Kentish law than simply the possession of a single century-old code. Such a manuscript may also have included the Kentish king list Bede possessed. Whether or not they came in a single manuscript – as would seem simplest – or in several, such sources can only reasonably have come from Kent and, thus, presumably from Albinus, via Nothelm. These texts would be a natural set for Albinus to send to someone writing a history of the Church in England, so, presumably, they were brought on Nothelm’s first visit.93 One more point needs emphasis. The genealogy Bede gives here stops with Hengist, but this was not the end in his own source. Bede had already given the first half of the genealogy in 1.15: ‘They [sc. Hengist and Horsa] were the sons of Wihtgisl, whose father was Witta, whose father was Wecta, whose father was Woden’. qui cum filio suo Oisc inuitatus a Uurtigerno Brittaniam primus intrauit, ut supra retulimus. [who (Hengist) with his son Oisc first entered Britain having been invited by Vortigern, as we set out above.] Here, Bede is referring back to his earlier description of the aduentus in 1.15. His sources for that ‘event’ are uncertain, although, given the geographical focus, they are likely to have come from Canterbury. Even if they were written, they were not produced close to the events themselves. From this point in the chapter, Bede’s narrative becomes more complicated, and so, as in 2.2, before beginning a detailed analysis of the relevant passages, it would be helpful to start with a summary of the stories Bede is telling. On this occasion, the situation is even more complex as Bede not

126  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent only interweaves the two stories he tells but also splits the account between this chapter and the next. Because, as will be seen, the source is, in effect, the same for both tales, it is necessary to deal with the elements that appear in both 2.5 and 2.6 together. The two stories in question relate to the so-called ‘apostasy’, or ‘pagan reaction’, after the deaths of Æthelberht of Kent and Sæberht of the East Saxons. Bede begins with the tale about Eadbald, the new king of Kent, but having explained that Eadbald married his father’s wife and did not support the Church, Bede interrupts himself to describe a similar situation in Essex. There, the pagan sons of King Sæberht expelled Mellitus (bishop of London) from their kingdom after he had not permitted them to receive the ­Eucharist. After consulting with Laurence (bishop of Canterbury), ­Mellitus went into exile in Gaul, together with Justus (bishop of R ­ ochester). ­Chapter  2.5 ends with a brief notice of the defeat and death of the East Saxon kings at the hands of the West Saxons: a fitting punishment, in Bede’s mind, for the difficulties they had caused the mission fathers. In the next chapter, 2.6, Bede returns to complete the original story about Eadbald and Kent. Following a night in the abbey church, during which Laurence was scourged by St Peter, the bishop was able to persuade the king to give up his uncanonical wife and be baptised. Wrapping the stories up, Bede goes on to explain that Mellitus and Justus were recalled to Kent before he closes the chapter with a general description of the rest of King Eadbald’s reign. The sources of those tales will now be examined in more detail. At uero post mortem Aedilbercti, cum filius eius Eadbald regni gubernacula suscepisset … Auxit autem procellam huiusce perturbationis etiam mors Sabercti regis Orientalium Saxonum … reuocari. [But after the death of Æthelberht, when his son Eadbald had taken over governance of the state … {The new king refused Christianity and married his father’s widow. This led to a wider apostasy among those who had been frightened into converting by Æthelberht. Eadbald was punished by frequent fits of madness} … The death of Sæberht, king of the East Saxons, further increased the storm of this disturbance … {Sæberht was succeeded by his three sons, who were not Christian. They demanded the Eucharist from Mellitus, who refused, unless they were baptised first. This impasse led to the bishop’s expulsion from Essex. Following consultation with Laurence and Justus, the latter went with Mellitus into exile in Gaul. The kings died in battle against the Gewisse, but the East Saxons could not be recalled to the faith at that time.}] The sources for the interconnected stories at the end of 2.5 and the start of 2.6 will be considered together here.94 In these sections, Bede is telling what might be termed the narrative of the ‘apostasy’ or ‘pagan reaction’. In a generic way, therefore, the two stories – Eadbald’s rejection of Christianity until Laurence’s vision of St Peter and the expulsion of Mellitus from

The mission fathers  127 London – are connected by their subject matter. Even so, the narrative of each tale is, essentially, independently coherent. Bede has made it more difficult to see this by interrupting the account of Eadbald and Canterbury, which begins in 2.5, and only returning to its most important part, the miraculous visitation and scourging of Laurence by the apostle Peter in 2.6. In between, he has inserted the essentially complete story of Mellitus and his exile from London. The two tales are then briefly wrapped up together in 2.6 with the addition of some other material, which will be considered in its proper place. Thus, although they are entwined in the HE, these are two fundamentally separate stories, and the narrative of each is, internally, self-contained. Nonetheless, despite their basic independence, the tales are linked in the HE’s narrative, near the end of both 2.5 and 2.6, in ways that make it difficult to be sure whether Bede was working from a single source or whether such sections of shared narrative represent authorial intervention on his part to connect two different stories from two different sources. Certain parts of the narrative are Bede’s, such as the use of biblical allusions to underscore his meaning or the description of Mellitus as a praeco ueritatis.95 The specific claim connecting the stories about Essex and Kent – that Mellitus went first to Kent to consult with his brother bishops and then left with Justus for Gaul – might conceivably have been assumptions on Bede’s behalf. He is unlikely, however, to have invented the detail of these claims simply to integrate the narratives of two entirely separate sources. Perhaps the most reasonable view is that while the stories had been originally, but tenuously, connected in Bede’s source, he embellished those elements in order to improve the telling of the story. Such a discussion, however inconclusive, is necessary in order to try to move towards a better understanding of the nature of Bede’s source(s). But whether or not the two stories came from the same source, it seems likely that they came from the same place: Canterbury and presumably Albinus. These two stories are two further examples of the kind of ‘Canterbury tale’ that has been identified earlier. Both the stories in 2.5 and 2.6 share the ­characteristics of the other examples discussed above. Each represents a coherent narrative relating to the mission fathers; it is difficult to imagine either being based on more than one source. Looking at the two stories in more detail, it can be seen that, like the other ‘Canterbury tales’ considered so far, both accounts raise difficult chronological questions, which suggest that they were written significantly later than the ‘events’ themselves. The East Saxon story, for instance, is not dated at all. Bede tells it as if it occurs after Æthelberht’s death, but he is obviously unaware of how much after. Statements by modern historians that Sæberht died in 616, or even c.616 (Flechner, 2005: 70), are not based on any firm evidence. The HE itself leaves the reader with the impression that Bede’s decision to insert the story in its present position has more to do with the demands of his narrative than any knowledge of the date of the actual events.

128  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent The content of the story does not inspire much confidence in the source’s credibility either. Bede himself adds a caveat, dicebant, in the telling. That does not rule out a written source, but it does express his caution about the credibility of his evidence. While there is nothing specifically miraculous in the story of Mellitus, it does have a hagiographic flavour, with the saint as the strong, virtuous hero, standing firm against the powerful pagan antagonists. The chronological difficulty with the Laurence/Canterbury story is more complex because it relates to information from other sources. In 2.8, 2.10 and 2.11, Bede includes three papal letters, one to bishop Justus, one to King Edwin, and one to Edwin’s wife Æthelburh. All three letters mention a king’s conversion, and the one to Justus is specific about that bishop’s role in bringing it about. The terms used are ambiguous; it is not impossible that the pope is referring to a level of inner conversion beyond simply baptism, but that is not very likely. Equally, the name of the ‘converted’ king is not precisely Eadbald in any of the letters. In 2.8 (to Justus), it is Aduluald, which is quite different linguistically to Eadbald; in 2.10 (to Edwin) and 2.11 (to Æthelburh), it is Audubald, which is closer. Was the individual being referred to in the papal letters a different person from Eadbald – another king entirely?96 The fact that Kent frequently seems to have been divided in half, with two separate kings, one probably senior to the other, might at first suggest that this could have been the case. Most historians, however, accept the simpler option that ‘Aduluald/ Audubald’ was Eadbald (Hunter Blair, 1971; Kirby, 2000a: 31–32).97 If so, this undermines the entire basis of Bede’s story of Eadbald and Laurence, where it is the latter who is credited with bringing the king to Christianity. Bede’s account and the papal letter cannot realistically both be true; nor can the ­former reasonably be more reliable than the latter. Accepting the most obvious explanation – that Aduluald was Eadbald and that the reference to conversion is to Eadbald’s baptism (or potentially his readmission into communion following a period of apostasy/excommunication) – then the assumption must be that it was Justus, not Laurence, who brought Eadbald (back?) into the Church. Thus, Bede’s story is again evidently anachronistic. The tale of Laurence and Eadbald, as told in detail in 2.6, is even more obviously hagiographic than that of Mellitus: a nightly vision of the saint whose church Laurence was sleeping in, followed by a scourging that left physical marks, finally leading to the stunningly simple ‘conversion’ of the king. As with other ‘Canterbury tales’ considered above, the narrative is a hagiographic topos.98 Such adherence to fixed patterns should probably be taken as a further sign of these stories’ anachronism. No internal detail suggests that the ‘author’ possessed reliable knowledge of the individuals or events described.99 Instead, the reader is presented with an example to show that the virtues of these Canterbury heroes were worthy of the miracles of the great saints of the past. In short, this is not a tale that can be taken seriously, and it is a wonder that some would still prefer the evidence of this ‘attractive monastic myth’ (Brooks, 2004a), to the papal letter. Such is the

The mission fathers  129 enduring sense of Bede’s reliability, without due consideration of the nature of his sources, that the narrative of this anachronistic, hagiographic story is often repeated but rarely challenged in modern historiography. Other smaller pieces of evidence in both tales suggest that Bede’s source was written significantly after the ‘events’. He is apparently unsure, in 2.5, whether Eadbald, Æthelberht’s son and successor, had ever been Christian or had simply abandoned his faith on his father’s death. This ambiguity between Bede’s description of Eadbald as both unbaptised and an apostate is representative of some of the confusion in the story. Other confusions include the expression of the desire by the three bishops (Laurence, Mellitus and Justus) to leave for their patria in one sentence, while, in the next, Bede states that two went not to Rome, but to Gaul, and the third only planned to join them later; and the note, at the end of the story in 2.6, that Eadbald banned all idolatrous worship, when Bede says in 3.8 that the first English king to do this was not Eadbald, but his son Eorcenberht. As usual, in this analysis of Bede’s methods and sources, the main question is not what the reality might have been that underlies these odd accounts but the basis upon which Bede tells them. Even from this perspective, it is worth noting that these inconsistencies and apparent inaccuracies point to further elements of anachronism in both tales. The picture that is emerging about the nature of the source, or sources, of these two stories should by now be familiar. These are two more ‘Canterbury tales’, very similar in form and character to those of the party’s arrival (1.25), the miraculous discovery of Peter’s body (1.33), and Augustine’s healing of the blind man (2.2). Another one will be seen in 2.7, and they will all be discussed together, as a set, in Chapter 6. There remains a question about whether the denouement of HE 2.5 – the story of the defeat of the three pagan East Saxon kings at the hands of the West Saxons – comes from the same source as the earlier narrative about Mellitus. The event provides such a fitting punishment for the recalcitrant kings that it might be considered Bede’s own addition. If so, then his source for the event is unknown. Nevertheless, this drawing of a ‘moral’ probably makes most sense as the original conclusion to the Mellitus story in Bede’s source, although no doubt, he has increased its rhetorical impact.

What Bede had - Æthelberht’s epitaph - Kentish king list, including regnal years - Information about the date of death of Deusdedit and Eorcenberht, probably from epitaphs - Papal letters connected to 596 mission - ‘Hegemon list’ document - ‘Hidage document’ of the tribute type - Bertha’s epitaph - Æthelberht’s Laws

130  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent - Kentish royal genealogy - Bible.

What Bede says for which it has not been possible to identify the source In this chapter, some information has been identified without a surviving source that is not simply Bede’s deduction or rhetoric: although content from 2.6 has been discussed, to avoid confusion, it is not included in the following but will be inserted only in the appropriate place. - Eadbald refused to receive the faith - He married his father’s wife - He permitted those who had not converted or were lukewarm toward Christianity to reject it - He was punished by frequent fits of madness - In Essex on Sæberht’s death, his three sons, and successors, were all still heathen - They practised open idolatry and permitted it - They demanded the Eucharist from Mellitus, who refused - Mellitus was exiled as a result - Mellitus went to Kent and conferred with Laurence and Justus - Justus and Mellitus departed for Gaul - The East Saxon kings were punished for their crimes by their defeat and death in battle against the Gewisse. Again, the earlier discussions about the characteristics of the sources, which lie behind these two stories, can be summarised. Both narratives are internally coherent, not built up by Bede from a compilation of other sources. Each story may have had its own source, or a single source might have connected the two tales. In either case, Bede was working from narrative sources that have not survived but which concerned the early ‘mission fathers’ and must have derived from Canterbury. The content of these tales is both hagiographic and anachronistic, drawing on classic topoi. Bede himself seems to have had his doubts about the reliability of at least one of the stories. In short, it can be concluded that in the second half of this chapter, and the first half of the next, Bede has built his story around the narratives of either one or two sources, which have not survived, but which share the characteristics of the several other ‘Canterbury tales’ identified earlier. 2.6 – ‘How Laurence was corrected by the apostle Peter and converted King Eadbald to Christ; and how, soon after, Eadbald recalled Mellitus and Justus to preach’ Cum uero et Laurentius Mellitum Iustumque secuturus ac Brittaniam esset relicturus, … Non enim tanta erat ei, quanta patri ipsius regni

The mission fathers  131 potestas, ut etiam nolentibus ac contradicentibus paganis antistitem suae posset ecclesiae reddere. [But when Laurence was going to follow Mellitus and Justus and leave Britain … {Laurence slept the night in the abbey church where St Peter appeared to him and scolded him for his faint-­heartedness, even physically scourging him. The bishop, by showing his wounds to the king, was able to convert him, and Eadbald embraced Christianity and gave up his unlawful wife. He also recalled Justus and Mellitus but he was not able to restore the latter to the episcopacy of London} … For the power of this king was not so great as that of his father, so he was unable to restore the bishop to his church against the dissensions and contradictions of the heathen.] Most of this chapter is no more than the completion of the story begun in 2.5. Bede’s source – which was a single, hagiographic narrative following established topoi and apparently composed long enough after events to lead to mistakes in the chronology – has already been considered. The story concerns one of the early ‘mission fathers’ and cannot reasonably have come from anywhere but Canterbury and Albinus. All these characteristics have been seen in several other stories examined already. Although Bede has derived the core of the story from information in a single source, he has added his own touch throughout. The direct speech, for instance, may be presumed to reflect his own rhetorical choices, though the content is likely to be based on that in his source. In addition, certain specific comments are probably best interpreted as Bede drawing inferences or pointing out morals. For instance, the statement about the diminished reach of Eadbald’s power compared to his father’s need not have been present as such in Bede’s source. Bede may simply have deduced his view from the evidence he had, including the ‘hegemon list’ document, which included Æthelberht’s name but not Eadbald’s.100 Finally, it should be noted that this passage includes several biblical quotations. Again, these are probably best understood as Bede’s own additions to the tale. Uerumtamen ipse cum sua gente, ex quo ad Dominum conuersus est, diuinis se studuit mancipare praeceptis. Denique et in monasterio beatissimi apostolorum principis ecclesiam sanctae Dei genetricis fecit, quam consecrauit archiepiscopus Mellitus. [Nevertheless, after he and his people turned to the Lord, he strove to embrace the divine commands. Indeed, in the monastery of the most blessed chief of the apostles, he even built a church dedicated to the holy Mother of God, which Archbishop Mellitus consecrated.] The comment about Eadbald and the Kentish people’s efforts to follow God’s commandments might conceivably have been based on something in the source that Bede used for his story, but it is more likely to represent his own insertion. The use of such a generic comment to provide a neat

132  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent conclusion to the tale in line with what Bede thought should happen would suit his usual working methods. Bede’s other information about Eadbald’s reign was minimal. Apart from the papal letters that mentioned him, this passage suggests that Bede possessed the text of the inscription from the ‘foundation stone’ for the church of the Mother of God in the Ss Peter and Paul monastic precinct. The information likely to be found in such a ‘document’ would explain the statements he makes here about that church: namely, his claim that it was built by King Eadbald and consecrated by Mellitus. This text would presumably have been sent to Bede by Albinus and delivered by Nothelm on his ‘first’ visit.

What Bede had - Inscription from the ‘foundation stone’ of Holy Mother of God church, noting the name of the bishop, Mellitus, who consecrated it and the king under whose patronage it was built as well as the church’s name - Bible.

What Bede says for which it has not been possible to identify the source In this chapter, certain pieces of information have been identified (in the analysis concerning 2.5) that lack a surviving source and which are not simply Bede’s deduction or rhetoric.

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Laurence slept in the church of Ss Peter and Paul St Peter appeared to him Peter scourged Laurence And admonished him to follow his own example of perseverance Laurence showed Eadbald his stripes Eadbald was shocked He banned all idolatrous worship He gave up his unlawful wife And he was baptised [On his request, Justus and Mellitus returned from Gaul]101 Only Justus received his see back, however.

Whatever source lay behind this tale, it shared characteristics with several others in the account of the Gregorian mission in the HE. These tales will be discussed together as a group in Chapter 6. 2.7 – ‘How [after the death of Laurence] Bishop Mellitus, when his city was on fire, extinguished the flames by praying’. The chapter also mentions papal letters addressed to Mellitus (and to Justus of Rochester) and notes his date of death. Hoc enim regnante rege beatus archiepiscopus Laurentius regnum caeleste conscendit, atque in ecclesia et monasterio sancti apostoli Petri

The mission fathers  133 iuxta prodecessorem suum Augustinum sepultus est die quarto Nonarum Februariarum; [During this king’s reign, the blessed Archbishop ­Laurence entered the heavenly kingdom and was buried on 2 February in the church and monastery of St Peter the Apostle near to his predecessor Augustine.] There are a number of elements in this deceptively simple sentence. The term ‘archbishop’ is Bede’s and an anachronism. Bede would have found out about the location of Laurence’s tomb via Nothelm, from Albinus, in whose monastery Laurence and the others were apparently buried. Bede’s knowledge of the precise day of Laurence’s deposition is a sign that this information does not come – directly at least – from liturgical commemoration but from the bishop’s epitaph. Roman epitaphs, such as that of Gregory the Great, often noted the day of burial, which was generally the same as the date of death. Evidence of the existence of epitaphs for the seventh-­century bishops of Canterbury and for Bede’s possession of the texts has been seen earlier. This is a further example. Indeed, his comment that Laurence died in Eadbald’s reign may well have been taken from the wording of that inscription. Augustine’s epitaph in 2.3 mentioned Æthelberht’s reign, using effectively the same phrase that Bede uses here – rege regnante – so it may have been a standard formula on these texts. post quem Mellitus, qui erat Lundoniae episcopus, sedem Doruuernensis ecclesiae tertius ab Augustino suscepit. [After which Mellitus who was bishop of London succeeded to the see of Canterbury, the third including Augustine.] Bede’s bishops’ list for Canterbury would have told him that Mellitus succeeded Laurence. Iustus autem adhuc superstes Hrofensem regebat ecclesiam. [Justus, who was still living, was ruling the church at Rochester.] Bede here repeats something that he has mentioned before more than once: Justus was bishop of Rochester. Bede possessed an episcopal list for ­Rochester, on which this statement is based. Qui, cum magna ecclesiam Anglorum cura ac labore gubernarent [While governing the church of the English with great care and labour] This statement is probably no more than Bede’s rhetorically phrased praise of the two prelates, although it is not impossible that the idea lying behind Bede’s words, and perhaps even some of the vocabulary, was adapted from laudatory language he found in the texts of the papal letters he is about to mention. susceperunt scripta exhortatoria a pontifice Romanae et apostolicae sedis Bonifatio [they received letters of exhortation from Boniface, pontifex of the Roman and apostolic see]

134  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent The only realistic way Bede can have known about the existence of these letters is if he possessed some of them. His failure to insert them is no argument against this. There is, as seen frequently above, strong evidence that he did not use all the papal letters Nothelm brought. Bede was not constrained to insert the full text of every papal letter to which he had access: Bede was able to make decisions about the best use of his material. If the content of a papal letter served his narrative, then he would insert the text; otherwise, he would include only useful details – as here, where he seems to include little more than the date. qui post Deusdedit ecclesiae praefuit [who succeeded from Deusdedit] Bede’s knowledge of the details of papal succession came from the LP. anno incarnationis dominicae DCXVIIII. [in the year of our Lord 619.] Bede’s language could be taken to mean that the letters were sent in 619 (Plummer, 2.90), but this is not the natural meaning of the Latin, which implies that the date relates to the accession of the pope. In fact, this must be the case because Boniface only became pope on 23 December 619, so the letters would not have been written until 620. Consequently, Bede must be referring to the date of the papal accession. In some ways, this is rather surprising. As we saw in considering 1.23, calculating the year in which popes took office or died was no easy matter for Bede, given the sources at his disposal: the LP together with information derived from the epitaph collection in the Roman sylloge Bede possessed. He was not even able to be accurate about his hero Gregory the Great. Nonetheless, in this instance, Bede probably did have sufficient information to come to the correct conclusion about the year of Boniface’s accession. The letters Pope Boniface sent, which were just discussed, can be assumed to have had dating formulas,102 which would have amounted to 620. Because the original letters from the English church will have arrived before Boniface became pope, it is likely that he mentioned this point in his own letters, just as pope-elect John did in the letter to the Irish that Bede quotes in HE 2.19. With this detail, as well as the precise date of the letters and the knowledge of Boniface’s day of accession – 23 December – given in the LP, Bede had more than enough information to calculate the year Boniface became pope. Erat autem Mellitus corporis quidem infirmitate, id est podagra, grauatus [Mellitus suffered from a bodily infirmity, namely serious gout] The detail about Mellitus’s medical problem is an integral part of the story Bede goes on to tell in a few moments: therefore, this note would have come from the same source as that tale.

The mission fathers  135 sed mentis gressibus sanis alacriter terrena quaeque transiliens, atque ad caelestia semper amanda, petenda, et quaerenda peruolans. Erat carnis origine nobilis, sed culmine mentis nobilior. [yet in mind he was sound, energetically leaping over earthly things desiring those heavenly matters which he had always loved, pursued and sought after. He was noble by birth but nobler still in the height of his spirit.] Some of this encomium might possibly have come from Bede’s source for the story he is about to tell; but in general, these words of praise are best taken as his own rhetorical invention, lauding Mellitus in terms highly influenced by hagiographic norms. The ‘noble by birth … nobler still in spirit’ topos is almost certainly Bede’s own addition, the play on words being one he frequently used (Plummer, 2.90–91). Denique, ut unum uirtutis eius, unde cetera intellegi possint, testimonium referam, … poterat. [Indeed, I will relate one instance of his uirtus from which the rest may be understood. … {Mellitus was carried into the path of a fire destroying Canterbury, and through his prayers, the wind turned the flames away from the church of the Four Crowned Martyrs and eventually put the fire out}.] This story about one of the Roman mission’s founding fathers is another coherent yet extended narrative, which only really makes sense if it came from a single source, though one that has not survived. Again, this is a distinctly hagiographic tale, including a miracle that shows almost no detailed knowledge but is instead a simple paraphrasing of a topos. The motif of the power of the saint turning back flames is found elsewhere, even in the HE (HE 3.10), as well as in Bede’s Life of Cuthbert (VCP, 14, following AnonVC, 2.7). But the story here is actually drawn almost precisely from Gregory’s Dialogues, even down to the saint’s suffering gout (Gregory, Dialogues, 1.6). In the example from the VCP, Bede even acknowledges the parallel with the Dialogues (VCP, 14). This is not because ‘one of the missionaries must have recalled a very similar miracle performed by Bishop Marcellinus of Ancona’ (Wallace-Hadrill, 1988: 62). Rather, it is another sign that those composing these tales, presumably in Canterbury, had little or no knowledge of the actual individuals whose sanctity they were attempting to evidence through the telling of miracle stories. This is not a story that historians should put any faith in: there is no reason to believe that Mellitus really did have the gout. The only ‘fact’ in the story is the existence of the church of the Four Crowned Martyrs, which must have been standing at the time of the composition of the narrative.103 There is no sign that the storyteller possessed any other details concerning the church, and the tale is not evidence for its date of foundation. Bede’s reference to this miracle as one example of many need not mean that his source originally contained several such tales. That is not impossible, but

136  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent such a passing remark is more likely to be a rhetorical flourish on Bede’s behalf. He is making the most of the limited evidence at his disposal to construct a narrative more comprehensive than the scraps of evidence he possessed. Et hic ergo postquam annis quinque rexit ecclesiam, Eadbaldo regnante migrauit ad caelos, sepultusque est cum patribus suis in saepedicto monasterio et ecclesia beatissimi apostolorum principis, anno ab incarnatione Domini DCXXIIII, die VIII Kalendarum Maiarum. [And, after he (Mellitus) ruled the church for five years, he went to heaven during Eadbald’s reign and was buried with his fathers in the oft-mentioned monastery and church of the most blessed chief of the apostles on 24 April in the year of our Lord 624.] Mention of the bishop’s Julian date of burial strongly suggests that this detail came from Mellitus’s epitaph rather than from Canterbury liturgical commemoration. Bede’s statement that Mellitus’s death, like Laurence’s, occurred during Eadbald’s reign was mere common sense. Even so, it is possible, even likely, that Eadbald was mentioned on Mellitus’s epitaph as Æthelberht was on Augustine’s. The question of Bede’s basis for the incarnational date of 624 that he gives is more complicated. At one level, of course, it is a calculation, but is it a direct ‘translation’ of an indictional or regnal date from Mellitus’s epitaph, or has Bede deduced it from other information? The mention of Mellitus’s having served for five years may point in the latter direction. Given what we have seen of the epitaphs of Augustine and Æthelberht, neither of which seem to have included references to their years of death, there is no reason to assume that Mellitus’s did. In contrast, a notice of the length of his episcopate is something that might well be expected on the epitaph. Such notes were frequently found as part of papal epitaphs, such as Gregory’s. Even so, the difficulty remains of what Bede calculated the five years from. In this context, the coincidence of him using the year 619 earlier in the chapter naturally raises suspicions. Could it be that Bede has mistaken the import of the date he mentioned earlier in the chapter, confusing the accession of Mellitus with that of Pope Boniface or at least the letters he sent? The stories are entwined, and such confusion is not beyond Bede. But if we are willing to consider that Bede’s use of 619 in his calculations might have stemmed from a confusion between Mellitus and Boniface, then we also need to note the further coincidence that the LP gives five years for the latter’s episcopate, just as Bede gives for the former. There is not enough information for any degree of certainty here. Nonetheless, there are consequences if either or both of these claims are in error. The firm date of 619 that historians give for Laurence’s death is merely a modern deduction from Bede’s statements here: in other words, 624 subtract five. There is no other evidence for the year of Laurence’s death. If the 624, the five years, or both were in error, the year for Laurence’s death would be wrong. If Justus did not succeed Mellitus in 624 but a year or more earlier,

The mission fathers  137 then this might provide a key for explicating the otherwise confusing chronology of the Northumbrian mission to Edwin by Paulinus.104 Thus, certainty about whence Bede derived 624 for Mellitus’s death may not be possible. At some level at least, calculation, and perhaps confusion, on Bede’s part are probable.

What Bede had

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Laurence’s epitaph Canterbury episcopal list Rochester episcopal list Letters of Pope Boniface V to Mellitus and Justus LP Mellitus’s epitaph, possibly with mention of the length of his episcopate at Canterbury.

‘Orally’, Bede had basic Canterbury-sourced knowledge about the location of the tombs of Laurence and Mellitus.

What Bede says for which it has not been possible to identify the source Bede’s source for the miracle story about Mellitus has not survived. This would account for the following elements of this chapter that have not ­otherwise been identified: - Mellitus suffered from gout - Canterbury was on fire, which was spreading to the bishop’s residence - Mellitus had himself carried to the church of the Four Martyrs, which lay in the path of the flames - His prayers averted the fire by turning the wind backwards, saving the church and the people. Bede has not compiled this story from a variety of sources. He has taken it from one. That source fits all the criteria of the rest of the ‘Canterbury tales’ spread across Bede’s account of the Gregorian mission. 2.8 – ‘How Pope Boniface sent the pallium and a letter to Justus, Mellitus’ successor’ Cui statim successit in pontificatum Iustus, qui erat Hrofensis ecclesiae episcopus. [Justus, who was bishop of the church of Rochester, immediately succeeded Mellitus in the archbishopric.] Bede has already stated Justus’s original diocese several times based on the episcopal list he possessed for Rochester. Bede’s Canterbury episcopal list

138  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent would have told him that Justus succeeded Mellitus in the metropolitan see. There is no reason to believe that the statim comes from any source. This is simply Bede’s own view of what should have been the case. Illi autem ecclesiae Romanum pro se consecrauit episcopum [He consecrated Romanus bishop of the church of Rochester in his own place] Bede would have found Romanus’s succession to Justus at Rochester in the episcopal list for that diocese. That it was Justus who consecrated Romanus was the only possible conclusion Bede could have come to: there simply was no one else to perform the rite. Bede needed no separate source in order to make such a claim, though he would have seen the papal letter he inserts in this chapter, which he interpreted as a licence to consecrate, as corroboration. data sibi ordinandi episcopos auctoritate a pontifice Bonifatio [having been granted the authority to consecrate bishops by Pope Boniface] This statement is based on Bede’s reading of the papal letter he is about to quote in full. It also explains why he includes this letter when he has recently omitted others, with only passing references revealing that he possessed them. This one served the purposes of his narrative. The letter does specifically mention permission to consecrate bishops,105 but Bede is mistaken in focusing on the purpose of this letter as being such a ‘licence’. The main matter is the conferral of the pallium; the ability to consecrate others is merely incidental. quem successorem fuisse Deusdedit supra meminimus; [whom we referred to above as the successor to Deusdedit.] Bede’s information about papal succession derived primarily from the LP. cuius auctoritatis ista est forma: … Deus te incolumem custodiat, dilectissime frater. [This is the form of the authority: … {Boniface congratulates Justus for his role in converting a king, who is best understood as Eadbald, and grants him use of the pallium as well as permission to consecrate other bishops.} … May God keep you safe, most beloved brother.] This is the text of yet another papal letter that Bede obtained from Nothelm, thanks to the latter’s researches in the papal archive.106

What Bede had

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Rochester episcopal list Canterbury episcopal list LP Letter of Pope Boniface V to Justus.

The mission fathers  139 2.9 – ‘About the rule of King Edwin [of Northumbria] and how Paulinus [one of the Gregorian mission], coming to preach the gospel to him [Edwin] first gave the sacraments of the Christian faith to Edwin’s daughter, with some others’. This chapter also mentions the marriage of Edwin to ­Æthelberht’s daughter Æthelburh. Quo tempore etiam gens Nordanhymbrorum, hoc est ea natio Anglorum, quae ad aquilonalem Humbre fluminis plagam habitabat, cum rege suo Aeduino uerbum fidei praedicante Paulino, cuius supra meminimus, suscepit. … [At this time the Northumbrian people, that is the English people who live on the north side of the river Humber, together with their king Edwin, also accepted the Word of faith through the preaching of Paulinus, who we mentioned above. … {Bede details the extent of ­Edwin’s power, including reference to his hegemony over the isles of ­Anglesey and Man. King Æthelberht allowed Edwin to marry his daughter Æthelburh, provided she was allowed to continue to practise her faith and might have Paulinus as bishop to accompany her. The precise date of Paulinus’s consecration is given, followed by a passage describing his missionary work in laudatory but generic terms. Bede then tells a specific story about how Edwin survived a West Saxon assassination attempt and his consequent acceptance that his daughter Eanflæd, born the same night, might be baptised. The king himself, despite a crushing military victory over the West Saxons and careful study with Paulinus, hesitated before conversion.}] This chapter is the beginning of a cycle of stories about Paulinus and the conversion of Edwin and his family. As discussed at the beginning of this analysis, such chapters will not be considered in depth. First, they do not directly concern the main subject of this book, which remains early C ­ hristian Kent and the narrative of the Gregorian mission there. Moreover, Bede, growing up in ‘Northumbria’, will have had access to a greater depth and variety of sources regarding the events and people of that kingdom. Some of these would have been written, but more would have come to him orally. The evidence of the VG confirms that even more quasi-legendary stories about Edwin and Paulinus were in circulation than Bede provides, and perhaps even different versions of the same stories (Jones, 1947: 175). Such a comparison points again to a Northumbrian, rather than a Kentish, context for Bede’s stories about Edwin and Paulinus. Bede was no doubt aware of some of these, whether or not he knew that Life. In addition to being more numerous, Bede’s sources here are more intangible. They will have been connected in complex ways, which make them much more difficult to trace convincingly.107 This does not, of course, mean they need have been more reliable. Thus, there are good reasons to omit a detailed analysis of Bede’s material for such chapters. Even so, Kent cannot be completely discounted as a source for stories about Paulinus. Bede specifically includes Northumbria

140  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent among the kingdoms whose early Christian days he learned about partially through Albinus (HE Preface). In general, however, this seems to refer to little more than the information that Bede found on episcopal lists held centrally at Canterbury. Nonetheless, several stories relating to others of the Gregorian ‘mission’ party, presumably with a Canterbury provenance, have already been seen. Perhaps one of the otherwise apparently Northumbrian legendary stories about Paulinus was originally from the same set as the other ‘Canterbury tales’ identified earlier. If so, it is well hidden. None of the Paulinus stories has an evidently Canterbury tone. In addition, most of them are more detailed and less closely adherent to standard hagiographic topoi than any of the Canterbury legends considered earlier. If any chapter would seem the most likely to be based on Kentish information, then it would probably be this one, 2.9, in which Edwin takes a bride and a bishop from Kent. Nevertheless, it is difficult to discern which, if any, elements in this chapter could fall under such a heading. The account of the reason for Paulinus’s trip north – that is, the marriage of Æthelburh of Kent to Edwin – may well contain inaccuracies, but it is as likely to come from Northumbria as Kent, if not more so. Michael Wallace-Hadrill assumed that all the information about Paulinus must have come from the prelate’s own recollections preserved at Rochester simply because he had been exiled from Northumbria and had himself not returned (Wallace-­Hadrill, 1988: 84–85). But this is based on the mistaken premises that everyone else had left and that no one else went back. Paulinus’s companion James stayed in Northumbria and lived into Bede’s own lifetime (HE 2.20). Hild was baptised at the same time as Edwin, apparently when she was thirteen, quite old enough to recall memories of these earlier events later in her career (HE 4.23). Moreover, Eanflæd, the daughter of Edwin and Æthelburh, returned to Northumbria when she married Oswiu (HE 3.15). She will not have gone alone, although no doubt, others had been able to make their way back in the meantime. There were plenty of channels by which anecdotes about Paulinus were retained – and embellished – in Northumbria. The prevalence of Paulinus’s stories in the VG should be evidence enough that Northumbria rather than Kent was the main location for the circulation of such traditions.108 Only one substantive element in this passage does probably come, indirectly, from Kentish sources: the date of Paulinus’s consecration. This seems unlikely to have appeared on its own in a source: it is not easy to imagine what source would have recorded such a date. More probably, the figure was ­Bede’s own calculation based on two other items: the date he had for ­Paulinus’s death – 10 October 644, which was probably taken from the inscription on his epitaph at Rochester – and the length of his total ­episcopate – 19 years, 2 months and 21 days, which, again, is likely to have been recorded in the same text.109 By subtracting the second figure from the first, Bede arrived at 21 July 625 for Paulinus’s consecration. This was a Sunday, which quietly supports Bede’s deduction.110

The mission fathers  141 The claim that Paulinus was consecrated by Justus required no source: this is a simple deduction by Bede, using his ‘knowledge’ of when the event had happened, supported by what he saw as the ‘licence’ to consecrate granted by Pope Boniface V to Justus in the letter Bede inserted in 2.8. Similarly, much of the first half of the chapter is either Bede’s deduction or his rhetoric.111 Some of the compliments paid to Edwin, for instance, are a bit of both. The details about the extent of his power with which Bede begins, however, derive, as already discussed at length, from his ‘hegemon list’ document and his ‘hidage document’ of the tribute type; both of these came to him with an apparently Northumbrian provenance and are likely to have been connected in the material Bede had in front of him (Shaw, 2016c, 2018).112 The second half of the chapter represents one of the traditional anecdotes, almost certainly of Northumbrian provenance, concerning Paulinus that dominate several of the next few chapters. This section, and those chapters like 2.12–2.14 that are similar, will be passed over here for the reasons discussed. The chapters in which Bede inserts papal letters, such as 2.10 and 2.11, will, however, be examined. These often cast indirect light on Kent; Bede obtained them through Nothelm and thanks to Albinus.

What Bede had

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‘Hegemon list’ document ‘Hidage document’ of the ‘tribute’ type Letter of Pope Boniface V to Justus Paulinus’s Rochester epitaph, including his total years as bishop and date of death.

2.10 – ‘How Pope Boniface sent a letter to the same king encouraging him to convert’ Quo tempore [At that time] Bede has just been recounting quasi-legendary material about Edwin and Paulinus, and the papal letter Bede cites in this chapter does not have a dating clause. His use of this generic phrase, of the type examined previously, reveals his struggle to reconcile the chronology of parallel accounts from quite different sources.113 exhortatorias ad fidem litteras a pontifice sedis apostolicae Bonifatio accepit, quarum ista est forma: …. [he (Edwin) received a letter from Boniface, bishop of the apostolic see, exhorting him to accept the faith. This is the form of it: … {In a lengthy and detailed attack on pagan ideas and practices, Pope Boniface exhorts the king to become Christian, making reference to Eadbald’s own recent conversion. Finally, he mentions gifts that he is sending the king.}]

142  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent Bede’s claim that the letter was intended to exhort the king to accept the faith is derived from the text of the long letter that he inserts in full, which takes up the rest of the chapter. Given their shared content, the original copies of the letter to Edwin in this chapter and that to Æthelburh in the next chapter were almost certainly sent to England at the same time as the epistle of the same pope to Bishop Justus, which Bede includes in 2.8.114 Again, we can be confident that all these letters reached Bede via Nothelm.

What Bede had - Letter of Pope Boniface V to King Edwin. 2.11 – ‘ How Pope Boniface advised Edwin’s wife, by a letter, to take great care for his salvation’ Ad coniugem quoque illius Aedilbergam huiusmodi litteras idem pontifex misit: … [The same pope also sent a letter to his (Edwin’s) wife ­Æthelburh in this way: … {Boniface rejoices in the conversion of ­Eadbald but urges Æthelburh to work harder to bring her husband into the Church. Finally, he mentions gifts that he is sending the queen}.] The brief sentence that precedes the long papal letter is little more than a repetition of its title, while the rest of the chapter is simply the text of the epistle brought by Nothelm.

What Bede had - Letter of Pope Boniface V to Queen Æthelburh. 2.12–2.14 For the reasons already stated, the strictly Northumbria-focused chapters 2.12–2.14 will not be examined in this present review of Bede’s sources and method. These chapters include Edwin’s vision while in exile among the East Angles, which Paulinus made use of to persuade the king to convert (2.12); the famous story of the council at which the nobles, and even the pagan priest, advised the king to become Christian (2.13); and, finally, the baptism of King Edwin and many other Northumbrians (2.14). 2.15 – ‘How the kingdom of the East Angles received the faith of Christ’ Tantum autem deuotionis Æduini erga cultum ueritatis habuit, ut etiam regi Orientalium Anglorum, Earpualdo filio Redualdi, persuaderet, relictis idolorum superstitionibus, fidem et sacramenta Christi cum sua prouincia suscipere. … et cum X ac VII annos eidem prouinciae pontificali regimine praeesset, ibidem in pace uitam finiuit. [So great was ­Edwin’s devotion to true religion, that he also persuaded the king of the East Angles, Eorpwald, son of Rædwald, to abandon his

The mission fathers  143 idolatrous superstitions and to take up the faith and sacraments of Christ, with his kingdom. … {Bede tells the story of Rædwald’s conversion in Kent, followed by his syncretic institution of dual altars – to pagan gods and to Christ – in his temple in East Anglia. A basic genealogy for Rædwald is given. Bede then runs briefly through East Anglian royal succession, ending with King Sigeberht, who had been converted while in exile in Gaul and whose efforts to convert his own kingdom were supported by the B ­ urgundian bishop Felix} … and when he (Felix) had exercised episcopal authority in the kingdom for seventeen years, he ended his life there in peace.] This chapter, although about East Anglia rather than Northumbria, is not directly relevant to the present principal focus for similar reasons, so ­Bede’s sources will not be considered in detail. Even so, given that he suggests in general terms in the HE’s preface that at least some of his information about the early days of the Church in East Anglia had come from ­Albinus, it is quite possible that parts of the material in this chapter derived from ­Canterbury. If so, it quickly becomes apparent that this cannot have been much more than the name of Bishop Felix, from the episcopal list, and perhaps elements of the probably unreliable biographical information that Bede provides about him. The other parts of this chapter seem to have reached Bede via quite different channels. The context of the Eorpwald story is Edwin’s effort to convert him, so this probably came from the Northumbrian cycle of Edwin tales.115 Bede specifically states that the evidence of King Ealdwulf lay behind the Rædwald story, though this may well have been transmitted to Bede via Abbot Esi, who is mentioned in the Preface as Bede’s main source for East Anglian events. The details about the family of Rædwald derive from a king list or, more probably, a genealogy.116 The brief accounts of Ricberht, and of Sigeberht, whose biography is continued into 3.18 with strong anecdotal elements, probably also come from Abbot Esi’s retention of quasi-­legendary East Anglian material. In addition, it should not be forgotten that the ­Anonymous Life of Ceolfrith [AnonVCeo, 4] noted that Ceolfrith had spent time in an East Anglian monastery; Bede’s old abbot may have passed on some traditions before his 716 abdication and departure for Rome. This leaves only the mention of Felix, which is embellished by Bede’s own use of rhetorically phrased comments about the prelate, including wordplay on his name. For such puns, Bede did not require any source. For the basic information underlying his account, he probably relied on the East Anglian episcopal list he possessed. This may well not have come from East Anglia itself.117 As will be argued later, the evidence suggests that he probably obtained all his episcopal lists from Albinus and Canterbury via Nothelm, thus explaining the aforementioned statements in the Preface. The length of episcopate that Bede gives here would have come from the episcopal list. The East Anglian episcopal list – unlike some others – i­ ncluded the lengths of episcopate. Unfortunately, Bede had no positive date upon

144  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent which to hang this chronology. As a result, he was never able to give incarnational dates for East Anglian bishops. Other episcopal lists, as will be seen shortly, follow the same practice as the East Anglian in noting the origins of early bishops; this is the practice followed for Felix here. On what basis these claims were made and what credibility they have is unclear, especially given that these catalogues are unlikely to have been maintained contemporaneously, at least until Theodore’s time. Certainly, there is nothing in this chapter to suggest that in the early eighth century, Canterbury had access to source information produced at the time of events in the early seventh century. Given the lacunas in Bede’s knowledge, therefore, it would be unwise to place too much weight on his statements that Felix came to Honorius himself and was sent by him to East Anglia or on the claim in 3.18 that he was received by Sigeberht. Some of the narrative seems to be no more than ­Bede’s own deduction. His combination of two apparently separate stories, here and in 3.18, gives the distinct appearance of an attempt to smooth out minor inconsistencies in order to produce a coherent picture.118

What Bede had - East Anglian royal genealogy, with an intriguing parallel to the Kentish one he possessed - East Anglian episcopal list, including the length in years of each episcopate and probably a note of the origins of Felix. 2.16 – ‘How Paulinus preached in the kingdom of Lindsey; and about the nature of Edwin’s reign’. This chapter also includes mention of the consecration by Paulinus of Honorius as the new bishop of Canterbury. In this chapter, Bede returns to Paulinus, although this time speaking about his mission to Lindsey. Bede ends the chapter by discussing the rule of ­Edwin. Again, this chapter may be passed over as not directly relevant to present purposes. The only exception is the reference to Paulinus’s consecrating Honorius at Lincoln. … In qua ecclesia Paulinus, transeunte ad Christum Iusto, Honorium pro eo consecrauit episcopum, ut in sequentibus suo loco dicemus … [… In this church (Lincoln), Paulinus consecrated Honorius bishop in the place of Justus, when he had departed to Christ, as we shall say later on in its proper place. …] This reference is slightly expanded upon in 2.18. In both cases, Bede’s information probably came from the Canterbury bishops’ list, which he possessed. As seen in examining 1.27, the evidence of the HE suggests that this list recorded both the name of the consecrator of each bishop and the place where the consecration took place.

The mission fathers  145

What Bede had - Canterbury episcopal list, which included the name of the consecrator and place of consecration. 2.17 – ‘How Edwin received an encouraging letter from Pope Honorius, who also sent Paulinus a pallium’ Quo tempore [At that time] Once more, Bede’s vague phrasing reveals his ignorance of the precise dating of events. This is no surprise given that the last chapter ended with a general summary of the peaceful conditions under Edwin’s rule, and this one contains a letter with no date. But there may be something conscious about the ambiguity here. In the following chapter, Bede inserts a letter that was sent at the same time as the one quoted here; unlike this one, the letter in 2.18 ends with a dating clause – one that translates to 11 June 634. In other words, these letters were written after Edwin was dead.119 The resulting chronological confusion may have helped prompt Bede to be as intentionally vague as possible in his phrasing. In the end, the content of these letters became essentially moot, and thus, they have little more than antiquarian value.120 For Bede, however, they told an attractive story with which he was reluctant to dispense. praesulatum sedis apostolicae Honorius Bonifatii successor habebat [Honorius, the successor of Boniface, was ruling over the apostolic see.] The LP was Bede’s source for papal succession. qui, ubi gentem Nordanhymbrorum cum suo rege ad fidem confessionemque Christi, Paulino euangelizante, conuersam esse didicit, misit eidem Paulino pallium [When he learned that the Northumbrian people, together with their king, had been converted to the faith and the confession of Christ by the preaching of Paulinus, Honorius sent Paulinus a pallium.] Both these statements – the pope’s knowledge of the king’s conversion and the sending of the pallium to Paulinus – are derived from the content of the letter that Bede is about to insert. He is expanding and exaggerating on the basic information in front of him to augment his account with an emphasis on evangelisation. In fact, the letter does not suggest that this is the first time the pope has heard about the king’s conversion. The pope does not congratulate the king on his baptism but praises his Christian zeal as famous throughout the world. The content of the epistle is focused on acceding to the request for the pallium. As will be seen in examining 2.20, Bede ‘knew’ from his Kentish contacts that Paulinus’s pallium had been preserved at Rochester, to which he had been translated after his ‘exile’

146  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent from Northumbria following Edwin’s death. Even so, the letter is a sufficient source in itself for Bede’s claims. misit et regi Æduino litteras exhortatorias, paterna illum caritate accendens, ut in fide ueritatis, quam acceperant, persistere semper ac proficere curarent. …. [He also sent a letter of exhortation to King Edwin inspiring him with fatherly love, so that they would always persevere and become perfect in belief in the Truth which they had received. … {In the letter, Honorius exhorts Edwin to grow in spiritual knowledge through prayer and reading – especially of the works of Gregory the Great. The pope then says that he is acceding to the king’s requests for the organisation of the Church in England, including sending palliums to both Honorius and Paulinus.} ….] The introduction to the letter is merely a generic summary of its import based on Bede’s reading of the text of the letter with which he brings the chapter to a close.

What Bede had - LP - Letter of Pope Honorius to King Edwin. 2.18 – ‘How Honorius, who succeeded Justus as bishop of the church at Canterbury, received a pallium and a letter from the same Pope Honorius’ Haec inter [Meanwhile] Here, the ‘meanwhile’ is even more inaccurate than usual. This is not simply a case of ambiguity based on ignorance but of ordering the inclusion of events to fit the narrative more conveniently. Most of 2.17 was a letter to Edwin stating that at his request, palliums were being sent to Paulinus and to Honorius; 2.18 contains the letter to the latter conveying the same message. The death of Justus did not happen while these events were going on; it could not have. It happened before, as Bede knew, though he did not know how long before. Iustus archiepiscopus ad caelestia regna subleuatus quarto Iduum Nouembrium die [Archbishop Justus was taken up to the heavenly kingdom on 10 November] The description of Justus as archbishop is an understandable anachronism on Bede’s behalf. He probably derived the Julian date of the bishop’s death from the text of his epitaph, as he had done for the bishop’s predecessors. Bede did not know the year of Justus’s death and, therefore, could only approximately locate it within the general narrative of events occurring during Edwin’s reign.

The mission fathers  147 et Honorius pro illo est in praesulatum electus [and in his place Honorius was elected to the position.] Bede’s episcopal list for Canterbury would have told him that Honorius followed Justus: the point about election is probably Bede’s assumption. qui ordinandus uenit ad Paulinum, et occurrente sibi illo in Lindocolino, quintus ab Augustino Doruuernensis ecclesiae consecratus est antistes. [He came to Paulinus for consecration, meeting him at Lincoln, where he was consecrated the fifth bishop of the church at Canterbury, including Augustine.] Bede could count for himself that, according to his own usage, Honorius was the fifth bishop of Canterbury ab Augustino, that is, the fifth including Augustine. The Canterbury episcopal list that Bede possessed seems to have contained a note in each instance of who had consecrated the bishop and where. Thus, Bede ‘knew’ that Honorius had been consecrated in Lincoln by Paulinus. In 2.16, Bede integrated this claim into the account he had derived from separate sources about Paulinus’s work in the north.121 Cui etiam praefatus papa Honorius misit pallium et litteras, in quibus decernit hoc ipsum, quod in epistula ad Æduinum regem missa decreuerat; scilicet ut cum Doruuernensis uel Eburacensis antistes de hac uita transierit, is, qui superest, consors eiusdem gradus habeat potestatem alterum ordinandi in loco eius, qui transierat, sacerdotem; ne sit necesse ad Romanam usque ciuitatem per tam prolixa terrarum et maris spatia pro ordinando archiepiscopo semper fatigari. [The above-mentioned Pope Honorius also sent him a pallium, as well as a letter in which he set out those things which he had determined in the letter sent to King Edwin, namely that when the bishop of Canterbury or York left this life, he who survived, being his colleague of the same rank, should have the power to consecrate another bishop in the place of the one who had died; lest it always be necessary for him to exhaust himself going as far as the Roman city through such a distance of lands and sea to be consecrated archbishop.] This passage is simply a lengthy paraphrase of what Bede considered the most noteworthy matter from the letter. Thanks to the letter to Edwin in 2.17, Bede already knew that Pope Honorius was sending a pallium to Bishop Honorius of Canterbury, but this epistle confirmed it more directly. Quarum etiam textum litterarum in nostra hac historia ponere commodum duximus …. [We have also considered it worthwhile to include the text of the letter in our History: … {Following an introduction in praise of the work done to promote the Church among the English, the pope notes

148  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent that, following the requests of the kings, he is sending both bishops a pallium and granting permission for each to consecrate the successor of the other.}] Here, Bede inserts the letter of Pope Honorius. Despite Bede’s claim, this was probably not only addressed to Bishop Honorius. The content of the letter makes it almost certain that the original was a joint epistle to Honorius and to Paulinus, or rather that the same letter was sent to both bishops. The most obvious indication of this is when Pope Honorius states: ‘when God by His divine grace orders one of you to be called to Him, he who survives should consecrate another bishop in the place of the dead man.’122 Given that there is no internal reference to Paulinus, this instruction makes little sense unless the letter is addressed to both bishops. The pope goes on to say that he has therefore ‘sent one pallium to each of you, dearly beloved’.123 This can only reasonably mean that both bishops were expected not merely to be receiving a pallium but to be reading the letter.124 Hence, the absence of Paulinus’s name from the line of address does not represent the original text of the epistle; this was probably the result of choice or error on either Bede’s behalf or that of Nothelm. id est anno dominicae incarnationis DCXXXIIII. [That was in the year of our Lord, 634.] This is Bede’s own calculation based on the indictional dating clause in the papal letter.125

What Bede had - Justus’s epitaph - Canterbury episcopal list (including names of consecrator and locations of consecration) - Letter of Pope Honorius to Bishop Honorius of Canterbury (and ­Paulinus of York). 2.19 – ‘How first Pope Honorius and afterwards [Pope-elect] John sent letters to the Irish people about Easter and at the same time about the Pelagian heresy’ Misit idem papa Honorius litteras etiam genti Scottorum, quos in obseruatione sancti paschae errasse conpererat, iuxta quod supra docuimus; sollerter exhortans ne paucitatem suam in extremis terrae finibus constitutam, sapientiorem antiquis siue modernis, quae per orbem erant, Christi ecclesiis aestimarent; neue contra paschales computos, et decreta synodalium totius orbis pontificum aliud pascha celebrarent. [The same Pope Honorius also sent a letter to the Irish people, whom he had discovered to have erred in their observation of Easter, just as we have shown above. He skilfully urged them, small as they were in number and at the extreme

The mission fathers  149 ends of the earth, not to hold themselves to be wiser than the churches of Christ – ancient and modern – which were throughout the earth; nor should they celebrate a different Easter in opposition to the paschal tables and the synodal decrees of the bishops of all the world.] Bede does not include Pope Honorius’s letter to the Irish, but he does summarise its contents. Like all his computistical material, this will ultimately have come from Irish sources – not from Rome via Nothelm.126 Bede referenced this and the subsequent letter of pope-elect John in the MC (­Plummer, 2.114). Sed et Iohannes, qui successori eiusdem Honorii Seuerino successit [And John too, who succeeded Severinus, the successor of Honorius] Bede used the information from the LP to construct his papal chronology. cum adhuc esset electus in pontificatum, pro eodem errore corrigendo litteras eis magna auctoritate atque eruditione plenas direxit; euidenter astruens, quia dominicum paschae diem a XVa luna usque ad XXIam , quod in Nicena synodo probatum est, oporteret inquiri. Necnon pro Pelagiana heresi, quam apud eos reuiuescere didicerat, cauenda ac repellenda, in eadem illos epistula admonere curauit; [while he (John) was still pope-elect, sent them (the Irish) a letter of great authority and learning to correct the same error; he demonstrated clearly that Easter Sunday ought to be sought between the fifteenth and twenty-first day of the moon, as was proved in the synod of Nicaea. Moreover, in the same letter, he took care to warn them to beware and to reject the Pelagian heresy, which he had learned had revived among them.] The information in this passage was probably derived from the letter Bede is about to quote. As he does not provide the whole text of the epistle, however, it is possible that some of the details represent his own insertions for the sake of clarification or amplification. The reference to the Council of Nicaea might well be an example of this.127 The description of the letter as ‘of great authority and learning’ definitely represents Bede’s own judgement. cuius epistulae principium est: … et XIIII luna cum Hebreis celebrare nitentes. [This is the beginning of the letter: … {Following a long list of addressees and senders, the letter mentions earlier epistles sent by the Irish to Pope Severinus} … of one view with the Hebrews to celebrate the Pasch on the fourteenth of the moon.] Bede only quotes part of the text of the letter. Historians have speculated on why this might be: perhaps the most popular hypothesis is that Bede was attempting to spare papal blushes by omitting claims about the ‘Irish’ calculation that he knew to be false (Ó Cróinín, 1983: 232; Stancliffe, 2003: 2).

150  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent This sounds perfectly reasonable, although we should not discount his willingness to make editorial decisions in order to maintain the balance and rhetorical effect of his work. Bede will have obtained this letter, along with the rest of his computistical materials, from Irish sources. There is independent evidence that this epistle was preserved in an Irish context: a sentence from the part of the letter omitted by Bede was included in an Irish computus collection (Ó Cróinín, 1982: 409; Harrison, 1984: 228). Quo epistulae principio manifeste declaratur, et nuperrime temporibus illis hanc apud eos heresim exortam, et non totam eorum gentem, sed quosdam in eis hac fuisse inplicitos. [At the beginning of this letter it is openly declared that this heresy had sprung up among them in very recent times and that not the whole of that people but only certain of them were implicated in it.] Both statements are deductions from the epistle but statements in which Bede seems to be making every effort to avoid tarring the Irish as a whole with the same brush. Exposita autem ratione paschalis obseruantiae [Having explained the method of observing Easter] Bede omits the part of the letter explaining the Easter calculation. By this stage, such an omission is unlikely to be because he did not fully approve of the method propounded by Rome. ita de Pelagianis in eadem epistula subdunt: [later in the same letter, they (the pope-elect and his colleagues) added this about the Pelagians:] This note reflects the content of the section of the letter that Bede is about to quote. Et hoc quoque cognouimus, quod uirus Pelagianae hereseos apud uos denuo reuiuescit; …. [And this also we have learnt, that the venom of the Pelagian heresy has revived among you again; … {The pope strongly urges the Irish to avoid Pelagianism, which he energetically condemns, ending with biblical proofs of the reality of original sin.}] The chapter ends with this second quotation from the letter.

What Bede had Beyond Bede’s plentiful background knowledge about the nature of the paschal dispute, the content of this chapter is based on the following written sources:

The mission fathers  151 - Letter of Pope Honorius to the Irish, unless Bede’s reference to it was simply deduced from a section he omitted from the letter of Pope-elect John - LP - Letter of Pope-elect John to the Irish. 2.20 – ‘How, after Edwin was killed, Paulinus returned to Kent and took up the bishopric of the church of Rochester’ At uero Aeduini cum X et VII annis genti Anglorum simul et Brettonum gloriosissime praeesset, … sepulti sunt. [And when Edwin had reigned most gloriously over both the English and the British people for seventeen years … {Bede gives an account of Edwin’s defeat and death at the hands of Penda of Mercia in alliance with Cædwalla, a British king, at the battle of Hæthfelth. Together, despite the latter’s ­Christian faith, they carried out a great slaughter of the people of ­Northumbria, greatly setting back the Church’s cause there. The details of the burial of Edwin’s head are given. Paulinus fled with Æthelburh and with ­Edwin’s children. Their daughter Eanflæd came to Kent with ­Paulinus and her mother, but the sons were sent to King Dagobert in Gaul, where both died in infancy and were honourably buried.}] Most of this chapter concerns distinctly Northumbrian issues, such as the death of Edwin and its consequences. Bede’s knowledge of the events will have derived from sources and traditions from his own kingdom. These will not be discussed here. Near the end of the chapter, however, Bede does deal with Kentish information that requires consideration. Attulit quoque secum uasa pretiosa Aeduini regis perplura, in quibus et crucem magnam auream, et calicem aureum consecratum ad ministerium altaris, quae hactenus in ecclesia Cantiae conseruata monstrantur. [He (Paulinus) also brought with him many very fine items of King Edwin, among which were a great golden cross and a golden chalice, consecrated to the service of the altar, which, kept in the church of Kent, are still shown.] Bede believed that Paulinus had brought the ‘treasure’ he mentions from Northumbria because, as he says, Canterbury claimed to possess it in the early eighth century. Bede has no separate source as evidence for the claim. Canterbury’s views about the origins of the objects in its possession might be true or false, but they were not based on primary sources. They rested on oral tradition of inevitably doubtful reliability, which claimed to stretch back almost a century to at least 644, the year of Paulinus’s death (HE 3.14). One surprising, or suspicious, element in the tradition is that Bede seems to be suggesting that the objects were apparently preserved not at Rochester, where Paulinus was bishop, but at Canterbury.

152  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent Quo in tempore Hrofensis ecclesia pastorem minime habebat, eo quod Romanus praesul illius ad Honorium papam a Iusto archiepiscopo legatarius missus absortus fuerat fluctibus Italici maris; [At that time the church of Rochester had no pastor because its bishop, Romanus, who had been sent as ambassador to Pope Honorius by Archbishop Justus, had been drowned in the waves of the Italian Sea.] This is a passage with no obvious source and certainly comes from no surviving one. In order to understand the origins of the story, it is important to appreciate how the parts of the story are connected. There are two or possibly as many as three elements to the account: Romanus died in the I­ talian Sea; he did so while on a mission to the pope (or on his way back from one); and that mission was sent by Bishop Justus and sent to Pope Honorius. The first element is so distinctive that it is very difficult to envisage Bede inventing it. He must have had a source that provided at least that piece of information, whether or not its authority for the events in question was reliable. Theoretically, the other elements could simply have been Bede’s deductions from that premise: if Romanus died in the Italian Sea, then this must have occurred on his way to or from Rome and so on a mission to the pope who, in essentially any part of this period, would have been Honorius (625–38). For most of this, Justus was the bishop of Canterbury, so he would have seemed the obvious figure to have commissioned the embassy. Bede’s picture could, therefore, have simply been deduced from a single piece of information. Such a process was well within his talents and is not beyond the type of inferences we have seen him making elsewhere. Nonetheless, the likelihood that the detail that Romanus died in the ­Italian Sea came to Bede without any context has to be considered extremely low. This is not the type of information, like the date of a death, that was liable to be recorded on its own. Instead, it probably points to a basis in a more anecdotal story. It is reminiscent of the parallel story in 1.33 of the drowning of Abbot Peter on a mission to Gaul. Even in this tiny passage, there are sufficient elements about Romanus to suggest that here too, Bede may have been drawing on a separate narrative that was either dedicated to Romanus or was merely a tangent to a larger one about Paulinus. In either case, this story will presumably have included all the elements – the mission to Pope Honorius, the sending by Justus, and the drowning in the Italian Sea – that Bede compresses into one line here and will have followed a similar pattern to those of the several other stories of Gregorian mission figures that were seen previously. This scenario seems more persuasive than a theory that requires an almost complete Bedan deduction from a single fact – Romanus’s drowning in the Italian Sea – that it is difficult to conceive being retained on its own. ac per hoc curam illius praefatus Paulinus inuitatione Honorii antistitis et Eadbaldi regis suscepit ac tenuit, usque dum et ipse suo tempore ad caelestia regna cum gloriosi fructu laboris ascendit. [The aforementioned

The mission fathers  153 Paulinus took over this responsibility at the invitation of Bishop Honorius and King Eadbald and held it until the time when he himself ascended to the heavenly kingdom, with the fruits of his glorious labour.] Other than the basic fact of Paulinus’s accession, which Bede knew from his Rochester episcopal list, the rest of this passage is simply Bedan rhetoric praising Paulinus and requires no separate source. Given his information about the dates of office of Honorius and Eadbald, it would have seemed obvious that they invited Paulinus to fill the vacancy at Rochester. In qua ecclesia moriens pallium quoque, quod a Romano papa acceperat, reliquit. [On his death, he also left the pallium which he had received from the pope in Rome in the church.] Bede’s assertion will have been based on physical evidence, which he will have heard about from his Kentish contacts. Rochester possessed a pallium in Bede’s time, which it claimed, perhaps rightly, to have preserved since Paulinus’s. Bede has no separate source for his claim. Reliquerat autem in ecclesia sua Eburaci Iacobum diaconum, … et ipse senex ac plenus dierum, iuxta scripturas, patrum uiam secutus est. [He (Paulinus) had left in his church at York a deacon called James … {Bede tells the story of James, who, following Paulinus’s departure, continued to preach in Northumbria, often using Catterick as a base, and whose skill in church music was famous} … and, just like in the Scriptures, when he was old and full of days, he went the way of his fathers.] The final paragraph of the chapter and of Book 2 is concerned with Paulinus’s assistant James, who had already been mentioned in 2.16. Bede’s information about James, a man ‘who even lived into our own times’ (2.16) and was present at the 664 synod of Whitby (3.25), came from Northumbria and Northumbrian sources. Thus, Bede brings the narrative back again to his own kingdom, or at least to his native sources, in order to close the book. Here, it will now remain for most of the rest of the HE.

What Bede had - Rochester episcopal list. ‘Orally’, Bede had basic Kentish-sourced knowledge about the items associated with Edwin and Paulinus and preserved in Canterbury and Rochester, including both the royal and ecclesiastical treasures and the episcopal pallium.

What Bede says for which it has not been possible to identify the source Bede’s source for the death of Romanus in the Italian Sea on a mission to Pope Honorius for Bishop Justus has not survived. The detail about the

154  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent location of Romanus’s death is highly unlikely to have been preserved on its own and so probably points to an anecdotal rather than archival source for Bede’s information. If so, then this section may derive from a narrative source of Canterbury provenance focused on the early ‘mission fathers’ and following a pattern – hagiographic and ­anachronistic – seen on several occasions already in this study, although whether the main focus of this tale would have been on Romanus himself or on ­Paulinus is unclear. Having dealt with the relevant chapters of Book 2, it is necessary to move on in the next Chapter to consider those few select parts of Books 3 and 4 relating to Canterbury before Theodore.

Notes 1 Implicit also in a focus on Gregory is an emphasis on the church at Canterbury, which he founded as the font of the English church. 2 The story about the slave boys notwithstanding. As will be discussed in a moment, this does not come from continuously maintained English tradition, let alone a Canterbury one. 3 The same conclusions could be drawn from the works of Aldhelm and even the Life of Gregory. 4 The analysis that follows draws on Shaw, 2015, which discussed this example in detail. 5 Perhaps it was included as one of the revisions insisted on by King Ceolwulf: HE Preface; Shaw, 2015: 10. 6 Thus, this information came to Bede via a different route than the hagiographic stories about the early mission fathers identified in this study. 7 These meetings are often referred to by historians as ‘synods’, and Bede himself uses the word synodus. This practice will be followed here, even though, strictly speaking, ‘synod’ is not an accurate term for these gatherings. 8 For instance, the translation of Augustinaes Ác and probably the statement about its location, as suggested by the use of the term Occidentalium Saxonum – ‘West Saxons’ – which was not used by that ‘people’ themselves until well after 600. 9 Wood, 2000a: 162, noted the parallel with a story in Gregory, Histories, 2.3; another is in Gregory’s Glory of the Confessors, 13. 10 Wallace-Hadrill, 1988: 53, suggested that the phrase flectit genua sua, used slightly later, may have been added by Bede, since he used a similar expression in 5.1. 11 This can be seen as far back as the account of the consequences of Daniel’s surviving the lions’ den: Daniel, 6.25–27. 12 For the sake of convenience, the extract from the third story, of the battle of Chester, is summarised here, though it is repeated below: Siquidem post haec ipse … inermes ac nudos ferientibus gladiis reliquit. [For after this … {Æthelfrith fought the British at Chester. First, he slew about 1200 monks from the same monastery as those who had gone to the ‘second’ meeting with Augustine. These were on the sidelines praying for the success of the British troops. Those guarding the monks fled} …and left them unarmed and exposed before the sword blows.] 13 Though her theories about how Bede obtained the source, while implicitly supported by Yorke, 2009b: 12, are more speculative. 14 The second and third stories together include a total of five such caveats. The following discussion draws on Shaw, 2015.

The mission fathers  155 15 Assuming that Vircillo Franklin is correct in identifying BHL 408(p) with ­Bede’s work: Vircillo Franklin, 2004: 186–224. 16 Other examples include Edwin, Oswiu, and possibly even Theodore. 17 Which is not, as Nora Chadwick claimed, an ‘original authority’ for these events: Chadwick, 1963: 167. 18 The account of the battle of Chester. 19 The ‘second synod’ narrative. 20 The precise date remains uncertain, but it was probably c.615. 21 Chadwick, 1963: 173–78, summarises the references to the battle in these annals. 22 Those sections where it is not obvious whether the content comes from Bede’s source or is merely his deduction/rhetorical invention are placed in square brackets. 23 An additional difficulty with Jones’s explanation is that this would be the only element that can conceivably be credited to a Dionysian table in Bede’s account – at least for this period – as Jones himself separately acknowledged: Jones, 1947: 162–63. 24 Unfortunately, Bede never had a specific date on which to ‘hang’ this comparative East Anglian episcopal chronology, so he was not able to offer incarnational dating for any of the bishops. 25 Bede does not seem to have known precisely when Damian died, but he had reason to believe that there was a vacancy between that bishop’s death and the consecration of his successor Putta by Theodore: HE 4.2. Damian probably died in or shortly after 664 from the great ‘plague’. 26 Although Bede did ‘know’ Paulinus’s date of death and the total length of time since his episcopal consecration – but that was for York, not Rochester: HE 3.14. 27 Not including the fragment from St Martin’s that might have formed part of the dedication. 28 Both churches’ inscriptions could have included such a date, but given Bede’s methods, it is possible that only one did, and Bede extrapolated from one to both. 29 This is a figure for which Bede does seem to have had direct positive dating evidence. 30 In 4.26, Bede rounds this up to 12 years. 31 Notwithstanding Gregory the Great’s view, expressed in his letter to Augustine and quoted at 1.29, that the latter’s authority should include omnes Brittaniae sacerdotes. The question of ‘archbishop’ has been discussed earlier. 32 Although even he later appreciated, in the case of Cedd, that being the bishop of the East Saxons did not mean one was necessarily bishop of London, and there is other evidence that the bishop of London was not so consistently ‘bishop of the East Saxons’: Ine, Law code, Prologue. 33 Bede’s inability to name Sæberht’s sons in 2.5 implies that he did not possess an East Saxon regnal list or genealogy: Jones, 1947: 196. 34 The text from the foundation stone for Rochester may well have mentioned Justus’s name. 35 The following summarises the conclusions of Shaw, 2016c: 426. 36 HE 3.16 (the distance of Farne Island from Bamburgh) and 4.27 (the distance of Farne from Lindisfarne). 37 In the story of the Hewalds’s martyrdoms: HE 5.10. 38 HE 3.22 (the distance of Ad Murum from the sea). 39 HE 4.23 (the distance of Hackness from Whitby). Whitby may be the source of the figure in HE 1.12 for the distance of the start of the ‘turf wall’ from the monastery of Abercorn. Abercorn was the see of Trumwine, bishop to the Picts. After Nechtansmere, Trumwine retired to Whitby.

156  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent 40 HE 5.4 (the distance of a man’s house from Beverley). 41 HE 3.14 (the distance of Wilfarædsun from Catterick). Bede’s source was probably derived from traditions at Gilling, if not from Ceolfrith himself: ­Wallace-Hadrill, 1988: 107. 42 HE 5.2 (the distance between John of Beverley’s oratory and the church of ­Hexham), if that is not from Abbot Berhthun. 43 Omitted by Colgrave and Mynors. 44 The epitaph’s strident assertion of Augustine as ‘first archbishop of Canterbury’ would be consistent with the tone of ecclesiastical politics in the late ­seventh/ early eighth century: Brooks, 1984: 76–80. 45 Martyn, 2004: 1.71, goes further yet, claiming, with no evidence or argument, that Augustine resigned! 46 Bede notes that all the archbishops of Canterbury were buried in Ss Peter and Paul’s in 5.8, and he states this specifically in 2.7 for Laurence and Mellitus. 47 Strictly speaking, this knowledge was not based on information in the epitaph but on the mere existence and presence of one. 48 Something that the epitaph writers may have drawn from liturgical commemoration at Canterbury. 49 As will be seen in examining 2.5, the details Bede seems to have derived from Æthelberht’s epitaph parallel those present in Augustine’s. 50 There are some signs that Bede may have had epitaphs for other Kentish royals, such as Eorcenberht, from which Bede gained details about their date of death, but this is less clear. 51 Presumably, the incarnational date was a calculation based on the information on the tomb. 52 The three pieces of information from the epitaph – calendar date of death, year of death, and length of time since episcopal ordination – were probably the basis for Bede’s calculation of Paulinus’s date of consecration, 21 July 625, given in 2.9. 53 Harrison, 1976a: 103, provided the canonical prohibition together with a list of Anglo-Saxon cases that breached the rule. 54 Once more, differing from the Life of Gregory should not be taken as a sign that Bede did not know the work; he may simply have thought he was better informed. 55 Plummer, 2.82, noted that Bede made a similar parallel in HA, 7, justifying Biscop’s appointment of Eosterwine and Ceolfrith as abbots by reference to Peter’s consecration of Linus and Cletus. 56 Bede’s use of Ps-Clement in the Commentary on Genesis is briefly discussed by Ó Cróinín, 2001: 256. For a full list of Bede’s borrowings from the work, with detailed references, see, Lapidge, 2006: 228. 57 In either case, it is a sign that Bede could use a caveat – here, perhibetur– in reference to information from a written source. 58 Use for the ‘German’ mission would be one potential explanation. 59 As Flechner, 2005: 68, claimed. 60 Plummer, 2.81, noted the presence of the three saints together in the Stowe ­Missal. The discussion in Thacker, 1999: 379–80, brings out the implications of their inclusion. 61 All these texts merit further consideration beyond the scope of this book, which I am undertaking separately. 62 At least Bede does not fall into the trap of thinking that Mellitus travelled to Rome in order to attend the synod: Brooks, 2004b. 63 The following discussion summarises the case made at greater length in Shaw, 2016b.

The mission fathers  157 64 HE 1.29. For Augustine. 65 HE 2.8. For Justus. The year is not certain. The text of the letter in the HE does not include the original dating clause, but 625 fits best with the information Bede gives and our own knowledge of papal chronology. 66 HE 2.18. For Honorius. 67 This incarnational year is a conversion from the indictional one Bede gives. 68 For instance, Gregory, Letters, 1.58, ‘To the clergy, senate and people, living in Perugia’; 5.22, ‘To the clergy, nobles and people of Ravenna’; 10.19, ‘To the clergy and nobles of the city of Naples’. 69 Bede’s description of Laurence as dilectus is not unlikely to have been adapted from the text of the letter itself. Pope Honorius called Bishop Honorius dilectissimus frater in the address of the letter quoted in 2.18. Gregory calls Augustine’s party dilectissimi filii in the letter quoted in 1.23; and Pope Boniface calls Justus dilectissimus frater in the letter quoted in 2.8. 70 Given that it will be dealt with in this section, it is worth including that text here: Defunctus uero est rex Aedilberct die XXIIII mensis Februarii post XX et unum annos acceptae fidei atque in porticu sancti Martini intro ecclesiam beatorum apostolorum Petri et Pauli sepultus, ubi et Berctæ regina condita est (King Æthelberht died on 24 February, twenty-one years after he received the faith; he was buried in the porticus of St Martin, within the church of the Apostles Ss Peter and Paul, where his queen, Bertha, also lies). 71 Though his description of such commemoration as being from a ‘martyrology’ is perhaps not the most helpful. 72 Wallace-Hadrill, 1988: 60, stressed that at this stage, such commemoration of a royal non-martyr as a saint would have been exceptional. 73 Evidence of other epitaphs, which probably did contain reference to a year, will be seen later. 74 No doubt at least partially because the year was not known at the time the epitaph was composed, which, as has been noted already, cannot have been earlier than the episcopate of Theodore. 75 This information may well have been derived from his epitaph, though it is not impossible that by that stage, the Canterbury episcopal lists noted the full date of each bishop’s death. From the notice of Deusdedit onwards, the list seems to have included the length of each episcopate. 76 One should not imagine such calculations being made as Bede wrote but rather as part of a set of calculations of royal and episcopal succession that he will have made as part of accumulating the materials for the writing of the HE. 77 This does not preclude historians incidentally reaching the correct answers, but the process is flawed. 78 Although from what, and why, is less clear. 79 By ancient calculation, which included both the first and last figure in the tally. 80 The figures in the regnal list need not have been correct. Modern historians would dramatically reduce the length of Æthelberht’s reign: Yorke, 2002: 113–14. There may be a middle ground: given that rule of Kent often seems to have been divided between kings, the 56 years that Bede, following the king list, gave for Æthelberht’s reign may have included time as ‘king’ of west Kent before he took over rule of the entire kingdom. 81 The discussion that follows summarises the arguments, evidence and conclusions in Shaw, 2018. 82 Fanning, 1991: 16, calls it a ‘jumble of inconsistent information’. 83 Such as Ecgfrith and Æthelbald. 84 The pagans Ælle and Ceawlin.

158  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent 85 The inclusion of pagan kings, who serve no further narrative purpose in the work, is one good example of this. 86 As found, for instance, in S89, S94, S101 and S103. 87 Not the Canterbury text Wallace-Hadrill, 1988: 58, assumed. 88 Contemporary Frankish legislation, such as the Constitutio of Chlothar (probably Chlothar II), often began with a preamble and sometimes mentioned assemblies. Boretius, 1898: 1.18–19. 89 Thus, there is no value in arguments from such an absence for the supposedly primitive nature of Æthelberht’s Laws: Wormald, 1999a: 94. 90 Although it is not impossible that the idea underlying Bede’s statement was present in the preface postulated here. 91 He first made the connection in Wallace-Hadrill, 1971: 34, although there, he mistakenly described the catalogue as a king list not a genealogy. 92 The Prologue to Rothari’s Code is the most obvious example: Wallace-Hadrill, 1988: 61. Indeed, if the version of Æthelberht’s Laws available to Bede did have a preface, then, following the example of Rothari’s Code, either a Kentish royal genealogy, a king list, or both might have been included within that. 93 More intriguing is why Albinus possessed them in the first place. Some of the implications will be discussed in Chapter 5. 94 For the sake of convenience, the relevant extract from 2.6, in which the story of Eadbald and Laurence, begun in 2.5, is completed, runs as follows: Cum uero et Laurentius Mellitum Iustumque secuturus ac Brittaniam esset relicturus, … Non enim tanta erat ei, quanta patri ipsius regni potestas, ut etiam nolentibus ac contradicentibus paganis antistitem suae posset ecclesiae reddere. (But when Laurence was going to follow Mellitus and Justus and leave Britain … {Laurence slept the night in the abbey church where St Peter appeared to him and scolded him for his faint-heartedness, even physically scourging him. The bishop, by showing his wounds to the king, was able to convert him, and Eadbald embraced Christianity and gave up his unlawful wife. He also recalled Justus and Mellitus, but he was not able to restore the latter to the episcopacy of London} … For the power of this king was not so great as that of his father, so he was unable to restore the bishop to his church against the dissensions and contradictions of the heathen). 95 This was one of Bede’s favourite terms for the mission fathers, referring back to 1.22. 96 It must surely be presumed that Aduluald and Audubald were the same person. 97 There is no consensus, however, about the implications of this for early ­seventh-century Kent. For instance, Hunter Blair and Kirby, despite their agreement on the association of Aduluald with Eadbald, had diametrically opposed views on what this meant. 98 Plummer, 2.89, provided references to some analogues. There are even more: ­Gregory of Tours himself suffered a beating in a vision in his Glory of the M ­ artyrs, 86. There is even one in the Life of Gregory, 19. Colgrave’s categorisation of this as a classic incubatio miracle (Colgrave and Mynors: 154, n. 1) seems over general: miraculous scourgings during visions represent a type of their own. For this, the continuity from the pagan period to which Colgrave referred seems much less apt. 99 Wallace-Hadrill, 1988: 62, misleadingly associated the message of this miracle story with that in Gregory the Great’s Dialogues, 2.3, in which Benedict is commended for leaving those attempting to poison him. In fact, the ­Laurence story has precisely the opposite moral. The dissonance between the story and ­Gregory’s own thinking might well provide a subtler indication of the chronological and ideological distance between the composition of the account and the time of the individuals who made up the Gregorian mission.

The mission fathers  159 100 The return of Justus and Mellitus might have been another deduction on Bede’s behalf. 101 This might have been Bede’s inference of the apparently obvious because both went on to become bishops of Canterbury. 102 Probably two: indiction and imperial year. 103 No church is mentioned in the story from the Dialogues. 104 Perhaps the most difficult element of which is resolving how the letters that Pope Boniface V, who died in 625, sent to Justus, Edwin and Æthelburh (2.8, 2.10, 2.11) can be reconciled with the rest of the narrative. 105 Though it is not the ability to ordain another bishop that is being granted by the pope but an exception to the rule that such a consecration should be carried out with the assistance of other bishops. 106 Some would suggest that the papal letters in Book 2 did not come to Bede from Rome via Nothelm, though it is not always obvious which route they would propose instead. Hunter Blair, 1971: 6, suggested that they may have come via Hwætberht; Wallace-Hadrill, 1988: 68, implied that some were Paulinus’s copies preserved at Rochester, while others were in the Canterbury archives. In reality, there are no grounds for such speculation, which – as was discussed in the Introduction – has no support in Bede’s explanation of how he obtained the papal letters in the Preface. The discussion of these letters in Story, 2012, came to the same view. 107 That does not mean this cannot be done, but the process is too extended and the conclusions too uncertain for present purposes. 108 If Paulinus were such a source of anecdotes in Kent, then why do we hear nothing further about his life during the 15 years he spent there after his ‘exile’? 109 These will be discussed further in considering 3.14. 110 That date is the feast of the prophet Daniel, which would seem a pertinent day for the consecration of a prelate going into a foreign kingdom as advisor to a foreign king, and defender of a foreign religion, among a hostile, pagan people. However apt the association, it needs to be acknowledged that Daniel’s feast is not noted in either Willibrord’s Calendar or Bede’s Martyrology. 111 There is frequent biblical quotation or allusion. 112 As is suggested by Bede’s knowledge of not only the addition of the Mevanian islands to Edwin’s overlordship but also their hidages. 113 Given the contradictions in the material, these difficulties remain unresolved: Hunter Blair, 1971; Kirby, 1963; S. Wood, 1983. 114 The reference to Eadbald’s conversio by Justus is particularly telling, assuming that the Aduluald that Justus is said to have converted in Bede’s version of the letter to Justus should be equated with the Audubald that Justus is said to have converted in the letters to Edwin (2.10) and to Æthelburh (2.11) and that both Aduluald and Audubald refer to King Eadbald of Kent. 115 Kirby, 2000b: 71, claimed that the framework of Bede’s East Anglian narrative often derived from Northumbrian sources. This is something of an exaggeration, but in giving this instance as his principal example, he was surely right. 116 The reference to the individual after whom the dynasty was named (‘cuius pater fuit Uuffa, a quo reges Orientalium Anglorum Uuffingas appellant’) parallels a similar notice in the Kentish royal genealogy given in 2.5 (‘cuius pater Oeric cognomento Oisc, a quo reges Cantuariorum solent Oiscingas cognominare’). This points to a standard form for Bede’s sources and potentially to shared provenance. 117 Although the addition of the reference to the location of the see seems inherently more likely to have derived from Bede’s East Anglian contacts. 118 Thus, while impressive, the complicated logic that Plummer, 2.106–7, 2.110, and, subsequently, 2.174, employed to provide dates for events in this chapter

160  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent

119 120

1 21 122 123 1 24 125 126 127

and East Anglia more broadly is not built on firm foundations. The questions about East Anglian secular and ecclesiastical chronology are much more complicated than there is time to discuss here. At some level, at least, oversimplification in Bede’s sources has probably misled him, while over-reliance on Bede’s authority continues to mislead modern scholars. Most scholars accept that Bede is correct in dating this event to 12 October 633 (2.20). Although it seems quite plausible that it was the discovery in the papal archives of these letters, together with that of Gregory the Great quoted in 1.29 on the organisation of the English church, that helped precipitate the campaign to raise York to an archiepiscopal see in the 720s, ending with success in 735. Though the integration was not particularly smooth: Wallace-Hadrill, 1988: 79. ‘[Q]uando unum ex uobis diuina ad se iusserit gratia euocari, is, qui superstes fuerit, alterum in loco defuncti debeat episcopum ordinare’. ‘[S]ingula uestrae dilectioni pallia … direximus’. The use of the second person plural to refer to the addressees throughout the letter, apart from the last line of valediction, probably points in the same direction, although this might be dismissed as merely formal, papal rhetoric. There is no reason to think, as Jones, 1947: 168, proposed, that the incarnational figure was based on a separate, additional source for the date of the letter. I am considering the letters mentioned in this chapter, together with those from HE 2.3, in a separate work. Reference to that Council in this context is a sign that the author, whether John or Bede, was writing in light of the computus of Dionysius Exiguus, whose preface brazenly, and, of course, inaccurately, claimed the Council of Nicaea’s sanction for his position. Harrison, 1976a: 30 and 57.

4 Canterbury before Theodore HE 3.8, 3.14, 3.20, 3.29 and 4.1

3.8 – ‘ How Eorcenberht, king of the Kentish, ordered idols to be destroyed; and concerning his daughter Eorcengota and his relative Æthelburh, v­ irgins consecrated to God’. The chapter also includes a notice of Eadbald’s death. Anno dominicae incarnationis DCXL, Eadbald rex Cantuariorum transiens ex hac uita [In the year of our Lord 640, Eadbald, king of the Kentish, departed this life] Bede’s notice of the incarnational date of Eadbald’s death represents a calculation. In this case, Bede’s deduction was based on two elements. First, he had a firm date for the death of Eadbald’s successor King Eorcenberht: 14 July 664. This is likely to have been derived from information on his epitaph. Second, Bede possessed a Kentish king list that included regnal years and allotted 24 to Eorcenberht. By subtracting the second figure from the first, Bede was able to arrive at a year of death for Eadbald.1 Bede probably drew up his chronology of events prior to writing, using regnal lists with the kings’ years of reign,2 among other sources with comparable figures, including the LP and episcopal lists. A Julian date of 20 January for Eadbald’s death is recorded in later annals, which also gave the incarnational year as 640. Although these annals are Frankish, they were based on earlier English exemplars (Plummer, 2.148, with the revisions of Jones, 1947: 169).3 Nevertheless, because Bede was unaware of the calendar date of Eadbald’s death, it is clear he did not obtain the year from the annals either. Earconbercto filio regni gubernacula reliquit; quae ille suscepta XXIIII annis et aliquot mensibus nobilissime tenuit. [and left the government of the kingdom to his son Eorcenberht. He ruled most nobly for ­twenty-four years and some months.] Bede knew about Eorcenberht’s succession and years of rule from the Kentish king list just discussed. He might have simply presumed that ­Eorcenberht was Eadbald’s son or he may have derived this piece of information from the genealogy he possessed for the Kentish royal house.

162  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent Hic primus regum Anglorum in toto regno suo idola relinqui ac destrui, simul et ieiunium XL dierum obseruari principali auctoritate praecepit. Quae ne facile a quopiam posset contemni, in transgressores dignas et conpetentes punitiones proposuit. [He was the first of the English kings to order by royal authority that idols be abandoned and destroyed throughout the whole kingdom, and also that the forty day (Lenten) fast be observed. And lest these things be able to be easily neglected, he laid down suitable and proper punishments for offenders.] In an apparently passing remark in 2.6,4 Bede contradicted the first statement he makes here. The earlier comment, however, reads more like rhetorical hyperbole, either of Bede’s own or on the part of his source. Here, the juxtaposition of two legal rulings – and a third, if one includes the p ­ unishments – points to a more specific source. Given that Bede had access to a manuscript that included Æthelberht’s Laws and probably a Kentish royal genealogy, the natural inference is that Bede knew the details of such specific legal decisions by Eorcenberht because his ‘Laws’ were included in the same manuscript.5 Bede’s references here to Eorcenberht’s Laws are as detailed – or even more so – in their description of actual legal decrees as was his notice of ­Æthelberht’s in 2.5. The only difference is that Æthelberht’s Law code survives, so it is possible to verify that Bede was working from an actual text. We do not possess Eorcenberht’s Laws – they have not survived – but the conclusion is as apparent. Eorcenberht made laws, including the ones mentioned by Bede.6 He ‘knew’ because he had access to their texts. His version of the text was probably in the same manuscript as his copy of Æthelberht’s Laws, which presumably would have been sent to Bede by ­Albinus via Nothelm. Cuius filia Earcongotæ, … Cuius uidelicet natalis ibi solet in magna g­ loria celebrari die Nonarum Iuliarum. [His daughter Eorcongota, … Her saint’s day is celebrated there with great honour on 7 July.] The rest of this long chapter tells the stories of some of early Christian ­England’s most noted female saints. Some of the content incidentally touches on Kent. The material, however, has not been drawn from Canterbury but from hagiographic sources connected to the cults of these saints (or is ­Bede’s own rhetorical expansions on the theme of their sanctity). Some of his material may well have included written sources, but they are not relevant to the present inquiry.

What Bede had - Kentish king list, including regnal years - Possibly Eorcenberht’s epitaph, with date of death (or perhaps the mention of the coincident deaths was on Deusdedit’s epitaph) - Kentish royal genealogy - Decrees (‘law code’) of Eorcenberht.

Canterbury before Theodore  163 3.14 – The chapter begins with an account of Oswiu’s succession to his murdered brother Oswald, and then moves on to ‘How, when ­Paulinus died, Ithamar took up the bishopric of Rochester in his place; and about the wonderful humility of King Oswine, who was cruelly murdered by Oswiu’. Most of this chapter is not relevant to the present study. It begins with a brief summary of Oswiu’s succession in Northumbria upon his brother Oswald’s death and a reference to the opposition Oswiu faced from Mercia and, indeed, from his own close relatives, including a son and a nephew. This is merely the introduction to a chapter focusing on Oswiu and Oswine, which was derived from Northumbrian sources. The narrative is only interrupted briefly by the short passage on Kentish affairs that is considered below. Cuius anno secundo, hoc est ab incarnatione dominica anno ­DCXLIIII, reuerentissimus pater Paulinus, quondam quidem Eburacensis, sed tunc Hrofensis episcopus ciuitatis, transiuit ad Dominum sexto Iduum O ­ ctobrium die; qui X et VIIII annos, menses duos, dies XXI episcopatum t­ enuit; [In his (Oswiu’s) second year, that is in the year of our Lord 644, the most reverend father Paulinus, once bishop of the city of York, but then of ­Rochester, departed to the Lord on 10 October; he was a bishop for nineteen years, two months, and twenty-one days.] The use of Oswiu’s regnal years to date what was, strictly speaking, a Kentish event – the death of the bishop of Rochester – is perhaps surprising at first sight. But it should not be assumed that this indicates that Bede had found such a reference in his source for this event. In reality, it is highly unlikely that his source for Paulinus’s date of death would have included mention of Oswiu, so Bede probably made the calculation himself. He does date events by Northumbrian regnal chronology on other occasions, although he does not do so not consistently enough to see it as a general rule.7 Here, he is using this form for rhetorical purposes to frame his narrative.8 This is the point, chronologically speaking, at which he needs to bring the story of Paulinus – such a crucial figure for the Northumbrian church – to a close with his death. The narrative space between the end of the account of Oswald’s reign, cult and miracles, and the start of Oswiu’s rule was a perfect place to insert the information about Paulinus, but Bede simply did not have enough information to create an entirely separate chapter, so he needed to link the story with the start of the Oswiu material. Bede, therefore, had to provide a transition from the events in Northumbria that he has been describing and to which he is about to return: dating Paulinus’s death by the reign of the Northumbrian king was the ideal way to do this. Having created this interruption, Bede then takes the opportunity to deal with the next stage of the story at Rochester, which, again, he knew little about and would have had difficulty fitting in elsewhere.

164  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent Consequently, the Oswiu reference is no indication of Bede’s source for his information about Paulinus’s death. Instead, his information in this passage is all likely to have come from a very simple source: the text of Paulinus’s epitaph, provided to Bede by his Canterbury contacts. The mention in the next sentence of the location of Paulinus’s tomb shows that the bishop must have had an epitaph. This will have included not only a year, presumably in indictional form, but also the total length of time for which he was bishop. This is more information than has been seen up to this point in the epitaphs for some of the earlier figures identified previously,9 but those seem to have been written later by people with limited information about their subjects. The details contained in Paulinus’s epitaph are consistent with those present on seventh-century papal epitaphs, such as that of Gregory the Great, so, unlike the examples for the early bishops of Canterbury, it is possible that, in this case, the epitaph was produced in the immediate aftermath of ­Paulinus’s death. Bede did not know how long Paulinus had been bishop specifically at Rochester, so that detail cannot have been included on the epitaph, but given ­Paulinus’s complicated career, including a figure for his total episcopate would have made more sense anyway. It was from these pieces of information that Bede calculated the date of Paulinus’s consecration, which he gave in 2.9.10 sepultusque est in secretario beati apostoli Andreae [He was buried in the sanctuary of the church of the apostle St Andrew] Bede’s Kentish sources provided him with the information on which this claim is based. Early eighth-century ‘knowledge’ of the location of ­Paulinus’s tomb shows that there must have been an epitaph, whether or not it was original. quod rex Aedilberct a fundamentis in eadem Hrofi ciuitate construxit. [which King Æthelberht built from its foundations in the same city of Rochester.] Here, Bede repeats his statement from 2.3, crediting Æthelberht with the construction of the church at Rochester. This information, and particularly the detail that the church was built a fundamentis – a phrase with analogues in seventh-century Roman ecclesiastical epigraphy – points to Bede’s possession of an inscription from the church’s foundation stone that is likely to have dated from the early seventh century. In cuius locum Honorius archiepiscopus ordinauit Ithamar [In his place Archbishop Honorius consecrated Ithamar] Bede possessed a Rochester episcopal list that was the basis for his statements about the order of succession in that see. The claim that Honorius consecrated Ithamar required no source: this was the obvious assumption.

Canterbury before Theodore  165 oriundum quidem de gente Cantuariorum [a man originating among the Kentish people] Richard Sharpe pointed out how the choice of name for this bishop suited British ecclesiastical naming patterns more than English ones but did not go so far as to suggest that Ithamar was British (Sharpe, 2002). Whether Ithamar was really from Kent or not, it is not immediately clear what kind of source would have preserved notice of his origins. As a result, it would not be unreasonable to wonder whether the detail may not have been ­Bede’s assumption: where else would the first native English bishop have come from but Kent? Bede does, however, record the origins of Ithamar’s successor, Damian, who is described as a South Saxon (3.20). Bede also notes the origins of the first English bishop of Canterbury, Deusdedit (3.20), and of the first three bishops of East Anglia, Felix (2.15), Thomas and B ­ oniface (3.20). Therefore, the information here probably derived from episcopal lists. These details seem to dry up for those consecrated after Theodore’s arrival.11 ­Perhaps, in general, the lists noted the earliest bishops of English origin in each see and included their provenance.12 Either way, the episcopal lists seem the most obvious source for Bede’s ‘knowledge’ of this detail. sed uita et eruditione antecessoribus suis aequandum. [but equal in life and in learning to his predecessors.] This is mere rhetoric on Bede’s behalf: there is no sign that he had any direct knowledge of Ithamar’s life and learning. Bede can hardly be accused of lying by doing this; this was simply his usual modus operandi. He provided generalised statements of praise for figures of the past with the implicit hope that they would serve as models for his own generation. Other examples include the description of Utta in 3.15 as ‘a man of much seriousness and truth’; of King Sigeberht in 3.18 as ‘a good and religious man’; of Penda’s son Peada, who became Christian, in 3.21 as ‘an excellent youth, and most worthy, by name and by personality, of the kingship’; and of Wigheard in 4.1 as ‘very learned in Church affairs’. None of these statements relied on any source, and they should not be trusted as informed comments on the individuals concerned. They are simply Bede’s own rhetorically motivated value judgements. The rest of this lengthy chapter marks a return to Northumbrian affairs for which Bede’s sources were Northumbrian and so will be passed over here.

What Bede had - Paulinus’s epitaph, containing his date of death, including the year (probably indictional) and the total length of time for which he had been bishop - Inscription from Rochester’s foundation stone - Rochester episcopal list, including information about Ithamar’s origins.

166  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent ‘Orally’, Bede had basic Kentish-sourced knowledge about the location of Paulinus’s tomb. 3.20 – ‘How, when Honorius died, Deusdedit discharged the office of bishop; and concerning who were the bishops of the East Angles and of the church of Rochester at the time’ Interea [Meanwhile] Such a term expresses Bede’s ignorance of a precise date for the events either before or after. Here, it is both. In 3.19, he has been telling the story of Fursey, which is derived almost entirely from the anonymous uita (­Rackham, 2007). This hagiographic work includes almost no details helpful for constructing a chronology. Bede, then, begins this chapter with information about succession in the East Anglian see. The bishops’ list he possessed for this diocese included the lengths of each episcopate, but he had no positive date on which he could hang this otherwise apparently useful chronology (­Harrison, 1976a: 96). As a result, he gives the years each of the early East Anglian bishops served but the dates of none. defuncto Felice Orientalium Anglorum episcopo post X et VII annos accepti episcopatus, Honorius loco eius ordinauit Thomam diaconum eius de prouincia Gyruiorum; et hoc post quinque annos sui episcopatus de hac uita subtracto, Berctgilsum, cognomine Bonifatium, de prouincia Cantuariorum, loco eius substituit. [when Felix died, seventeen years after becoming bishop of the East Angles, Honorius consecrated in his place his deacon Thomas from the kingdom of the Gyrwe; and when he (Thomas) also departed this life, after five years as a bishop, Honorius put in his place Berhtgisl, known as Boniface, from the kingdom of the Kentish.] As has just been mentioned, Bede possessed an episcopal list of the ­bishops of the East Angles, which included the number of years that each early bishop served.13 Moreover, as noted in considering 3.14, the East Anglian bishops’ list seems to have mentioned the places of origin of its early ­bishops.14 Thus, this list is the source for almost all of the statements that Bede makes here. The claim that it was Honorius who consecrated Thomas and Berhtgisl, ­however, is almost certainly merely Bede’s assumption of what must have seemed ­obvious to him, and indeed to us – who else can have performed the rite? Et ipse quoque Honorius, postquam metas sui cursus inpleuit, ex hac luce migrauit anno ab incarnatione Domini DCLIII, pridie Kalendarum Octobrium [Then Honorius himself, after he had finished running his course, also migrated from this light, in the year of our Lord 653, on 30 September.] Because Bede’s description of the timing of Honorius’s death extends beyond a simple Julian calendar date, this information cannot have come to

Canterbury before Theodore  167 Bede from a record of the bishop’s liturgical commemoration. This sort of detail points rather to his possession of the text of the epitaph of the individual in question. The year on that epitaph would not have included an incarnational date, but Bede was easily able to calculate one from the indictional form the epitaph is most likely to have contained.15 et cessante episcopatu per annum et sex menses [Following an episcopal vacancy of a year and six months] While it is, perhaps, not impossible to imagine that a date for a vacancy between bishops might feature on an episcopal list, it should be considered unlikely. This is especially true here because the Canterbury episcopal list that Bede had apparently did not give figures for the lengths of episcopate of individual bishops until that of Deusdedit. In that light, the ‘year and six months’ is much more likely to be Bede’s deduction. He probably had a precise date of death for Honorius, thanks to the latter’s epitaph. As will be seen in 4.1, Bede also had a specific date of death, including the year, for Deusdedit, Honorius’s successor, most probably taken, in turn, from his epitaph. The length of Deusdedit’s pontificate, which Bede includes later in this chapter, was probably the first such to have been included in the Canterbury episcopal list. From these pieces of information, he had enough material to calculate the date of Deusdedit’s consecration. This left him with a gap of about a year and a half between Honorius’s death and Deusdedit’s ordination.16 Bede ‘knew’ from the Canterbury episcopal list that Deusdedit followed Honorius, so the eighteen months had to be seen as a vacancy, something Bede knew was far from impossible in that see: there had been an even longer one in his own lifetime, between Theodore’s 690 death and the consecration of Berhtwald in 29 June 693 (HE 5.8) and one longer still in the 660s.17 Given that the figure was Bede’s calculation, the possibility should not, I think, be rejected that either he has made a mistake, or his sources have misled him. At this stage, this length of vacancy seems suspicious.18 However, it may simply point to another period of turbulence in Kentish secular and ecclesiastical history. The succession by a West Saxon, noted immediately afterwards, might be a further indication in the same direction. electus est archiepiscopus cathedrae Doruuernensis sextus Deusdedit de gente Occidentalium Saxonum; quem ordinaturus uenit illuc Ithamar, antistes ecclesiae Hrofensis. [Deusdedit, from the people of the West­ Saxons, was elected the sixth archbishop of the ‘cathedral’ of C ­ anterbury. Ithamar, bishop of the church of Rochester, went there in order to consecrate him.] Bede derived the order of succession from the Canterbury episcopal list he possessed. This also included the name of the consecrator and the location

168  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent of the consecration. Here, the Canterbury list, like those for Rochester and East Anglia, seems to have also included one further detail – the place of origin of the man considered to be the see’s first English bishop. Interestingly, this section also provides a hint about the timing of the arrival of Bede’s material or at least his close consideration of it. When writing the HA, Bede apparently did not know that any Englishman had been consecrated (arch)bishop of Canterbury before Berhtwald. In a story that, as will be seen, was probably based on Wearmouth-Jarrow tradition – r­ esting, in turn, on the recollections of Benedict Biscop – Bede claims that after Deusdedit’s death, the king chose Wigheard because he wanted someone who could talk to him without a translator (HA, 3). Bede could not reasonably have made this statement had he read the Canterbury episcopal list with its note on Deusdedit’s origins. The natural implication is that at the time of writing the HA, Bede had not yet received the Canterbury episcopal list. To put it another way, Nothelm had not yet made his first visit to Wearmouth-Jarrow with materials for the HE when Bede was composing the HA.19 The issue, then, is when the HA was written. This is an interesting question, which has recently, and revealingly, been revisited. The older view that the HA was written after the MC in the DTR, and thus after 725, has been overturned by Ian Wood, who has persuasively argued that the work was composed much closer to 716 than 725.20 The evidence suggests that Nothelm’s first visit to bring resources from Albinus to Bede for the composition of the HE probably occurred somewhere c.720.21 Ordinatus est autem die VIImo Kalendarum Aprilium, et rexit ecclesiam annos VIIII, menses IIII et duos dies [He (Deusdedit) was consecrated on 26 March and ruled the church for nine years, four months, and two days.] Bede has almost certainly given the wrong date here (Colgrave and Mynors: 278, n. 1). The day he gives would have been Maundy Thursday, in Holy Week, an essentially impossible date for a consecration. The error shows that the figure Bede includes is his own calculation and that he has made a mistake. Subtracting the actual figure Bede provides for the length of Deusdedit’s episcopate from the date he records in 4.1 for Deusdedit’s death gives 12 March 655 for his consecration. Because 12 March is the feast of Gregory the Great, this day is much more likely to be correct. As argued above, Bede probably found the length of Deusdedit’s episcopate in the Canterbury bishop list. et ipse, defuncto Ithamar, consecrauit pro eo Damianum, qui de genere Australium Saxonum erat oriundus. [And he (Deusdedit), on the death of Ithamar, consecrated in his stead Damian, who came from the people of the South Saxons.] Bede knew the names of the bishops of Rochester, thanks to the episcopal list he possessed for that see. His episcopal lists, while not completely

Canterbury before Theodore  169 standardised, do seem to have sought to record the origins of the early English holders of each see, such as Damian in this case. It probably makes most sense to envisage Bede obtaining the episcopal lists he had from Albinus directly rather than from sources in each individual kingdom. This would be consistent with the mention he makes in the Preface of having learned about the early bishops of several kingdoms through sources provided by Albinus via Nothelm. That is not to say that each had necessarily been produced in Canterbury originally or had been maintained contemporaneously. Bede’s assumption that the consecration was carried out by Deusdedit did not require a separate source because no one else can plausibly have done it.

What Bede had - East Anglian episcopal list, including episcopal years and origins for early English holders of see - Honorius’s epitaph, including year and day - Deusdedit’s epitaph, including year and day (and possibly length of episcopate) - Canterbury episcopal list, including location and name of consecrator and origin for earliest English holder of see as well as the length of episcopate, starting with Deusdedit - Rochester episcopal list, including the origin of the earliest English bishop. 3.29 – ‘How the priest Wigheard was sent from Britain to Rome to be consecrated archbishop, and how, soon after, a letter sent back by the apostolic pope told how Wigheard had died there’ His temporibus reges Anglorum nobilissimi, Osuiu prouinciae Nordanhymbrorum, et Ecgberct Cantuariorum, habito inter se consilio, quid de statu ecclesiae Anglorum esset agendum, intellexerat enim ueraciter Osuiu, quamuis educatus a Scottis, quia Romana esset catholica et apostolica ecclesia, adsumserunt cum electione et consensu sanctae ecclesiae gentis Anglorum, uirum bonum et aptum episcopatu, presbyterum nomine Uighardum, de clero Deusdedit episcopi, et hunc antistitem ordinandum Romam miserunt; quatinus accepto ipse gradu archiepiscopatus, catholicos per omnem Brittaniam ecclesiis Anglorum ordinare posset antistites. Uerum Uighard Romam perueniens, priusquam consecrari in episcopatum posset, morte praereptus est, [At this time the most noble English kings, Oswiu, of the kingdom of the Northumbrians, and Ecgberht, of the Kentish, took counsel between themselves about what should be done concerning the state of the English Church, for although Oswiu had been educated by the Irish, he had truly understood that the Roman Church was Catholic and Apostolic. With the election and consent of the holy church of the English people, they took a priest named Wigheard, a good man and suited for the office of bishop, one of the

170  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent clerics of Bishop Deusdedit, and they sent him to Rome to be consecrated bishop, so that, when he had received the rank of archbishop, he would be able to consecrate Catholic bishops throughout all Britain for the English churches. But Wigheard, having reached Rome, was snatched by death before he could be consecrated to the episcopate.] This famous story is also told in Chapter 3 of Bede’s Historia Abbatum. While the two summaries are essentially consistent, there are key differences between the accounts: the HE adds significant details, specifically relating to the role of Oswiu in the process, which Bede has deduced from the papal letter that he goes on to quote in the second half of the chapter. The letter itself suggests quite a different narrative, which, as it is written by one of the participants in its events, should be taken more seriously. The HA’s version of the story points directly to the ultimate source of the narrative followed in both the HA and HE accounts: Benedict Biscop. In HA, 3, Bede states that Biscop was in Rome at the time of the arrival of the English legation and that it was he whom the pope asked to accompany Theodore and Hadrian on their way to England. This does not, of course, mean that Biscop would necessarily have been accurately informed about the events that had led up to his commission, but it does mean that it is inevitable that he would have had at least a vague sense of what had happened. This story, no doubt including Wigheard’s name, would have become part of the traditions about Biscop’s own life that were current at Wearmouth-­Jarrow when Bede was growing up. He drew on these in the HE and especially in the HA. The account in the HA was written before he acquired the papal letter from Nothelm because it makes no mention of Oswiu. But although the letter gives quite a different story, such was the strength of the ‘local’ Wearmouth-Jarrow tradition, and of Benedict Biscop’s authority as a witness for Bede, that even after he had obtained Vitalian’s letter, Bede retained the narrative from the older account in the HE. It is important to recognise, as will be emphasised further in a moment, that apart from the insertion of Oswiu’s name and role in this introductory passage, none of the narrative of this opening paragraph has been affected by Bede’s knowledge of the letter, with its competing version of events. Not every word of this passage should be considered Wearmouth-Jarrow tradition. Certain minor elements are Bede’s own rhetorical additions to the story. The description of Wigheard’s qualities is one such example, following as it does Bede’s normal practice of describing figures of the past with brief laudatory phrases that enable these earlier individuals to act as models for the ecclesiastics of his own day. Another example is the idea that an ‘archbishop’ was required to consecrate other bishops, something that Bede’s own account – for instance, in noting that Ithamar consecrated ­Deusdedit – demonstrates is palpably false. The notes about Oswiu’s own background, training, and conversion to Roman Easter and practices relate to earlier statements in the HE, which derived from principally Northumbrian sources.

Canterbury before Theodore  171 et huiusmodi litterae regi Osuiu Brittaniam remissae: … credentium. [And this is the letter which was sent to King Oswiu in Britain: ‘… {Pope Vitalian thanks Oswiu for his letter and rejoices in the evidence it shows of the king’s religious faith} … of believers’.] This letter, like most of the rest of the papal correspondence included or referred to in the HE, derived from Nothelm and his trip to Rome. Et post nonnulla, quibus de celebrando per orbem totum uno uero pascha loquitur: [After some things about celebrating the true Easter in one way throughout the whole world, he says:] Bede interrupts the letter, editing out material that would surely simply have repeated much of his earlier accounts of the paschal controversy. By this stage, there is no reason to presume that the excised section included methods of calculation of which he disapproved. Hominem denique, inquit, docibilem et in omnibus ornatum antistitem, secundum uestrorum scriptorum tenorem, minime ualuimus nunc repperire pro longinquitate itineris. … Incolumem excellentiam uestram gratia superna custodiat. [Finally, he said – in view of the length of the journey – we are not able at this point to find a man who is apt and in all ways fit to be bishop, in line with the content of your letter. … {Vitalian promises that as soon as a suitable individual is found, he will be sent. The pope thanks the king for his gifts, regretting that their bearer had died and explaining that he had been buried in Rome. Vitalian sends back gifts in return – relics for both the king and the queen.} … May heavenly grace guard your Excellency in safety.] As noted above, the narrative in this part of the papal letter is in direct contradiction to the story Bede tells earlier and in the HA. He claims that Wigheard was the new ‘archbishop’ of Canterbury who, having been sent to Rome for consecration, died there. In contrast, the papal letter to Oswiu is clear that the king has not asked for consecration for an appointee but rather a new appointment for the vacant episcopal position. The person who has died is unnamed in Vitalian’s letter, but this person was not the presumptive ‘archbishop’: he was merely the bearer of the king’s letter.22 It is not the purpose of this book to reconstruct the reality behind the ­seventh-century events that Bede describes.23 Nonetheless, this example merits attention because of what it reveals, not only about Bede’s sources, but also about his methods. The reality is that only one of the stories can be correct. Either Wigheard was sent for consecration and died before he could receive it; or Wigheard was sent to Rome to ask the pope to send a new bishop for Canterbury, and he died on reaching the city. On consideration, it is easy to see that the latter solution is not only supported by contemporary

172  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent evidence but also makes the most sense historically. Consecration in Rome was not usual. Consecrations that did not happen in England could take place perfectly well in Gaul.24 The difference here was that, as will be discussed at the end of Chapter 5, the Church in Kent had suffered institutional collapse in the 660s, at a time of political instability, which was probably precipitated by ‘plague’.25 There were vacancies in both the Kentish bishoprics as well as the chief abbey. The English were not sending to Rome asking for the consecration of a new bishop; they were asking for a new mission. As a result, the papal letter’s evidence should be trusted over the oral traditions brought back by Benedict Biscop, maintained at Wearmouth-­ Jarrow, and popularised by Bede. In terms of what this example reveals about his methods of working with sources, it should be stressed that he has made no serious attempt to bring the two versions into harmony. Apart from inserting most of the letter, his only real nod to the contents of the epistle in his narrative of events is including a role for King Oswiu – the recipient of Vitalian’s missive. Bede has two sources; they give differing accounts, and so, implicitly, does he. Quis sane pro Uighardo reppertus ac dedicatus sit antistes, libro sequente oportunius dicetur. [It will be more fitting for it to be told in the next book who was really found and consecrated to be bishop instead of Wigheard.] These are Bede’s own words, preparing his readers for the account of Theodore starting in 4.1.

What Bede had - Bede’s HA - Letter of Pope Vitalian to King Oswiu. ‘Orally’, Bede drew on Wearmouth-Jarrow tradition based on Benedict ­Biscop’s own understanding and memory of events, leading up to ­Theodore’s commission. Separately, Bede possessed information, of essentially Northumbrian provenance, concerning Oswiu’s shifting views on the Easter question. 4.1 – ‘How when Deusdedit died, Wigheard was sent to Rome to become bishop; but how, when he died there, Theodore was consecrated archbishop and sent with Abbot Hadrian to Britain’ Anno memorato praefatae eclypsis et mox sequentis pestilentiae, quo et Colman episcopus unanima catholicorum intentione superatus ad suos reuersus est [In the aforementioned year of the eclipse noted above (664) and of the immediately following plague, and in which Bishop Colman, defeated by the unanimous decision of the Catholics (at the ‘Synod of Whitby’), also returned to his own people]

Canterbury before Theodore  173 Bede’s information about this incident comes from his Northumbrian contacts and sources, and his access to Irish information. The year of the eclipse is 664, which he noted at the start of 3.27. Deusdedit VIus ecclesiae Doruuernensis episcopus obiit pridie Iduum Iuliarum; [Deusdedit, the sixth bishop of the church of Canterbury, died on 14 July.] Deusdedit’s epitaph will have given Bede this date of death. This inscription must have included sufficient information for him to calculate the incarnational year, which he referred to implicitly in the previous passage. sed et Erconberct rex Cantuariorum eodem mense ac die defunctus [­Eorcenberht, king of the Kentish, also died on the same month and day.] Bede’s knowledge here is unexpected. He did not normally have the day and the month for Kentish kings’ deaths. As a result, it is difficult to establish the basis for his information with much confidence. Probably the dates of death were on the bishop’s and king’s respective epitaphs. The coincidence of Eorcenberht’s death with Deusdedit’s may explain why the monarch’s was recorded in this instance. Plausibly, though, only one epitaph had an actual date (if so, it was probably Deusdedit’s), and either that epitaph or the other simply mentioned that the two deaths fell on the same day. Ecgbercto filio sedem regni reliquit, quam ille susceptam per VIIII annos tenuit. [He left his throne to his son Ecgberht, who, having taken it up, held it for nine years.] The king list Bede had for Kent included the regnal years for each monarch and so will have provided him with the information behind these statements. If the detail about Ecgberht being Eorcenberht’s son is not Bede’s presumption, then he could have drawn it from the Kentish royal genealogy he possessed. Tunc cessante non pauco tempore episcopatu, missus est Romam ab ipso simul et a rege Nordanhymbrorum Osuio, ut in praecedente libro paucis diximus, Uighard presbyter, uir in ecclesiasticis disciplinis doctissimus, de genere Anglorum, petentibus hunc ecclesiae Anglorum archiepiscopum ordinari; missis pariter apostolico papae donariis, et aureis atque argenteis uasis non paucis. Qui ubi Romam peruenit, cuius sedi apostolicae tempore illo Uitalianus praeerat, postquam itineris sui causam praefato papae apostolico patefecit, non multo post et ipse, et omnes pene qui cum eo aduenerant socii, pestilentia superueniente deleti sunt. [When the bishopric had been vacant no small time, a priest, Wigheard, a man very learned in Church affairs and from the English people, was sent to Rome by both

174  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent Ecgberht and also by Oswiu, king of the Northumbrians, as we said briefly in the last book, with the request that he might be consecrated archbishop of the church of the English. With him, they also sent no small number of gifts and both gold and silver vessels to the apostolic pope. When he (Wigheard) reached Rome, at the time Vitalian was presiding over the apostolic see, after he explained the reason for his journey to the aforementioned apostolic pope, not long afterwards he himself, and nearly all the companions who had come with him, died, carried off by the plague.] The basis for this story has already been discussed in considering 3.29.26 In short, Bede is working from Wearmouth-Jarrow tradition, deriving from the memories of Benedict Biscop. Bede also possessed the letter of Pope ­Vitalian, which he quotes in 3.29, and which testified to a slightly different narrative. Bede, however, made almost no effort to bring the two versions into line. He chose to privilege the Wearmouth-Jarrow version, which he grew up with, rather than that set out in the papal letter, which he acquired much later, thanks to Nothelm. Bede’s only apparent nods towards the epistle in this passage are the mention of Oswiu, the addressee of V ­ italian’s missive, and the reference to the sending of gifts by that king – for which the pope gives thanks in his letter. The anachronistic references to ‘archbishop’ are Bede’s own additions, as is the laudatory description of Wigheard.

What Bede had

- - - - -

Deusdedit’s epitaph Perhaps King Eorcenberht’s epitaph Kentish king list, including regnal years Kentish royal genealogy Letter of Pope Vitalian to King Oswiu.

‘Orally’, Bede drew on Wearmouth-Jarrow tradition based ultimately on Benedict Biscop’s own understanding and memory of events. At apostolicus papa … et daret ei locum, in quo cum suis apte degere potuisset. [The apostolic pope … and to give him a place in which he could fittingly live with his men.] The rest of the chapter is the account of the choice of Theodore by the pope as the new ‘archbishop’ of Canterbury and his journey – and that of ­Hadrian, who became abbot of Ss Peter and Paul’s – from Rome through Gaul to Kent. With this, the narrative moves beyond the chronological boundaries being considered in this study, and so this detailed, step-by-step examination of the sources and methods Bede used in constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission reaches its natural end point. The following Chapters will provide focused analysis of the sources identified in the above

Canterbury before Theodore  175 investigation, looking at their character and reliability, reconstructing them where possible, and further clarifying how Bede used his materials to create the HE’s narrative.

Notes 1 He entered this AD date into the recapitulatio in HE 5.24. This may be a sign that it represented a calculation on his behalf if Levison, 1935: 136–37, was right that Bede drew up this list as part of his preparations for writing the HE. 2 As Harrison argued that Bede did for Northumbria: Harrison, 1976a: 95–96. 3 As Plummer pointed out, the date given in these annals is not completely ­consistent internally. 4 Where he claimed that on his (re)conversion, Eadbald ‘outlawed all pagan worship’. 5 Kentish laws travelled together later, as the Textus Roffensis evinces. 6 As with the later codes of Wihtred and Ine, Eorcenberht’s Laws covered ‘religious’ issues. 7 For example, in HE 5.7, Cædwalla is said to have gone to Rome in Aldfrith’s third year. There are signs that Bede drew up a basic chronology of events, using Northumbrian (and probably Kentish) regnal lists, with their helpful inclusion of the lengths of royal reigns, as a framework in preparing his materials for composing the HE. 8 I am examining Bede’s use of such chronological framing phrases in separate work. 9 Such as Augustine: HE 2.3. 10 Kirby, 1963: 522, following Plummer, 2.162, thought that the calculation gave a different figure, which Bede had needed to massage, but Harrison, 1976a: 86–87, using Levison, 1946: 275, n. 2, showed that Bede was correct. 11 No origins are recorded for those Rochester bishops consecrated after Theodore arrived: Damian’s successor Putta (4.2), then Cwichelm (4.12), followed by Gefmund (4.12) and Tobias (5.8), and finally Ealdwulf (5.23). As in many things, Theodore marked a turning point, though it is less obvious why this should be so within the records of episcopal lists. 12 If so, then the East Anglian list’s mention of Felix would constitute something of an exception. 13 HE 4.15 gives the episcopate of Berhtgisl/Boniface as seventeen years. 14 And probably the claim that Thomas was Honorius’s deacon. Such notices do not automatically mean that these lists need have been maintained contemporaneously or that their information was necessarily accurate. 15 The Canterbury bishops’ list does seem to have included the length of each episcopate starting with Deusdedit, but given that there was apparently an extended vacancy between Honorius and Deusdedit, the figure given here for Honorius’s death is unlikely to have been a calculation using the figures for Deusdedit from the episcopal list. 16 Bede made a minor mistake in this calculation, but this was small enough not to affect the basic accuracy of his resulting generalised figure of a year and a half for the vacancy. 17 Between Deusdedit and Theodore: HE 3.29 and 4.1. 18 One wonders if Bede had properly understood the figures he was using: were they really length of episcopate, or could they have been time since consecration or even receipt of the pallium? 19 This is a good place to re-emphasise that references here to the number of ­Nothelm’s visits relate only to those in the context of the composition of the HE and as described in the HE Preface.

176  Constructing the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent 20 Not least because Bede’s work does not mention the return to Wearmouth-­Jarrow with a papal letter of the party that had gone on to Rome after Ceolfrith’s death, as the AnonVCeo, 39, does. Bede also does not mention the miraculous scent and light witnessed at Ceolfrith’s tomb (AnonVCeo, 40): Wood, 2010a: 86–87. Much of the introduction to Grocock and Wood, 2013, is devoted to demonstrating this case in more detail. 21 It was significantly earlier than 725, given that the second visit, and so Nothelm’s trip to Rome and return with the papal letters, had occurred before the completion of the MC in 725. I am considering elsewhere the questions concerning the periods over which the HE was composed. 22 It also seems clear from Vitalian’s letter that the initiative had come solely from Oswiu. Ecgberht’s role was probably just Bede’s presumption. 23 I am analysing this episode and its implications in a separate work upon which the following discussion draws. 24 For instance, Augustine, Wilfrid, Wine and Berhtwald. 25 The term is used in its most general sense. 26 And, as noted earlier, I am also considering it in more detail in separate work.

Part II

Bede’s sources for Kent before Theodore

5 Bede’s sources reconstructed

Part I identified Bede’s sources for all but a few passages of his account of the Gregorian mission to Kent.1 Part II will catalogue, analyse and, where possible, reconstruct the basic shape of the material at Bede’s disposal.2 Each type of source will be assessed, in turn, by genre.3

5.1  Political 5.1.1  King lists In 3.1, Bede makes specific mention of both the existence of regnal lists and his use of them. There, his reference was to Northumbrian king lists, but the earlier analysis showed him drawing on a comparable list from Kent. From the examination of the HE in the preceding Chapters, it is possible to reconstruct what content that Kentish catalogue would have provided Bede with. As seems to have been usual for such texts (Thornton, 2001b: 388), this list included the lengths of each king’s reign, though that figure only included months and years for later kings.4 Although the previous analysis only considered the period until Theodore’s arrival, the full list that can be recovered from the HE is provided below: Bede’s Kentish king list [1.25, 2.3, 2.5, 3.8 and 4.1]5 Æthelberht, ruled 56 years [2.5] Eadbald, ruled 24 years [2.5] Eorcenberht, ruled 24 years [and some months?]6 [3.8] Ecgberht, ruled nine years [4.5 and 4.26] Hlothere, ruled 11 years and 7 months [4.5]; 12 years [4.26] Eadric, ruled one year and a half [4.26].7 Historians have used alternative sources, such as charters, to show that the picture of Kentish royal succession in the seventh century was a great deal more complex than this (Harrison, 1976a: 142–46; Yorke, 1990: 32–39). Whatever the real situation, this list represented the information Bede had and used. Although other Kentish king lists survive whose content is,

180  Bede’s sources for Kent before Theodore unsurprisingly, similar to his list (Dumville, 1976: 29–37), none is precisely the same as that in the catalogue that Bede possessed. These parallel lists exist in manuscripts dating after his death. Hence, Bede’s version, reconstructed here, is the earliest ‘surviving’ text. The present focus is on Kent, but it should be noted that Bede possessed king lists for other kingdoms as well. In the ‘Northumbrian’ cases, the information included was apparently more detailed (Hunter Blair, 1950: 249). In preparing the HE, Bede probably used documents like this to help him draw up an intermediate chronology prior to writing (Hunter Blair, 1959: 141).8 The value of these lists as sources will be discussed further in the next section, but even here, it is worth emphasising their intrinsic limitations. The form in which these catalogues reached Bede means that, inherently, they were not primary sources. That changes could be – and were – made for ideological purposes is proved by the very example he gives in HE 3.1, in which he explains that two kings regarded as usurpers were removed from the record. Additionally, as David Thornton noted, ‘by their very form, regnal lists can simplify political relations and ignore changes in kingship over time, implying continuous lineal succession’ (Thornton, 2001b: 388). Multiple kingships could not easily be integrated into such lists (Dumville, 1977: 97–98). This necessarily limits the accuracy of the information they could provide about Kent. The numbers in regnal lists are not always precise either: rounding errors occurred, and the gaps between monarchs were not easily accounted for (Harrison, 1976a: 129). In short, king lists are inevitably flawed as sources. None of this is to say that these catalogues include no trustworthy material. It is simply a reminder that they do not merit implicit faith, even for the more recent periods they claim to cover. 5.1.2  Genealogies In addition to his possession of a Kentish king list, Bede made use of a genealogy covering at least the direct descent of the Kentish royal family. Preservation of kingship within a single royal line of direct descent was exceptional in the seventh-century Anglo-Saxon kingdoms, but Kent was apparently that exception. This increased the relevance of the genealogy to Bede as he composed the HE. The genealogy seems to have included slightly broader information about relationships within the Kentish royal family. As such, the content outlined in the following might not necessarily include a complete summary of the original that was in front of Bede. There may have been additional pieces of minor information that he considered irrelevant and chose not to insert. Equally, although the basic organisation is likely to be accurate, the precise format in which the more indirect information was included is now irretrievable. As with the Kentish king list, for the sake of completeness and for the utility of others, content from the genealogy beyond that which was used by Bede in the chapters analysed earlier has been included.

Bede’s sources reconstructed  181 One thing can be said about the nature of Bede’s source: it was probably in the vernacular. Genealogies in both Old English and Latin have survived, but there is a difference in how they order the material. Vernacular genealogies are usually ‘retrograde’ in that ‘they begin with the chronologically most recent name and trace the line of descent back in time’ (Thornton, 2001a: 199). In contrast, Latin versions tended to follow the biblical form and begin with the progenitor the furthest back in the past (Dumville, 1977: 89). Bede’s Kentish royal genealogy [1.25, 2.3, 2.5, 3.8 and 4.1] Eadric and Wihtred, were the sons of/whose father was, Ecgberht; [4.26] he and Hlothere, were the sons of/whose father was, Eorcenberht, [4.1 and 4.5] was the son of/whose father was, Eadbald, [3.8] was the son of/whose father was, Æthelberht, [2.5] (whose sister Ricule, married Sæberht, king of the East Saxons [2.3]) was the son of/whose father was, Eormenric, was the son of/whose father was, Octa, was the son of/whose father was, Oeric (whose surname was Oisc, after whom the kings of Kent are known as Oiscingas), was the son of/whose father was, Hengist [from Æthelberht to here: 2.5]; he and Horsa, were the sons of/whose father was, Wihtgisl, was the son of/whose father was, Witta, was the son of/whose father was, Wecta, was the son of/whose father was, Woden [from Hengist and Horsa to here: 1.15]. This Kentish genealogical list was a very helpful tool for Bede, providing him with interesting colour to flesh out the story of the conversion. The king list did not provide this genealogical information, and Bede’s knowledge of contemporary politics would not have led him to assume that any new king was necessarily the son of his predecessor. Bede’s historical and rhetorical abilities enabled him to combine the information from these two Kentish sources to enrich his narrative and provide a more layered account. Bede’s East Anglian royal genealogy Although it was in a part of a chapter not considered in detail in the earlier analysis, Bede did use an East Anglian royal genealogy in 2.15. As with the Kentish catalogue, this took a ‘retrograde’ form. Rædwald, was the son of/whose father was, Tytil, was the son of/whose father was, Wuffa (after whom the kings of the East Angles are called Wuffings).

182  Bede’s sources for Kent before Theodore This content would have represented only an extract from the full genealogy. The original in front of Bede would probably have gone back to Woden, like the Kentish list. In including part of the Kentish genealogy in 1.15, Bede noted that ‘many kingdoms’ royal families’ traced their origins back to Woden. This implies that Bede possessed other genealogies, no doubt including this East Anglian one, which he draws upon in 2.15. One other intriguing parallel between the Kentish list and that for the East Angles is that both include reference to the individual after whom each dynasty was named. Had this detail been present in only one of the genealogies, it might be presumed to be no more than a Bedan gloss. The shared form, however, suggests that the information in each case came from a source and might be taken to suggest shared provenance, presumably Canterbury. 5.1.3  The context for the preservation and maintenance of Bede’s king lists and genealogies Therefore, it is clear that Bede possessed more genealogies than simply the Kentish.9 As far as they can be recreated from the HE, these texts provide access to different, and earlier, versions of Anglo-Saxon royal genealogies than those in the better-known ‘Anglian’ collection.10 Of course, being from an earlier period does not automatically make these reconstructed catalogues trustworthy. Nevertheless, this is useful evidence, showing that claims that the beginning of the creation/recording of genealogies only took place in the late eighth century (Thornton, 2001a: 200) cannot be true. Bede’s source for both these Kentish lists – the king list and the ­genealogy – was presumably Albinus, who would have specifically provided them as background information for the writing of the HE. Indeed, given their shared topics of interest, the two texts should probably be envisaged travelling together from Canterbury to Wearmouth-Jarrow in the same manuscript. Moreover, given Bede’s juxtaposition of the information from the genealogy with the description of Æthelberht’s Laws in 2.5 (Wormald, 1977: 134), as well as the fact that there are parallels on the continent for associating genealogical material with laws, it might cautiously be suggested that all three texts came to Bede not only from the same source and via the same messenger but even in the same manuscript.11 Certainly, the lists would have reached Bede in written form. Given this must have been the case for the Kentish catalogues, it is natural to assume this was true of the ‘Northumbrian’ ones Bede possessed. Genealogies may have been purely oral at one stage, but this is not evidence that the information in the specific written lists Bede possessed represented credibly transmitted oral tradition. Hermann Moisl, for instance, made a strong argument for the existence of genealogical records, orally maintained, in pre-Christian and preliterate times in Anglo-Saxon England (Moisl, 1981); but this does not address the question of the reliability of the texts that have survived or of the ones Bede possessed. Even if, for example, earlier oral

Bede’s sources reconstructed  183 material did survive in the lists available in the early eighth century, there is no evidence, or reason to believe, that this need have included trustworthy accounts of who fathered whom or, in regnal lists, of who succeeded whom. Such sources were by their very nature not primary ones, even if the earlier names on the list had been based on genuine materials.12 In sum, while the record of an accurate ordering of family members going back as far as two centuries is perhaps not impossible, it scarcely fills the reader with confidence. It would be unwise to place trust in their reliability.13 As Dumville put it, the earlier ranks of pedigrees are ‘hardly to be taken seriously as biological statement’ (Dumville, 1977: 93). The reality of memory is only one reason, however, that, as Thornton noted, ‘any attempt to use them [genealogies] for “historical” purposes must be undertaken with extreme caution’ (Thornton, 2001a: 200). Even more than king lists, genealogies can be a ‘very sophisticated means of expressing political claims. As such they are prone to a high degree of ideological manipulation and falsification, which can undermine the historical reliability of the genealogical statements made therein’ (Thornton, 2001a: 200). This may even be too cautious a view. Such catalogues were by their nature ideological documents (Dumville, 1977: 73). Their value as historical sources for historians today must be very much in doubt. What is interesting, and worth further separate consideration, is that Bede’s ‘secular’ Kentish sources, with a claim to represent information from the early seventh century, are arguably as well, or better, preserved than the comparable ‘ecclesiastical’ documents.14 This raises the question of who maintained these catalogues – the king lists and genealogies. Bede refers to such figures as ‘all who compute the times of kings’ (HE 3.1).15 His language implies that, in his day, the lists were being maintained in more than one location by different individuals or groups who recorded royal succession and the years each king reigned. Who were these individuals? King lists and genealogies were royal items, but ones whose composition was associated with the Church (Dumville, 1976: 96). Or, as Moisl put it, ‘the Anglo-Saxon royal genealogies are in their extant form products of ecclesiastical scholarship’ (Moisl, 1981: 215). Despite this, Bede speaks of the authors in somewhat distant tones. This raises questions about just how strictly ‘ecclesiastical’ these figures were. It suggests that it is unlikely that Wearmouth-Jarrow monks maintained the lists in the sense of being the people who updated them – at least in Bede’s day. Bede’s access to the ‘Northumbrian’ catalogues, however, suggests that his monastery did maintain them, in the sense of preserving them. So too, presumably, did Ss Peter and Paul’s for the Kentish lists, although Albinus and his monks may well have also been responsible for updating them. The question is why a monastery would preserve and maintain such lists. The original presence of such texts at Wearmouth-Jarrow probably points towards that monastery’s historic role in supporting kings like Ecgfrith and assisting in the promotion of their ideological objectives. But these texts

184  Bede’s sources for Kent before Theodore were not preserved merely for antiquarian purposes. That they were still at Bede’s disposal is indicative of the nature of their continued use. Furthermore, such lists, and indeed genealogical traditions in narrative form, were preserved not only for the king’s court but also in broader royal and aristocratic contexts (Felix, Life of Guthlac, 2; Moisl, 1981). Moisl saw the agents of such preservation and continuity as forming a ‘secular’ cadre of poet propagandists according to the Irish filidh model and drawing on the same social tradition (Moisl, 1981).16 Direct evidence for the ­ nglo-Saxon existence of a filidh office, let alone class, is essentially absent in A England, but the indirect evidence for some sort of similar set of individuals is difficult to dismiss, as the existence and maintenance of these documents suggest. The texts reconstructed here did not exist in a vacuum. They were not preserved without purpose. One use was to provide the basis for dating royal acts and charters (Jones, 1947: 43). Moisl’s compelling argument for the continued presence of these filidhlike figures at Anglo-Saxon courts was somewhat undermined by the ­tension imposed by his sharp distinction between ‘ecclesiastical’ and ‘­secular’ in discussing the status of these individuals. This difficulty with his thesis is wholly unnecessary and avoidable. As historians of early Irish law and society are recognising, by the late seventh century at least, the ‘­ecclesiastical’, defined in broad terms, was undertaking many of the ­functions and was responsible for many of the products traditionally associated with ‘secular’ functionaries (O Corrain, Breatnach and Breen, 1984). The precise ‘status’ of such individuals may never have been clear, any more than their functions and activities could be neatly distinguished between the two spheres. As a result, the question of whether those who prepared and used these documents were ‘religious’ or ‘secular’ does not greatly advance understanding of the texts themselves or of their context. The works may be classifiable as ‘ecclesiastical’ documents, but it was not necessarily only ‘ecclesiastics’ who learned them, just as the texts were maintained for more than merely ‘secular’ purposes (Moisl, 1981). The reality is that, ‘religious’ or ‘secular’, by the late seventh century, the education of these figures was taking place in ‘ecclesiastical’ institutions. In addition, as the HE shows, the texts themselves were being maintained and preserved at the same ‘ecclesiastical’ institutions, though for purposes well beyond the purely ‘religious’. The sources that Bede has been seen using reveal that he had access to more ‘archival’ material than identified in previous catalogues of the purely literary holdings of his library stressed by those like Michael Lapidge. In some situations, no doubt, this was because the monasteries that were ­Bede’s sources acted as official royal ‘archives’.17 The nature of his use of these texts, however, suggests that the purposes of their preservation probably went beyond the narrowly politically pragmatic. The presence of such documents in monastic ‘libraries’ need not, therefore, invalidate Lapidge’s broader point about the primarily pedagogic purpose of the texts an early medieval monastery possessed. It is perfectly

Bede’s sources reconstructed  185 obvious that not all those educated in monasteries or by bishops at the time were ecclesiastics or destined for a religious career.18 There is no reason to assume that all such students would have been expected to follow the rigid biblical studies curriculum envisaged by Lapidge as the purpose for the monastic libraries (Lapidge, 2006: 128; Love, 2012: 632). Rather than contradicting Lapidge’s theory about the role of the ­Wearmouth-Jarrow library, however, the evidence and analysis above point towards an expansion of it. Bede’s ‘secular’ sources support a broader conception of the statuses of the students receiving contemporary monastic education and of the range of studies offered therein. This is a view that sits naturally with David Dumville’s description of the preservation of ­genealogies as expressions of learning (Dumville, 1977: 97). Thus, the most natural context for the maintenance and preservation of these texts opens up interesting dimensions on the functions of Anglo-Saxon monasteries like Bede’s. His access to, and use of, these intriguing sources provides a slightly different perspective on the nature and purpose of monastic education at the time, at least in Kent and Northumbria. It is one with a much greater external dimension than is often assumed. ‘Monastic’ learning and libraries were, apparently, intimately connected to contemporary governance.19 This is something that will be underlined further in later sections. 5.1.4  ‘Hegemon list’ document Bede possessed a list of what he, at least, believed to be the ‘overlords’ over southern England (Shaw, 2018). He ends his quotation from this ‘hegemon list’ document at Oswiu. Given that Bede knew of ‘overlords’, both ­Northumbrian and Mercian, after Oswiu, it should be concluded that this king was the last one mentioned in Bede’s source. The catalogue included no ‘regnal/imperial’ years. Bede noted the overlords’ kingdoms, but even if he did derive these from his source, his references to the ‘South’ and ‘West ­Saxons’, and even the anachronistic ‘Northumbrians’, are likely to have been modernisations of earlier terms. Bede’s ‘hegemon list’ document [1.25, 2.3, 2.5 and 2.9] Ælle (of the ‘South Saxons’) Cælin [known in their language as Ceawlin] (of the ‘West Saxons’) Æthelberht (of the Kentish) Rædwald (of the East Angles) Edwin (of the ‘Northumbrians’) Oswald (of the ‘Northumbrians’) Oswiu. Although Bede inserts the material in a discussion of events in Kent, the form of the list and the names and kingdoms included suggests that while the catalogue may have begun as a southern document, it was supplemented

186  Bede’s sources for Kent before Theodore in ‘Northumbria’, and it was this northern version to which Bede had access. Thus, this document seems to have been a more locally preserved record. Indeed, the most obvious explanation for Bede’s access to the source is that Ecgfrith had stored it at Wearmouth-Jarrow.20 The text probably did not date from Ecgfrith’s reign because his name was not on it. The last name is Oswiu, so presumably, the document, in the form Bede knew it, came from Oswiu’s reign. This will be discussed further in the next section. 5.1.5  ‘Hidage document’ of the ‘tribute’ type Bede possessed a hidage document of the tribute type, the single source from which he took all his figures for the hidages of large territorial units – kingdoms or major units of them.21 Unfortunately, there is no possibility of a meaningful reconstruction of the complete text of this document. The content is similar to that of the ‘Tribal Hidage’. This might be considered a framework for an attempted recreation of Bede’s version. Even in the extant sections, however, the texts are different enough to make the product of such a process so unreliable as to be essentially pointless. Consequently, for this document, it is not possible to do much more than repeat the entries Bede includes, treating them as extracts. The order in which the entries are given is that of their occurrence in the HE and need not be indicative of their original position. For the sake of completeness and utility, all the extracts used in the HE are included, not simply those from the chapters relating to the Gregorian mission and Kent before Theodore:

- - - - - - - - -

Thanet: 600 hides [HE 1.25] Anglesey: 960 hides [HE 2.9] Isle of Man: more than 300 hides22 [HE 2.9] Iona: five hides [HE 3.4] Southern Mercia: 5, 000 hides [HE 3.24] Northern Mercia: 7, 000 hides [HE 3.24] South Saxons: 7, 000 hides [HE 4.13] Isle of Wight: 1, 200 hides [HE 4.16] Ely: 600 hides23 [HE 4.19].

These references merely represent a small proportion of the total content of the text in front of Bede. A document rather on the scale of the Tribal Hidage should be envisaged. It was probably even larger, given that, unlike that document, the coverage here seems to have extended beyond the ‘English’ kingdoms. Bede has extracted the information he wants in order to supplement his narrative with such details. The document was thus a helpful aid for him in providing interesting context for the account in the HE. Given Bede’s access to it, such a document, implying hegemony,24 most plausibly derives from the period of Northumbrian overlordship in the mid-seventh century. The content – and especially the references to the South

Bede’s sources reconstructed  187 Mercians – suggests that the text probably came from the reign of Oswiu (HE 3.24).25 Nevertheless, as with the ‘hegemon list’ document, it makes sense to envisage Ecgfrith depositing the document at Wearmouth-Jarrow.26 As discussed earlier, there are other subtle signs connecting the information Bede took from this ‘hidage document’ to that which he drew from the ‘hegemon list’ document (see also, Shaw, 2016c and 2018). First, there is the ­circumstantial evidence: it seems unlikely to be a coincidence that Bede had both a seventh-century list of hegemons, which, as we have seen, is most naturally understood as coming from the time of King Oswiu, and a seventh-­ century document, which probably served as a tribute list – thereby implying hegemony – and which, again, makes most sense as deriving from Oswiu’s reign. In fact, the dating of both texts can probably be narrowed further: if the documents, in the form Bede knew them, are from Oswiu’s reign, then presumably, they must both date after Oswiu’s 655 victory over Penda at Winwæd. Second, Bede associates two of his hidage references of the ‘tribute type’ with claims about Northumbrian hegemony – specifically that of Edwin. When Bede gives the hidages of the Mevanian islands of Man and ­Anglesey in HE 2.9, he links them to his notice of Edwin’s overlordship over the ­islands. That Bede singles out the islands implies that he was working with a source from which he drew these details. He had mentioned the islands earlier in a context that provides a good idea of what that source must have been: it is part of the hegemon list he inserts in 2.5. There, he notes that ­Edwin ‘even subjected the Mevanian Islands to the imperium of the ­English’.27 ­Direct mention of the islands again shows that Bede’s statement was probably based on a source. The repetition of the claim in 2.9 – together with the inclusion of precise hidage figures – makes this almost certain. Given that the mention of Man and Anglesey in 2.5 is included within the hegemon catalogue section, it makes sense to see Bede’s claim about Edwin’s authority over the islands as having been copied over from Bede’s source for that list. This means that the ‘hegemon list’ document would have been his source for the statement in 2.9 that Edwin had subjected both islands to his imperium, which Bede goes on to link with the details about their hidage assessments. The association of the details in 2.9 suggests the association of the information in the texts from which he was working. In other words, Bede’s connection of the information taken from his ‘­hegemon list’ document with that taken from his hidage document of the ‘tribute’ type probably means that the texts themselves were related or, perhaps, at the very least, that they were present together, or associated in some way, in the same manuscript in front of Bede. Whether these two texts represent material from two manuscripts or, as seems more likely, only one, they shared a context – one relating to the ‘Northumbrian’ hegemony of the mid-seventh century and, specifically, the reign of Oswiu. They were, in the form in which Bede used them, ‘Northumbrian’ documents, and, given Bede’s access to them, it is most likely that they were in Wearmouth-Jarrow’s archives thanks to Ecgfrith. Therefore,

188  Bede’s sources for Kent before Theodore Bede probably derived these two intriguing, and probably linked, texts from the records held in his own house, rather than acquiring them specifically for the writing of the HE. Both the ‘hidage document’ and the ‘hegemon list’ document are sources, like the king list and genealogy, that would make sense as documents preserved and maintained by ‘professionals’, not antiquarians. Again, the retention of this type of material at Wearmouth-Jarrow points towards a broader conception of the role of monasteries and of their libraries/archives. If it is correct to say that Wearmouth-Jarrow, at least by the time Bede was writing, was unlikely to have been responsible for the contemporary upkeep of such lists on the king’s behalf, then their continued presence at the abbey once more opens up possibilities for the use of such documents as texts to be taught and learned.28 5.1.6  Kentish laws In 2.5, Bede praises Æthelberht’s lawmaking and in so doing shows that he had access to a copy of that king’s code. The HE’s description of the clauses relating to protection of the Church parallel the surviving opening of Æthelberht’s Laws so perfectly that it is evident that Bede had the text in front of him. Because the code survives, there is no point in repeating it here. It does not need to be reconstructed. Nonetheless, Bede’s depiction of the law as having been established cum consilio sapientium might well imply that the version he possessed included a prologue – something that would be quite standard in a law code but which does not survive in the extant copy of Æthelberht’s Laws. Presumably this preface – like the rest of the laws – would have been in Old English. In addition to describing Æthelberht’s code, Bede notes that Eorcenberht issued laws [3.8]. These do not survive, so it is impossible to be certain that Bede possessed the text of them. Even so, the detail of his account of the decrees would definitely suggest that he was directly referring to them as he wrote. He mentions three elements of Eorcenberht’s Laws. A summary of these is all that can be said of the content of the ‘code’: Eorcenberht’s Laws - Ordered idols to be destroyed [3.8] - Ordered the fast of Lent be kept [3.8] - Carried heavy punishments [3.8]. The copy of Eorcenberht’s Laws would no doubt have been part of the same manuscript as Æthelberht’s code. Although other Kentish codes survive today, Bede gives no sign of knowing any of them.29 This manuscript may well have also included the copies of the Kentish regnal list and genealogy Bede had. Presumably, the collection would have been among the texts that ­Albinus passed on to Nothelm to give to Bede on his first visit.

Bede’s sources reconstructed  189

5.2  Ecclesiastical 5.2.1  Episcopal lists Bede possessed several episcopal lists, which provided him with much of his information about the early bishops.30 As with the regnal lists, although original materials may have lain behind such sources, the texts Bede used were by their very nature secondary ones. Canterbury Perhaps the Canterbury episcopal list should be termed an archbishop list, even though many of those in this list were not, in fact, archbishops. To Bede, however, that is what this list would have appeared to be, and this is how it would have been presented to him by his Canterbury contacts. The information provided in Bede’s Canterbury episcopal list was not consistent. The entries for the early bishops did not include the lengths of their episcopates; these apparently began to be recorded with the notice of Deusdedit and were maintained from then on.31 Bede ‘knew’ the origins of the bishops between Augustine and Honorius, but he did not derive that information from the list. The origins of Deusdedit, as the first English bishop of the see, were, however, recorded. Therefore, he seems to represent, on both grounds, something of a threshold in the list, which might perhaps be an indication of the date of one recension of the text. An extra element, which does seem to have been consistently entered, was a note, where relevant, of where each bishop had been consecrated and by whom.32 Although the above analysis effectively ended with the closure of Deusdedit’s episcopate, the following list includes the notice of Theodore in order to preserve more accurately the actual content of the list at Bede’s disposal. Bede’s Canterbury episcopal list [1.24, 1.27, 1.28, 2.4, 2.7, 2.8, 2.16, 2.18, 3.20 and 4.1] Augustine, consecrated by Etherius at Arles [1.24, 1.27 and 1.28] Laurence, consecrated by Augustine [2.4] at Canterbury [the location is not specifically mentioned by Bede but is implied] Mellitus [No note on consecration as already consecrated bishop of ­L ondon, 2.3] Justus [No note on consecration as already consecrated bishop of ­Rochester, 2.3] Honorius, consecrated by Paulinus at Lincoln [2.16 and 2.18] Deusdedit, consecrated by Ithamar at Canterbury [3.20]; he ruled 9 years, 4 months, and 2 days [3.20]; he was a West Saxon [3.20] Theodore, consecrated by Pope Vitalian at Rome [4.1]; he ruled 21 years, 3 months, and 26 days [4.2].33

190  Bede’s sources for Kent before Theodore Bede also provides information about Berhtwald, but this is unlikely to have come from the Canterbury list. He was archbishop throughout most of ­Bede’s adult life. Berhtwald’s death was recorded in 5.23, with the ­precise date of 13 January 731 and a note about the length of his episcopate as 37 years, 6 months, and 14 days. Such information is likely to have been conveyed to Bede directly as he was completing the HE and so quite independently from the arrival of the episcopal list, which he had presumably possessed since Nothelm’s ‘first’ visit. It should be clear that to record the lengths of episcopates, some notice must have been kept at Canterbury of the date of each bishop’s ‘election’ and/or consecration. This information may even have been included in the list itself from Deusdedit onwards, but that conclusion is not certain enough to enter those details in the above catalogue. Bede was surprisingly poorly informed about these figures, even though they were, technically, so crucial to the telling of his story. The Canterbury episcopal list, especially for the early incumbents, did not include much useful material, especially related to dating. Bede had to combine the information from this source with whatever other meagre scraps he possessed in order to deduce the more basic, non-anecdotal information he set out in the HE. The gap in the locally produced and preserved evidence at Canterbury for the period prior to Theodore’s arrival will be discussed in more detail at the end of this Chapter. Rochester Bede’s episcopal list for Rochester seems to have included little more than the names of the bishops. The one exception is that the list apparently inserted claims concerning the origins of the earliest English bishops. No episcopal dates were provided on this list. The list has been separated here into two halves, one ending with the vacancy in the 660s, because it is not certain that the information Bede possessed for the later bishops of ­Rochester derived from this list. If it did, then the detail in the second half of the list may well have been much fuller than that which Bede found in the first. It should be recognised that there is ambiguity here: the list he possessed may have been either only the shorter first half or the longer combined list, which may have included some more anecdotal information, not included in the following: Bede’s Rochester episcopal list [1.29, 2.3, 2.7, 2.8, 2.20, 3.14 and 3.20] Justus [1.29, 2.3 and 2.7] Romanus [2.8 and 2.20] Paulinus [2.20 and 3.14] Ithamar [3.14 and 3.20]; he was Kentish [3.14] Damian [3.20 and 4.2]; he was South Saxon [3.20]

Bede’s sources reconstructed  191 Putta [4.2 and 4.12] Cwichelm [4.12] Gefmund [4.12 and 5.8] Tobias [5.8 and 5.23] Ealdwulf [5.23]. In a similar way to the early sections of the Canterbury list, the Rochester list provided Bede with very limited information about the holders of the see. Nevertheless, as with the Canterbury list – and the East Anglian one – the Rochester list did record the origins of the early native bishops. East Anglia Bede’s episcopal list for East Anglia is a more complex, confusing, and ultimately unconvincing document. This list included the lengths of episcopal reigns, but Bede had no specific dates on which to hang this comparative chronology. In fact, he can be seen here employing something of a rhetorical sleight of hand in the HE, displaying what he knew – the length of ­episcopate – while drawing attention away from what he did not – the actual dates of the bishops’ tenure. Interestingly, the length of episcopate is only given for the first three holders of the see. For those same bishops, each prelate’s origins were also given. As with Canterbury and Rochester, there seem to be signs of some form of separation in the way the information for the periods before and after the 660s was recorded in the list. This is most plausibly taken as an indication of stages of composition, though precisely when these ‘recensions’ date from, or how they took shape, is less clear. Bede’s East Anglian episcopal list [2.15 and 3.20] Felix; he was from Burgundy; he ruled 17 years [2.15] Thomas; he was from the province of Gyrwe; he ruled 5 years [3.20]34 Berhtgisl/Boniface; he was from Kent [3.20]; he ruled 17 years [4.5] Bisi [4.5] Æcci and Baduwine [4.5]. Bede’s information from the East Anglian list seems to dry up with those last two figures between whom the diocese was divided. He did know, as he sets out in 5.23, that in 731, Ealdberht and Hathulac were bishops of the East Angles, but this information did not come from the episcopal list. He provides no indication of whom these two individuals had succeeded. Furthermore, Bede separately knew of at least one bishop of East Anglia who is not recorded in the HE, since he names Cuthwine as bishop of Dunwich in his Eight Questions (Q. 2). This, again, points to the episcopal list for the

192  Bede’s sources for Kent before Theodore see being less detailed than he, or we, would like. Perhaps, therefore, Bede’s East Anglian episcopal list ended with Æcci and Baduwine: certainly, it is not reasonable to extrapolate further from the information Bede provides. Concerning the content of the list, it should be noted that, en passant in the HE, Bede makes claims about who consecrated certain East Anglian bishops. On these claims, Plummer built a complex case for East Anglian chronology with implications even affecting that of Kent (Plummer, 2.106). Bede’s statements are, however, more likely to be his own deductions than to derive from the episcopal list. He presents the ecclesiastical and secular chronology of East Anglia in a deceptively simple form, while the information in his source was patchy at best. Taking his various claims seriously leads to significant chronological difficulties, which, by privileging Bede’s account, historians have not done enough to acknowledge.35 London and the East Saxons Bede may have had such a list, but he apparently did not use one for the information in the chapters considered in the earlier analysis, so it will not be included here. Bede was very badly informed about Essex, especially directly.36 5.2.2  The origins of Bede’s episcopal lists Bede possessed and drew on three episcopal lists for the chapters ­analysed.37 Those for Canterbury and Rochester no doubt came from Albinus, via ­Nothelm, presumably on his first trip with materials for the HE. The possibility that the East Anglian list came from the same source should also be considered. Bede himself seems to be referring to Canterbury as his source for the episcopal lists for each see when he says in the Preface that They [Nothelm and Albinus] also provided some of my information about the kingdoms of the East and West Saxons, as well as of the East Angles and of the Northumbrians, especially by which bishops and in the time of which kings they received the grace of the Gospel.38 This notice is most naturally taken as a reference to episcopal lists for the kingdoms in question, though no doubt in some situations, Bede’s information from Albinus and Nothelm amounted to much more than that. Technically, even if Albinus provided these lists, they need not have been recorded at Canterbury originally. Yet there are subtle grounds for thinking that Canterbury did maintain central lists and that it was from these holdings that Bede’s own versions came. First, it should be noted that the Synod of Hertford, of 672, whose canons Bede records at 4.5, implicitly called, in Canon VIII, for the maintenance of episcopal lists, including the lengths of episcopate, by each diocese.39 Presumably, this was already being carried out at Canterbury, at least since Theodore’s

Bede’s sources reconstructed  193 accession if the matter was so important to him. A back-filled list would be easy to create at that stage, though not all of its details would necessarily be trustworthy. Perhaps, therefore, we should look to this period, the 670s, both for the collection of such lists by Canterbury and even arguably for their composition there and elsewhere. A common Canterbury provenance best explains the coincidence of the consistency across the three lists in recording the origins of the earliest English bishops in each see and in certain other elements of their organisation. The lists all seem to fall into two natural ‘halves’, with the dividing line in the catalogues generally lying in the time of Theodore.40 If Bede’s lists are of Canterbury provenance, then the early entries might cautiously be envisaged as the records drawn up at Canterbury near the start of Theodore’s pontificate. Consequently, the information they included would be of uncertain reliability, although it might make sense to presume that, though compiled at Canterbury, they may have been based on records or memories that were more local. The later entries would then have been updated contemporaneously at Canterbury, though not apparently conscientiously.41 To an extent, this might help to explain the deficiencies in the treatment of dioceses like those of the East Angles. The Canterbury coverage of personnel in the English sees for the later period was not consistent or comprehensive. Thus, Bede’s was not either. This would make less sense if he had obtained the information and the lists directly from the sees in question. In any case, while certainty is not possible, the Canterbury provenance for Bede’s episcopal lists, and at least for those three he used in the account of the Gregorian mission, is plausible and perhaps even probable. These episcopal lists were vital for the detail and for the narrative of Bede’s account. As with the regnal lists, episcopal lists helped to provide the basic chronological framework for the HE’s narrative. As much of the HE is the story of succession at the various English sees, they were in some ways even more useful in providing Bede with content. Nonetheless, their limitations as sources need to be acknowledged. Taken as a whole, they are evidently not continuous, contemporarily maintained records, and the evidence suggests that the reconstructions they involve rested on information, or memories, that were not always reliable. One final point should be apparent from this discussion: the fact that the surviving Anglo-Saxon episcopal lists seem to derive from late eighth-­ century versions is not evidence that they only began to be maintained in this period.42 They may have involved historical reconstruction, but that occurred earlier, probably by the late seventh century. 5.2.3  Inscriptions from (re)foundation stones Bede seems to have possessed inscriptions from several ecclesiastical ‘dedication stones’, or their equivalent, with texts related to the activities of the early ‘mission fathers’ and specifically to their (re)construction of churches. They contained material Bede could not have acquired via other written

194  Bede’s sources for Kent before Theodore sources. These inscriptions do not survive. The information proposed as having come from such sources, however, parallels that found in contemporary, continental examples as well as later, surviving Anglo-Saxon ones. As part of the following list, the text of the one such inscription that Bede could have seen almost daily – the surviving Jarrow foundation stone – will be included. Many of the earlier texts, despite being for churches built up to three-quarters of a century before the Jarrow example, seem to have followed essentially the same form. To describe the activity at its most generic, standard practice seems to have been to include the name of the king who patronised the building of the church as well as that of the senior cleric involved, primarily as consecrator. Unlike the Jarrow stone, however, only one (or possibly two) of these examples included a dating formula. The HE does not provide sufficient information about these texts to ­produce reconstructions, although, given their probably formulaic nature, drawing up tentative but substantially accurate versions might not be completely impractical. It is possible to describe the material that the HE’s ­account suggests was included in each inscription. In addition, in every case, the name of the saint to whom, after Christ, the church was dedicated would have been present; Bede’s awareness of this detail need not have required knowledge of the inscription though, so it is not included in the following. The inscriptions are grouped by location of the churches, beginning with Canterbury, because it seems reasonable to assume that such an organisation would have been found in the manuscript Bede was using: the precise order of the texts is unfortunately irretrievable. St Martin’s, Canterbury [1.25 and 1.26] - The church was restored/recovered/rebuilt - Queen Bertha was patron - Augustine was mentioned in some form. A fragment of the end of an apparently seventh-century inscription at St ­Martin’s has survived. This may have been part of a dedication stone. It reads, … (IN HON)ORE(M?)… …OMNIUM SANCTORUM… [in honour of… [and] of all the saints] Holy Saviour’s, Canterbury – Canterbury ‘cathedral’ [1.33] - The church was restored/recovered/rebuilt - King Æthelberht was patron - It was consecrated by Augustine. Ss Peter and Paul’s, Canterbury [1.33 and 2.3] - The church was built a fundamentis43 - King Æthelberht was patron - It was consecrated by Laurence.

Bede’s sources reconstructed  195 Mary, Mother of God, Canterbury [2.6] - King Eadbald was patron - It was consecrated by Mellitus. In 2.7, Bede mentions another Canterbury church, the Four Crowned ­Martyrs, but his knowledge about this structure did not extend beyond its name; Bede had no foundation stone inscription for it. St Andrew’s, Rochester [2.3 and 3.14] - The church was built a fundamentis - King Æthelberht was patron - Probably a dating formula based on the indiction (or possibly on ­Æthelberht’s regnal years), from which Bede was able to derive a foundation date of 604 AD. Alternatively Bede may have just inferred the date from a dating formula from St Paul’s, London. - Probably mention of Justus as bishop. St Paul’s, London [2.3] - King Æthelberht was patron - Probably a dating formula based on the indiction (or possibly on ­Æthelberht’s regnal years), from which Bede was able to derive a foundation date of 604 AD. Alternatively Bede may have just inferred the date from a dating formula from St Andrew’s, Rochester. - Probably mention of Mellitus as bishop. St Paul’s, Jarrow [Chi-Rho] DEDICATIO BASILICAE SANCTI PAVLI VIIII KALENDAS MAI ANNO XV ECFRIDI REGIS CEOLFRIDI ABBATIS EIVSDEM Q QUE ECCLESIAE DEO AVCTORE CONDITORIS ANNO IIII44 Translation: The dedication of the church of St Paul (was) on 23 April in the 15th year of King Ecfrid and the 4th year of Ceolfrid the Abbot and, under God’s guidance, founder of this same church. (Okasha, 1971: 85) This text is added merely for the sake of providing a near-contemporary parallel for comparison. The inscription was not quoted or used in the HE. There is no reason to assume that the ‘mission’ church inscriptions would have used words or formulas identical to this later ‘Northumbrian’ inscription. Even so, the Jarrow example provides a sense – from a consciously Romanising institution – of what might have been included in such a slab and thus supports the suggestion of similar content in terms of structure and diction in these earlier examples.

196  Bede’s sources for Kent before Theodore Transcriptions of all the inscription texts used in constructing the HE’s narrative of the Gregorian mission would have come to Bede from Albinus. Nothelm would have brought them on his first visit. The manuscript collecting these texts – as well as the epitaphs discussed in the next section – would effectively have amounted to a sylloge. This document would go some way toward explicating Bede’s description of the research that Albinus carried out concerning the ‘mission fathers’ and sent via Nothelm on the latter’s ‘first’ visit (HE Preface). Certainty is not possible, but it is probably safe to assume the foundation stone inscriptions represented genuinely early sources for the mission. These are the type of texts the ‘mission fathers’ can reasonably be expected to have produced. There is nothing anachronistic in their content.45 While, in general, few written documents survived from the time of the ‘mission fathers’ to be passed on by Albinus to Bede, in this case, the physical form of the texts – that is, foundation stones – improved their chances of survival, at least in the shorter term, between c.600 and c.730, although they were not to withstand later rebuildings. 5.2.4  Epitaphs Epitaphs represent Bedan sources rarely considered previously. The information Bede gained from them enriched the HE’s narrative of the ­Gregorian mission and enabled him to provide details he could not have gained from other sources. But they did not all come from the same source. Bede possessed some Roman epitaphs from a sylloge, that is, a collection of the texts of epitaphs, tituli, and other similar inscriptions. There is other surviving evidence of the circulation and use of such sylloges elsewhere in seventhand eighth-century England. Aldhelm possessed one (Lapidge, 2007: 52–62) as did Milred of Worcester (Sims-Williams, 1981). Various manuscripts of these sylloges survive, including some with Insular connections (Sharpe, 2005: 172–75). The exact version used by Aldhelm is not extant, but both Lapidge and Richard Sharpe argued that his collection, which he may even have compiled himself, was similar if not identical to that used by Bede and might even have been the exemplar for the latter (Sharpe, 2005: 185–86; Lapidge, 2007: 60–61). This is possible, but it seems prima facie more likely that Bede’s collection came from a ‘Northumbrian’ source and, indeed, a Wearmouth-Jarrow one; in other words, it was a collection brought back by one of his fellow monks from Rome rather than being derived from elsewhere in England. In addition to a sylloge of Roman inscriptions, Bede had access to the texts of epitaphs from Kent. It makes most sense to conceive of these as collected in a single manuscript, probably including the texts of the dedication stone inscriptions just discussed. Such a document would have amounted to a Canterbury-produced sylloge. This would have been provided to Bede by Albinus via Nothelm and may even have been drawn up specifically for Bede.

Bede’s sources reconstructed  197 Bede quotes two of the Canterbury epitaphs directly: Augustine’s and Theodore’s. From their existence and other hints in the HE explored in detail in the earlier analysis, it can be inferred that other bishops of Canterbury also had epitaphs, even though Bede does not specifically mention or quote them. The text of Augustine’s epitaph is relatively simple and focused on certain key facts (HE 2.3). Theodore’s was a much more impressive text – thirty-four lines of heroic verses (HE 5.8). It was so long that Bede only included the beginning and the end. The information in the other epitaphs, summarised below might theoretically fall anywhere within this spectrum: but those for earlier figures would have probably been shorter and more similar to that for Augustine.46 As with the inscriptions from the ecclesiastical foundation stones, reconstructing, even tentatively, the original texts of these epitaphs is not possible. Nonetheless, where Bede’s account might conceivably have retained some of the vocabulary or phrasing from his source, the citations from the HE are included in the following, since the terms he uses may be indicative and could repay further research. The entries here are arranged by location – even internally within a church, where that is possible – rather than by occurrence in the HE, in order to give a better sense of the possible shape of the original manuscripts from which Bede was working. This is less relevant for the Roman sylloge he possessed. His selections from this will only have represented a tiny proportion of the total text of that document. The extracts from Roman inscriptions inserted in the HE reveal little about the basic makeup of his source. In contrast, it seems likely that, combined with the information in the previous section on dedication inscriptions, the broad structure of the entire ‘Canterbury sylloge’ – that is, the document with inscriptions sent by Albinus via Nothelm – can be seen in general outline in the summaries of the Kentish epitaphs below. Finally, although they are not directly relevant to this investigation, Cædwalla’s epitaph, as well as Wilfrid’s, which Bede quotes at 5.7 and 5.19, respectively, are included for the sake of completeness. Rome – from Roman sylloge Gregory the Great [1.23 and 2.1]

Bede included Gregory’s entire poetic epitaph at 2.1. He also used material from the short prose summary, with which the text would originally have ended, in both 1.23 and 2.1 (de Rossi and Silvagni, 1985: 2.26, no. 4156). Cædwalla [5.7]

At 5.7, Bede includes the West Saxon king Cædwalla’s complete epitaph, in which, following common Roman practice, a short prose summary of key facts is appended to a laudatory poem. While Bede quoted the entire epitaph, he also used the information it provided elsewhere in the chapter to add

198  Bede’s sources for Kent before Theodore colour to his account of the king. This enabled him to calculate an incarnational date for Cædwalla’s death. Bede’s copy of this epitaph would have been part of his sylloge of Roman epitaphs, wherever he had obtained that. Canterbury sylloge Ss Peter and Paul’s, Canterbury Bertha [1.25 and 2.5]

Bede notes that Bertha was buried in Ss Peter and Paul’s church in Canterbury (HE 2.5).47 This implies at least some form of epitaph. This is likely to have included her rank – queen – and perhaps her marriage to Æthelberht.48 The epitaph was probably Bede’s source of information about her origins. The material present in the epitaph can be summarised as follows: - Bertha was queen - Perhaps that she was married to Æthelberht - She was from Gaul. Liudhard [1.25]

Liudhard seems to have had a tomb in the royal chapel in the south porticus of Ss Peter and Paul (Thacker, 1999: 376). It is not possible to be certain that this was the case by the time Bede was compiling material for the HE, but this must be the most likely assumption. Liudhard cannot have been buried there originally, however, because the church had not yet been built. We have no evidence about when his ‘epitaph’ would have been written or what sources could have lain behind it. However basic the information (or misinformation), this sepulchral inscription included, it does seem to be the most plausible source for Bede’s claims that Liudhard existed, was a bishop, came from ‘Gaul’, and arrived with Bertha – although that last statement may have been Bede’s inference from the other claims. The material present in the epitaph can be summarised: - Liudhard was bishop - He was from Gaul - Possibly that he was associated with Bertha. Æthelberht [1.25 and 2.5]

Bede states that Æthelberht was buried in Ss Peter and Paul’s, Canterbury, and thus his tomb possessed an epitaph, even if this were no more than the mere mention of the king’s name. Bede is even more specific about the location of the king’s tomb, saying that he was buried in the porticus of St Martin (in porticu sancti Martini). This porticus was on the south side of the church, opposite that of St Gregory, where the early bishops of Canterbury were buried. Given that Bede’s description of Æthelberht’s place of burial is

Bede’s sources reconstructed  199 connected in the HE with the notice of his (Julian) date of death, 24 February, this points to the probable presence of this detail on the inscription.49 Moreover, in the same sentence, Bede claims that Æthelberht died 21 years after his conversion; it probably makes sense to view this reference as taken from the epitaph. The following, therefore. summarises the material present in the epitaph: - Æthelberht, king of Kent, died on 24 February - This happened 21 years after his conversion [this is the probable reference point; alternatively, and less likely, this happened 21 years after the departure of the Gregorian mission from Rome]. Because Bede might arguably be copying some of the actual words of Æthelberht’s epitaph, it is worth repeating the key sentence from HE 2.5: Defunctus uero est rex Aedilberct die XXIIII mensis Februarii post XX et unum annos acceptae fidei50 There is no reason to envisage Æthelberht’s epitaph as having been produced before Augustine’s, which cannot have been composed before Theodore’s pontificate. Ss Peter and Paul’s, Canterbury – porticus of St Gregory51 Augustine [2.3]

Hic requiescit domnus Augustinus Doruuernensis archiepiscopus primus, qui olim huc a beato Gregorio Romanae urbis pontifice directus, et a Deo operatione miraculorum suffultus, Aedilbertcum regem ac gentem illius ab idolorum cultu ad Christi fidem perduxit, et conpletis in pace diebus officii sui, defunctus est VII Kalendas Iunias, eodem rege regnante.52 Bede inserts the entire text of Augustine’s epitaph at the end of 2.3. The text is included here for the sake of comparison. Other ‘early’ examples, especially of the ‘mission fathers’, might well have been produced at the same time and have followed a similar pattern. The content is simple and ‘factual’. The use of the term ‘archbishop’ confirms the impression of the general tone of this text that it was written some time after Augustine’s death. It was only under Theodore – and only gradually during his episcopate – that the title ‘archbishop’ began to be used in England. Augustine’s epitaph cannot have been composed before Theodore’s arrival and could conceivably have been written while Berhtwald was archbishop. Given that Liudhard’s epitaph cannot have been contemporary, if such is also the case for Augustine’s, then the same was probably true for those of all the early Gregorian mission bishops of the see.

200  Bede’s sources for Kent before Theodore Laurence [2.7]

This is how Bede describes Laurence’s death in 2.7: Hoc enim regnante rege beatus archiepiscopus Laurentius regnum caeleste conscendit, atque in ecclesia et monasterio sancti apostoli Petri iuxta prodecessorem suum Augustinum sepultus est die quarto Nonarum Februariarum.53 The use of sepultus est (was buried) to describe the day of death, along with the mention of the location of the bishop’s tomb, indicates that ­B ede’s source for the date was Laurence’s epitaph rather than mere ­l iturgical commemoration. Use of the date of burial for date of death was common on Roman epitaphs of the period.54 The HE’s note that Eadbald was the ruling king at the time of the bishop’s death might appear mere inference on Bede’s behalf. There is, however, a comparable mention of Æthelberht (rege regnante) on Augustine’s epitaph. Bede makes a similar reference to the reigning king – again, Eadbald – in describing Mellitus’s death, and he does so in similar language: here, the phrase is regnante rege, while at the time of Mellitus’s death, it is Eadbaldo regnante. The epitaph may have included more information, but the only elements Bede used were: - Laurence was buried on 2 February - Possible mention of Eadbald as the king reigning at the time of ­Laurence’s death. Mellitus [2.7]

In 2.7, Bede describes Mellitus’s death in the following manner: Et hic ergo postquam annis quinque rexit ecclesiam, Eadbaldo ­regnante migrauit ad caelos, sepultusque est cum patribus suis in ­saepedicto monasterio et ecclesia beatissimi apostolorum principis, anno ab ­incarnatione Domini DCXXIIII, die VIII Kalendarum Maiarum.55 Mention of the Julian date when Mellitus was buried (sepultus) almost certainly means that this detail came from the bishop’s epitaph rather than from Canterbury liturgical commemoration. Bede makes other claims in this sentence about dates, relating to the length of Mellitus’s episcopate at Canterbury and the incarnational year of his death. These have been examined at length, and it seems possible that the former might have been included on the epitaph but not the latter. As noted earlier, Bede mentions the reigning king at the time of Mellitus’s death, as he does for Laurence and Augustine. It seems likely that these details were found on the bishops’ epitaphs.

Bede’s sources reconstructed  201 Thus, while the epitaph may have included further details, the only elements Bede drew on were: - Mellitus was buried on 24 April - Possible mention of length of Mellitus’s episcopate (five years) at Canterbury - Possible mention of Eadbald as the king reigning at the time of death. Justus [2.18]

Iustus archiepiscopus ad caelestia regna subleuatus quarto Iduum Nouembrium die.56 Bede only notes the Julian date for Justus’s death and uses no vocabulary with specific reference to burial. Even the location of Justus’s tomb is not directly recorded. Nonetheless, given all the other instances seen so far, it should be presumed that, like his predecessors and successors, Justus was provided with an epitaph, and that he was buried in Ss Peter and Paul’s, Canterbury, in the porticus of St Gregory.57 The epitaph would have included the following information used by Bede: - Justus died 10 November. Honorius [3.20]

Et ipse quoque Honorius, postquam metas sui cursus inpleuit, ex hac luce migrauit anno ab incarnatione Domini DCLIII, pridie Kalendarum Octobrium.58 This information cannot derive simply from liturgical commemoration of Honorius because Bede gives a year of death as well as the Julian calendar date. The probability is that Bede based his statement on the text of the bishop’s epitaph. The year given on the epitaph would probably have been indictional, but it would have been a simple matter for Bede to translate this into an incarnational figure.59 In short, Honorius’s epitaph included the following information: - Honorius died 30 September - A year of death – presumably indictional – which Bede converted to the incarnational year 653. Deusdedit [2.5?, 3.8?, 3.20 and 4.1]

Deusdedit VIus ecclesiae Doruuernensis episcopus obiit pridie Iduum Iuliarum; sed et Erconberct rex Cantuariorum eodem mense ac die defunctus. (HE 4.1)60

202  Bede’s sources for Kent before Theodore The last to be buried in the porticus of St Gregory was Deusdedit. If, as is being assumed here, the texts in the sylloge were arranged by location, then Deusdedit’s epitaph would have been the last in that section of the manuscript. Bede’s precise information about Deusdedit’s day and year of death points towards him possessing the text of this bishop’s epitaph, just as he possessed those of the other Canterbury bishops. This epitaph may have been Bede’s source of knowledge for the date of King Eorcenberht’s death as this was the same as Deusdedit’s. Thus, Deusdedit’s epitaph would have included the following information: - Deusdedit died 14 July - A year of death, presumably indictional, which Bede converted to 664 AD - Perhaps reference to King Eorcenberht dying on the same day. Ss Peter and Paul’s, Canterbury – main church Theodore [5.8]

Although strictly speaking, Theodore lies outside the general area of this inquiry, it should be noted that Bede also possessed his epitaph, which was written in ‘heroic verse’.61 The opening and closing lines of this were included in 5.8, but Bede had access to the text of all thirty-four verses and drew on their content for other aspects of his description of the archbishop in that chapter. For example, the age, 88 years, that Bede gives for Theodore at death will have derived from the omitted sections of the epitaph. The calendar date of Theodore’s death is included in the section of the epitaph that Bede quotes. Theodore was buried within the main church of Ss Peter and Paul but not in the porticus of St Gregory. King Eorcenberht? [2.5, 3.8 and 4.1] – place of burial uncertain 62 Bede gives Eorcenberht’s precise date of death, including year, which is more information than he usually possessed for Kentish kings. Such detail was probably only recorded because of the coincidence that the king’s death fell on exactly the same day as Bishop Deusdedit’s: 14 July 664. An epitaph would be the natural place to note such information; the question is whether this was on the king’s or the bishop’s. It is not impossible that Deusdedit’s epitaph mentioned the coincidence of the days of death of both bishop and king rather than that Bede had a separate, detailed epitaph for Eorcenberht. The latter is a possibility though, so it merits inclusion here.63 If an epitaph did exist for the king, then it would have contained the following content:

Bede’s sources reconstructed  203 Either: - Simple mention of the coincidence that King Eorcenberht died on the same day as Bishop Deusdedit (with Bede deriving the precise date from the bishop’s tomb). Or: - King Eorcenberht died 14 July - A year of death – presumably indictional – which Bede converted to 664 AD. St Andrew’s, Rochester Paulinus [2.9 and 3.14]

Cuius anno secundo, hoc est ab incarnatione dominica anno DCXLIIII, reuerentissimus pater Paulinus, quondam quidem Eburacensis, sed tunc Hrofensis episcopus ciuitatis, transiuit ad Dominum sexto Iduum Octobrium die; qui X et VIIII annos, menses duos, dies XXI episcopatum tenuit. (HE 3.14)64 Bede specifies the location of Paulinus’s tomb and provides a ‘complete’ date for his death, including both Julian figures and an incarnational year. These probably derived from his epitaph.65 The same is likely to be true for the detailed length of total time for which Paulinus was bishop, something frequently found on contemporary papal epitaphs. Given all these details, Paulinus’s epitaph may have been produced immediately after his death, unlike the Canterbury examples discussed earlier, which were created after Theodore’s arrival. From the pieces of information on the inscription, Bede would have been able to calculate the precise date of Paulinus’s episcopal consecration, which he inserted in 2.9. Paulinus’s epitaph included at least the following information: - Paulinus died on 10 October - A year – probably indictional – which Bede has converted to 644 AD - He was bishop, in total, for 19 years, 2 months, and 21 days. Ripon Wilfrid [5.19]

As with Theodore’s epitaph, Wilfrid’s is outside the confines of the current study, but it is worth including on this list for the sake of completeness. Bede closes his account of Wilfrid with the full text of the poetic epitaph inscribed over that prelate’s tomb at Ripon. The epitaph does not include a date of

204  Bede’s sources for Kent before Theodore death but does have a figure for Wilfrid’s total time as a bishop – quindecies ternos … annos. Bede may well have visited Ripon and recorded the epitaph himself, but, if not, his close connection with Acca meant he had plenty of opportunities to obtain this text.66 Bede’s Kentish epitaphs Although the epitaphs of Cædwalla and Wilfrid have been considered for the sake of completeness, the real focus must be on those relating to Kent and the Gregorian mission. Bede seems to have had access to the epitaphs of all the bishops of Canterbury. He will have acquired the texts of these inscriptions from Albinus via Nothelm, presumably on the latter’s first visit. They will have been part of the Canterbury sylloge, described in the previous section, 5.2.3. This document would have included the church dedication inscriptions discussed earlier. As Bede does not quote most of the epitaphs, the ­ iudhard and ­Augustine precise form they took is not recoverable. Those for L must have been written some time after their deaths because the church in which Bede knew them to be buried had not been built by the time they died. In Augustine’s case, Bede gives the text of the inscription, and from its tone and content, it can be deduced that the work was composed significantly ­ ugustine’s later – not before Theodore’s episcopate. If that is the case for A epitaph, then, especially given the parallel i­ nformation – including the royal inscriptions – apparently available to Bede from these sources, the presumption must be that the same is true for those of all the figures before the 660s, with the possible exception of Paulinus.67 This does not necessarily invalidate every piece of information that the epitaphs provided, but they should not be treated as, by their very nature, primary sources. In this way, the evidence of the epitaphs differs from that other area of epigraphic information discussed above, the church dedication inscriptions, which had probably survived in situ from the time of the mission fathers. The epitaphs might instead be among the products of Theodore’s own programme of ecclesiastical renouatio among the English. They would make sense as examples of the steps the new bishop took to establish and publicly promote the cults of the earlier ‘mission fathers’, just as he seems to have done for Gregory the Great. The next Chapter will examine another possible source that points in the same direction. 5.2.5  Ecclesiastical correspondence Bede possessed a variety of ecclesiastical correspondence. Most of these were papal letters that he had obtained thanks to Nothelm’s researches in the Roman archives, but a few were part of Bede’s computus resources and will have derived from Irish sources. In some cases, he included the texts of the letters he had. In others, he simply exploited the information within the epistles to form or supplement his narrative. This is important. The

Bede’s sources reconstructed  205 ecclesiastical correspondence in Bede’s possession was not simply limited to those letters he inserted in the text. His collection was broader. Certainty about its precise extent is not achievable. The following lists itemise what Bede can be shown to have had, distinguishing the sources of those epistles. Papal letters from Roman archives brought by Nothelm These are the letters collected by Nothelm and brought to Bede, following Albinus’s advice, on Nothelm’s second visit to Wearmouth-Jarrow with materials for the compilation of the HE. This list gives some sense of the shape of the total package that Nothelm would have brought, though it is very unlikely to be completely comprehensive: - Letter from Pope Gregory the Great to Kings Theuderic and Theudeberht and/or Queen Brunhilde (R: 6.49, 6.57; M: 6.51, 6.60) [1.23 and 1.25] - Letter from Pope Gregory the Great to Augustine’s companions (R: 6.50a; M: 6.53) [1.23, where it is quoted by Bede, and 1.25] - Letter from Pope Gregory the Great to Etherius [1.23 and 1.24, where it is quoted by Bede, as well as 1.27 and 1.28] - Letter from Pope Gregory the Great to Queen Bertha (R: 11.35) [1.25 and 1.27] - Letter from Pope Gregory the Great to Vergilius (R: 11.45) [1.28, where it is quoted by Bede] - Letter from Pope Gregory to Gallic correspondent, either to bishops Menas of Toulon/Serenus of Marseilles/Lupus of Chalons-sur-Saone/ Agiulf of Metz/Simplicius of Paris/Melantius of Rouen/Licinus, to, perhaps more probably, Brunhilde, or to both (R: 11.41, 11.48) [1.29] - Letter from Pope Gregory the Great to Augustine, concerning the organisation of the church (R: 11.39) [1.29, where it is quoted by Bede] - Letter from Pope Gregory the Great to Mellitus (R: 11.56) [1.30, where it is quoted by Bede] - Letter from Pope Gregory the Great to Augustine concerning miracles (R: 11.36) [1.31, where it is quoted by Bede] - Letter from Pope Gregory the Great to King Æthelberht (R: 11.37) [1.32, where it is quoted by Bede] - Letters from Pope Boniface IV [2.2 and 2.4] - Letters from Pope Boniface V to Mellitus and Justus [2.7] - Letter from Pope Boniface V to Justus [2.8, where it is quoted by Bede, and 2.9] - Letter from Pope Boniface V to King Edwin, encouraging him to convert [2.10, where it is quoted by Bede] - Letter from Pope Boniface V to Queen Æthelburh [2.11, where it is quoted by Bede]

206  Bede’s sources for Kent before Theodore - Letter from Pope Honorius to King Edwin informing him of the bestowal of the two palliums [1.29, where it is quoted by Bede, and 2.17] - Letter from Pope Honorius to Bishop Honorius (and Paulinus)68 [2.18, where it is quoted by Bede] - Letter from Pope Vitalian to King Oswiu [3.29, where it is quoted by Bede, and 4.1]. Letters from Bede’s computus collections Bede possessed other letters, which he used in the HE that came from the computus collections at his disposal. These collections reached Bede independently of his researches for the HE and ultimately would have derived from Irish sources:69 - Letter from Laurence, Mellitus, and Justus to the Irish [2.4, where it is quoted by Bede] - Letter from Laurence, Mellitus, and Justus to the British [2.4]; it is possible that Bede did not possess this letter but deduced what he says about it from mention of the epistle in the bishops’ letter to the Irish, above - Letter from Pope Honorius to the Irish [2.17 and 2.19] - Letter from Pope-elect John to the Irish [2.19, where it is quoted by Bede]. Letters from canonical collections There was one other papal letter which Bede possessed that he did not obtain either from Nothelm or from his computus studies: the Libellus Responsionum. Although this was originally a letter of Gregory the Great, Nothelm did not copy it from the papal archives. The form in which Bede knew this text reveals that he must have taken it from a canonical collection to which he had access. - Letter from Pope Gregory the Great to Augustine: the Libellus Responsionum (R: 11.56a; M: 8.37) [1.26; 1.27, where it is quoted by Bede; and 1.28]. Obviously, these lists need not be complete; indeed, they are highly unlikely to be. These are only the letters that the parts of the HE analysed in Chapters 2–4 show that Bede knew. It is a vital lesson of this study that Bede’s materials were not limited simply to the texts he directly quotes. This is particularly the case with the papal correspondence. Bede made use of several letters that Nothelm brought without including them verbatim. As far as possible, these have been identified above. But Nothelm may have brought (many) others that Bede did not use. He was discerning in his use of the

Bede’s sources reconstructed  207 material at his disposal. Nonetheless, this is the first time that anything approaching a comprehensive catalogue of the ecclesiastical correspondence to which Bede had access has been itemised and divided by their differing provenances. As with the other literary sources discussed later, there is no point in attempting to reconstruct the texts of the correspondence that Bede possessed: the Gregorian letters survive separately; for many of the other letters from which Bede includes content, the HE is our only witness; he does not give enough of the letters that he simply alludes to or draws from to provide sufficient material for any meaningful reconstruction of their original form. The same can be said for the canons of the 610 Roman synod, attended by Mellitus, that Bede drew on in HE 2.4. As with most of the papal letters summarised earlier, Nothelm probably provided Bede with this text. He notes that the synod issued canons ‘about the life of monks and harmony in their estate’ (HE 2.4);70 but this description is much too vague to guide even the basic shape of how the decrees would have looked.

5.3  ‘Literary’ and other written sources As with the letters, there is nothing to be gained by repeating the content of the other literary sources Bede used in the HE. The works of Gregory the Great,71 the LP (HE 1.23, 1.29, 2.1, 2.4, 2.7, 2.8, 2.17, and 2.19), Orosius’s History against the Pagans (HE 1.23), the VG (HE 2.1), the Ps-Clementine Recognitiones (HE 2.4), versions of the Irish annals, Bede’s own works,72 and the Bible73 all survive separately. Bede also possessed a written source of British origins, telling the stories of a ‘council’ with Augustine and of the battle of Chester (2.2). How Bede obtained such a source is not clear;74 it does not survive and cannot be reconstructed from his use of it in the HE. Equally, Bede had access to tidal information from his ‘scientific’ sources, which he drew on in 1.25. Most of this was probably collected between 703 and 725. The information must have been in written form at some level, although Bede could have accumulated part of his geographical knowledge more informally. In neither case can the form or content of the tidal information to which Bede had access be restored.

5.4  Oral information The following represents a summary list of those pieces of information that it was noted that Bede obtained orally in the most general sense of the word: - Location of churches in and around Canterbury [1.26 and 1.33] - Perhaps assertions about the treasures in books, cloths, sacred vessels, etc., which, in the early eighth century, Canterbury claimed came from Gregory the Great and had been brought back by the party from Rome in 601 [1.29]

208  Bede’s sources for Kent before Theodore - The existence of Rufinianus, probably noting that he became abbot of Ss Peter and Paul’s, though Bede does not mention that [1.29] - Peter as the first abbot of Ss Peter and Paul’s, Canterbury [1.33] - Perhaps about the gifts of land given by King Æthelberht to the churches he founded [2.3] - Location of tombs and altars in Ss Peter and Paul’s [2.3, 2.5 and 2.7] - Details of liturgical practices at Ss Peter and Paul’s [2.3] - Distance between Canterbury and Rochester [2.3] - Perhaps the etymology of the place name Rochester [2.3] - The items associated, at least by the early eighth century, with Paulinus and Edwin and preserved in Rochester and Canterbury; these included a pallium and royal and ecclesiastical treasures [2.20] - Location of tomb of Paulinus in St Andrew’s church, Rochester [3.14] - The choice of Theodore as bishop by the pope [3.29 and 4.1]. Other than the last item, which was based on Wearmouth-Jarrow tradition, the rest of this ‘orally’ acquired information, relating to the Gregorian mission and the church in Kent before Theodore, came to Bede from Albinus via Nothelm. Presumably, Nothelm passed on this ‘material’ on the first of his visits associated with the compilation of the HE that Bede mentioned in the HE’s preface.75 It should be noted that while this information is described as ‘orally’ conveyed, much of it may have been passed on to Bede by letter, although clearly, the shape of this is no longer reconstructable.76

5.5  Bede’s Canterbury sources This is the first time Bede’s sources in the HE have been collected and presented in such a form. The approach followed in this study has made it feasible to set out his sources for the creation of the HE’s account of the Gregorian mission to Kent. We have seen Bede ‘at work’ and thus now have a far better sense of his ‘working’ library beyond the merely literary texts. The mental and physical activity involved in his researching and writing of the story should be much plainer. We can envisage Bede’s workspace – his desk or the scriptorium – in composing the HE, at least in creating his account of the Gregorian mission. Before concluding, it is worth summing up the information Bede obtained from Canterbury and the form in which it came, as well as considering whether Albinus provided anything else that lay behind the HE’s account of the Gregorian mission. Based on the discussion earlier in this Chapter, it seems that Albinus provided Bede with several collections of material. The first collection was of secular sources: the Kentish laws, including at least Æthelberht’s and ­Eorcenberht’s but possibly more, the Kentish regnal list, and the Kentish genealogy.77 It makes sense to envisage all this connected information as having been in a single manuscript.

Bede’s sources reconstructed  209 The second Canterbury collection would have included the episcopal lists. If the argument above is correct, this manuscript would not have simply included the Canterbury episcopal list, but also those of the other kingdoms and sees. The third collection, which, of course, could have conceivably been in the same manuscript as the second collection, was the Canterbury sylloge: this included the church dedication inscriptions from the churches at Canterbury, as well as those at Rochester and London, together with the epitaphs discussed earlier. In the next Chapter, it will be seen that a further, fourth, collection should be added to these. Additional Canterbury material beyond that used in the parts of the HE covered in this book was probably included in one or other of these collections, if it did not constitute supplementary collections. For instance, the canons of the councils of Hertford and Hatfield are likely to have been in the same collection as the episcopal lists. All these collections would have been brought to Bede on Nothelm’s first visit with information for the HE. At the same time, Nothelm would have passed on the oral information from Albinus set out above: especially, the locations of churches and tombs; geographical information and etymological claims; the details of liturgical practices; and probably assertions about the endowments and gifts of kings, bishops and popes to the church of Kent. Taken together, these collections, to a large extent, explain Bede’s account of the information he received from Albinus via Nothelm on the latter’s first visit (HE Preface).78 Indeed, they not only explain the account, they detail the form that material would have taken. It is almost possible to visualise the manuscripts that Nothelm was carrying. When the collections and the information within them are set out together in this way, it is no surprise that Bede should call Albinus the ‘Auctor ante omnes atque adiutor opusculi huius’. This book does not, however, attempt to provide a complete compendium of all the sources Bede obtained from Canterbury and Albinus. Others probably lay behind sections of the HE not considered here. One example of such material, probably of Canterbury provenance, lying outside the scope of this work is that forming the basis of Bede’s stories of the Anglo-Saxon aduentus. It seems likely that Bede learned about Hengist and Horsa from his Canterbury contacts (Harrison, 1976b: 351), but that case need not be examined here. Other documents, relating to sections of the HE that appear later than those that are the focus of this book, also most reasonably reached Bede from Albinus. If it existed, one potential source that might be considered relevant to this work would be a liber pontificalis for Canterbury (Jones, 1947: 27 and 168). There are some subtle signs that York maintained one, at least in the mideighth century. Alcuin seems to be drawing on a record very similar in form and content to those of the popes’ official biographies in his accounts of the gifts of both Bishop Wilfrid II and Archbishop Ælberht to the church of

210  Bede’s sources for Kent before Theodore York (Alcuin, Bishops, Kings and Saints of York: 94–97 and 118–21). If York possessed such a source, might not Canterbury? It is a tempting prospect but one that we are compelled to reject. Nothing in the HE’s account of the early mission fathers could plausibly be derived from a Canterbury liber pontificalis.79 Nor does Bede’s description, at least of the bishops up to Theodore, include the elements that would be expected from a work following the Roman LP.80

5.6  Conclusions: the disappearance of ‘Canterbury tradition’ The preceding analysis has introduced new clarity into the question of ­Bede’s sources and method. We now have a much better idea of the nature of what was available to him and especially of what Albinus and Canterbury were able to provide him with concerning the mission. We have a clearer sense of the reliability of the material at Bede’s disposal. We have seen sources that have not received much focus before. We have gained valuable hints about the nature of the Anglo-Saxon monastic library and its purpose in education. From another perspective, however, as Bede’s sources have been catalogued, sifted, organised and reconstructed, it has become increasingly ­obvious that his ‘knowledge’ was based on a very small amount of material. Moreover, what he did have rarely inspires much confidence as to its reliability. In elucidating Bede’s method, significant gaps have been revealed, even concerning areas like Canterbury before Theodore, about which it might previously have been assumed that Bede knew. For instance, Richard claimed that ‘we are relatively well informed about Augustine’ (Gameson, 1999a: 1). Such a view is no longer tenable. The reliability and extent of the ‘Canterbury tradition’ that survived to reach Bede has been comprehensively dismantled. Historians have a much weaker basis for their views on this period of the Gregorian mission, based as they have had to be on Bede, than has been assumed. Given the impossibility of certainty for many of the identifications made above, it is, of course, quite likely that others might want to take issue with a few of the explanations proposed or to suggest, in the tiny number of cases where that is remotely possible, that another, lost, primary source lies behind Bede’s claim. But this has no meaningful impact on the basic conclusion. Even with such hypothetical objections, it is undeniable that the overall picture built up through systematic and comprehensive analysis is utterly overwhelming: this section of the HE at least was composed without access to hidden original sources supporting Bede’s less obvious statements. Following this examination, therefore, what is perhaps most striking is the sheer scale of the vacuum in evidence at Canterbury for the days of the ‘mission’. Canterbury did not maintain useful records dating back to ­Augustine’s time. They did not possess any of the original papal letters sent to Kent nor does Bede insert any other document that seems to come from

Bede’s sources reconstructed  211 Canterbury’s records of the mission days. He did possess Canterbury epitaphs, but most of these are unlikely to be contemporary. In short, there is nothing in the HE to suggest that Canterbury had retained any documents produced at the time of the mission, other than the texts of the inscriptions on the ecclesiastical (re)foundation stones, perhaps laid in the time of the mission fathers. Credible information of a more anecdotal nature was also apparently unavailable to Albinus. Bede’s ignorance of even basic facts about the mission and its heroes is plain. He did not know Augustine’s year of death (2.3). Bede was apparently confused about when Æthelberht died in relation to other events (2.5), and perhaps about the length of his reign (Yorke, 2002: 113–14). Bede is able to include almost no information about bishops Honorius and Deusdedit. Most of the – very few – statements about these prelates are simply inferences from the ‘knowledge’ that they were bishops of Canterbury at the time that other events happened. The same might be said for the first bishops of Rochester about whom Bede is able to include little more than their names.81 Finally, despite his main source – the auctor ante omnes atque adiutor for the work – being Albinus, abbot of Ss Peter and Paul, Canterbury (HE Preface), Bede shows no obvious signs of knowing the name of any other abbot of that house between Peter, the first, and Benedict Biscop, who held the position on Theodore’s arrival until he was replaced by Hadrian.82 The only additional or alternative information about the abbots is found in very late sources, such as Thomas of Elmham. The very tenuous claim his ‘History’ has to credibility on these issues is another indication of how complete the break was that took place in Canterbury records between the early seventh century and the time of Theodore and Bede. If Bede had known the abbots of Ss Peter and Paul, it is reasonable to assume that he would have included at least their names. It seems that even Albinus, the current abbot, did not know the identities of his predecessors back to the beginning. It should be underlined that this is not merely the standard failure of such documents to survive into modern times: here, it is evident that well before the time of the composition of the HE, Canterbury was already bereft of original documentation relating to the mission and the missionaries. Rats, Vikings and Henry VIII no doubt destroyed many Canterbury records, but the break had occurred long before even the Danes arrived. It had happened even before the chaos in Canterbury in 796 and the apparent destruction of the archives (Wormald in Campbell, 1982: 124). The comprehensiveness of the loss is surprising. The HE’s evidence shows that whenever this break occurred, it was before the early eighth century. The very frequency with which early documents have, in a more general way, been lost to later times has helped to disguise the otherwise obvious loss that occurred even within the earlier period itself – some time during the seventh century. On consideration, it is possible to be quite confident about precisely when this occurred. The break is scarcely likely to have occurred while there was

212  Bede’s sources for Kent before Theodore a sitting bishop at Canterbury. Devastating destruction could have ruined archives even while a bishop continued to rule. In that case, though, the more human element would not have been lost: that is, the traditions would have been able to survive. With an episcopate uninterrupted, even in the face of material destruction, a greater level of continuity would be expected than there is evidence for. Thus, the break is likely to have occurred at a time when there was an ‘interregnum’ between bishops of Canterbury. There is evidence for three of these in the seventh century. The first was between Honorius and Deusdedit (HE 3.20), and the third was between Theodore and Berhtwald (HE 5.8). The second, between Deusdedit and Theodore, is, however, where we are most likely to find the cause of the gap in the evidence.83 This episcopal ‘interregnum’ followed the death of Deusdedit on 14 July 664 (HE 4.1). His successor, Theodore, only arrived in 669.84 This means that there was a gap of essentially five years with no bishop at Canterbury. This is a significant period of time, much longer than either of the other two seventh-century interregnums. Not only that, but ending this hiatus required the sending of someone directly from Rome. This requirement points as clearly as anything to the genuine disjuncture in the ecclesiastical life of Anglo-Saxon England in the 660s. At the same time, there was a vacancy at the monastery of Ss Peter and Paul. When Benedict Biscop arrived with Theodore, he stepped into the vacuum as abbot until Hadrian was able to cross the Channel.85 Bede did not know who had been Biscop’s ‘predecessor’ in the role, so it must be presumed that Biscop did not either. Such ignorance on Bede’s behalf, despite having among his sources two abbots of Canterbury – his own late abbot, Benedict Biscop, and Albinus, his close contact in writing the HE – is powerful testimony to the evidential gap for the period.86 With a qualitative break at the ‘cathedral’, the abbey of Ss Peter and Paul was in no position to provide continuity in its place. As a result, there was a problem at the same point in time in the two major ecclesiastical institutions in Canterbury. Both apparently lacked the barest institutional functionality, incapable even of the choice of successors. Canterbury was not the only ecclesiastical institution in Kent bereft of leadership at the time. Rochester lacked a bishop for at least part of the later 660s. Bede was badly informed about the Rochester episcopate and does not seem to have known precisely when Damian died. He apparently did have reason to believe that there was a vacancy between Damian’s death and the choice and consecration of his successor Putta by Theodore (HE 4.2).87 Consequently, Bede would not have been able to rely on Rochester to have preserved materials lost at Canterbury during this troubled period. Both Kentish bishoprics were empty, and the major abbey was not only without a head – it had apparently lost almost all record of its earlier existence and leaders. No wonder the genuine information that survived about the Kentish church before 669 was so meagre.88

Bede’s sources reconstructed  213 In fact, conditions were even worse than this. There are signs not only of ecclesiastical disjuncture but political problems as well. King Eorcenberht died the same day as Deusdedit (HE 4.1).89 Bede says that Eorcenberht’s son Ecgberht took over and ruled for nine years. In reality, the situation seems to have been more complex. Bede’s information about the succession of Kentish kings was simplistic to the point of being misleading. The basically single line of Kentish royal succession that he asserts in the HE is not borne out by surviving documentary evidence for the kingdom. Both the charters and the law codes speak of joint rule and name kings not mentioned by Bede. It is true that the charters are not without their own difficulties, some of them significant, and the details within them should not be accepted wholesale.90 Even so, where diplomatic texts can be seen to represent original material, the charters – and the law codes – merit greater trust than Bede’s later, and geographically distant, account, which is apparently based on no more than the king list and genealogy provided by Albinus and examined earlier. Alternative literary evidence concerning Kentish royal succession in the 660s, such as the texts associated with the ‘Mildrith Legend’, paints a more complex story than Bede’s narrative allows.91 There are indications in the ‘Mildrith Legend’ that there may have been an interregnum following ­Eorcenberht’s death – or at the very least a guardianship for the young king Ecgberht. One branch of the tale claims that he was a child at accession and that his mother, Seaxburh, acted as regent.92 In light of what has already been seen of the impact of the problems of the 660s on the preservation of material, it is no surprise that little more than this can be said about the politics of the period. What meagre information there is does seem to support the idea of a level of contemporary political dysfunction in Kent, paralleling that found in the ecclesiastical sphere. The possibility, or perhaps likelihood, of external interference in such a situation should not be discounted either; such assaults could well have come from the Mercians and conceivably even from the Northumbrians.93 One way or another, there seems to have been confusion in the Kentish political situation during this period at precisely the same time as there was a breakdown in the leadership of the kingdom’s ecclesiastical institutions. Therefore, the hiatus in Kent in the 660s amounted to a period of comprehensive and systemic disaster for ecclesiastical life in the kingdom. There was no bishop at Canterbury to lead the church, leaving a vacancy that lasted almost five years. There was no bishop at Rochester to provide an alternate centre. There was no abbot for the key monastery of Ss Peter and Paul’s. Finally, this ecclesiastical breakdown was accompanied by an apparent failure in effective political rule at exactly the same time. There was a change in kings, with the new monarch probably a minor, and with rule, such as it was, perhaps exercised through a regency involving his mother. The very confusion in the accounts of the political life of the period points to the confusion of the period itself.

214  Bede’s sources for Kent before Theodore It should be no surprise that such a disastrous few years for the church in Kent should have had a dramatic effect on the chances of survival of Canterbury’s records of the early period of the church in the kingdom. In such a situation, it was only natural that next to nothing should be retained. There was apparently no one to take over responsibility for these institutions and their holdings under such circumstances. Indeed, even if there had been sufficient institutional functionality to produce new leaders, there would not have been anyone to consecrate them. While problems with a lack of bishops in the 660s may have been at their worst in Kent, they extended across most of the rest of contemporary Anglo-Saxon England. There were no bishops in Essex, which Bede claims reverted to paganism (HE 3.30). In Mercia, Bishop Jaruman had died sometime in the mid-660s.94 Wine was unsatisfactory on more than one account. He had only become a bishop in the first place because Agilbert had been uncanonically expelled from the West Saxon see. Then, following his own expulsion from Wessex, Wine became bishop of London, but only through simony, paying the king of ­Mercia for the privilege (HE 3.7). Even Northumbria was in trouble. Colman had left after Whitby in 664. Tuda, his replacement, died of plague. The controversy over who should succeed him – Wilfrid or Chad – formed the basis of the various troubles the former was to undergo throughout the rest of his career. Thus, when Theodore arrived in 669, the only surviving bishops in place – apart from Wilfrid, who was without a see, and possibly Berhtgisl or Boniface, bishop of East Anglia95 – were illegitimate: Wine and Chad, whose own consecration, at the hands of a simoniac and schismatics, was also uncanonical. Even if the Kentish church had retained enough continuity to produce new leaders, there was hardly sufficient ecclesiastical vitality elsewhere to be able to take advantage of it. This was not simply a short gap between the end of one episcopate and the beginning of another; rather, the evidence suggests the essential collapse of ecclesiastical functionality for a significant period in Kent and at least to a certain extent elsewhere. Hence, the Church in England was in a terrible situation when Theodore arrived. It was for precisely this reason, as argued in discussing 3.29 and 4.1, that the pope had been asked to send a new bishop and, in essence, a new mission in the first place.96 The central cause of the devastation of the ecclesiastical hierarchy is not difficult to discern: primarily, at least, it was a consequence of the ‘plague’, using the term in its most general sense (Maddicott, 1997). Bede spends some time in 3.27 discussing the plague’s arrival in 664 and its impact on Britain and Ireland. Among the victims, Bede notes Bishop Tuda as well as Cedd and his whole following (HE 3.23). Cuthbert was infected but recovered; his master, Boisil, passed away (HE 3.27). Bede explained the East Saxon reversion to paganism as a consequence of the plague (HE 3.30). Ceolfrith and his earlier house of Gilling were affected (AnonVCeo, 3). Bede returns to the topic in HE 4.1, implicitly connecting the arrival of the plague to the deaths

Bede’s sources reconstructed  215 of both Deusdedit and Eorcenberht on the same day,97 and he repeats the year and the mention of the pestilentia in the recapitulatio in 5.24. Bede’s statement about Ireland is borne out by the account of Adomnan of Iona in his Life of Columba (Adomnan, Life of Columba, 2.46) and by the near-contemporary records of the Irish Annals,98 a slightly corrupt version of which Bede probably possessed.99 In these, the plague’s arrival appeared as ‘an epochal occasion’ (Dooley, 2006: 219). Bede knew anecdotally of its impact in Ireland. He had been told of its effect on the Irish monastery of Rathmelsigi by a priest who had heard from the famous Northumbrian Ecgberht himself. Ecgberht was one of the few there who had not been ‘snatched by that sickness or dispersed around various places’ (HE 3.27).100 As in England, Irish elites – secular and ecclesiastical – were particularly badly affected, thereby impacting the hegemonial politics of the island (Dooley, 2006: 219 and 221–23). The roots of the Church in Ireland were, self-­evidently, much deeper by the 660s than those in England, so there was never a question of the very survival of Christianity. The same could not be said, however, for England. Other sources, including both the Anonymous Life of Cuthbert (AnonVC, 6), and Stephen’s Life of Wilfrid (VW, 18), attest to the destruction the plague wrought in the 660s.101 Given what has already been seen of the dislocation, even in the highest ranks of society, between the death of Deusdedit in 664 and the arrival of Theodore in 669, it seems that Bede was not exaggerating the impact of this scourge.102 During the latter half of that decade, the plague had drawn a massive fault line in the history of early Christian ­Anglo-Saxon England.103 The Christian tradition had simply not been embedded strongly enough to provide the clerics necessary to ensure continuity in the key sees over this period of social catastrophe. Several nominally Christian kingdoms were without pastoral care, seriously undermining sacramental life, given the bishop’s usual role in baptism at the time. Kent seems to have been hit worst of all.104 In an attempt to deal with these problems, Stephen claims that Wilfrid was summoned by King Ecgberht of Kent, ‘and there he ordained many priests … and not a few deacons’ (VW, 14).105 The 660s represented a nadir in ecclesiastical life in Kent, amounting almost to the end of the Church in the kingdom. The direct impact of the plague should be apparent, but its indirect effect on the Kentish church may have been just as negative. Ravagings of the plague are likely to have offered temptations to predatory raids, or worse, from other kingdoms. There is no direct evidence for these, but at other times of instability in the seventh century and later, Kent presented a tempting target. The political weakness consequent on the destruction wrought by the plague makes it plausible that something similar could have happened at this point too. If so, then such ‘interventions’ may have been as debilitating for the fragile Christian institutions in Kent as the plague itself. Taken together, these elements help to explain why everything Theodore is seen doing on his arrival appears to show him building the English church

216  Bede’s sources for Kent before Theodore up as if de nouo. The account in the HE of his activities immediately ­after ­arrival suggests a man on a mission: he toured the various kingdoms, settling questions over legitimacy in Northumbria and appointing bishops to fill the various vacancies (HE 4.2–4.3; 4.5). Then, in 672, within three years of landing, he held a major national council at Hertford (HE 4.5).106 His foundation of the school at Canterbury, where he taught with Hadrian, might have been designed as a training ground for future bishops, considering that so many were educated there.107 Theodore’s arrival was a ‘reset’ moment for the Anglo-Saxon church, particularly in Kent. His actions and activities show him attempting to refound the Church in England. His emphasis on the cult of Gregory the Great simply underlined this (Thacker, 1998). Bede, therefore, possessed almost no locally preserved material dating back to the period of the Gregorian mission to Kent. Canterbury had not retained such sources, so Albinus was unable to provide Bede with them. The causes of this essential vacuum in the evidence lie in the troubled period of the 660s during which the plague did such damage to the ecclesiastical and the political hierarchies that effective continuity with the church of the mission period was broken. In terms of the longue durée, the gap was short enough that its full ramifications have previously escaped historians. In reality, Canterbury in the late seventh and early eighth centuries was so lacking in reliable information about the ‘mission fathers’ that, as I shall argue in the next Chapter, the ‘Canterbury tradition’ they recorded was little more than rhetorical invention based on hagiographical topoi.

Notes 1 The missing parts and their implications will be considered in detail in Chapter 6. 2 Bede was more than capable of adjusting the wording in his re-presentation of the information from his sources. Moreover, at times, there is ambiguity even regarding the original language of Bede’s material (Crepin, 1976: 173). Thus, it is not possible to produce editions, in the traditional sense, with any confidence. Even so, equivalent effects can be achieved in modern English. 3 The references in square brackets refer to the chapters of the HE in which ­Bede’s statements and claims were based on the relevant document. Except where noted otherwise, the references are only to those chapters considered above, not to the entire HE. 4 In the ‘Northumbrian’ lists, the more detailed information about reign lengths seems to have gone further back. 5 Although the full list used by Bede is given, these references in square brackets are only for the uses of the Kentish king list in the chapters concerning the ­Gregorian mission. 6 The aliquot mensibus is probably a Bedan addition; it looks as though Hlothere’s reign was the first to be assigned months as well as years in the Kentish regnal list. 7 Bede also gives the length of reign for Wihtred – 34 and a half years – in 5.23, but this may have been Bede’s own calculation. 8 The recapitulatio in 5.24 is arguably an example of this.

Bede’s sources reconstructed  217 9 In addition to the East Anglian genealogy, he seems to have had ‘Northumbrian’ ones, and the comment noted earlier about Woden being the origo of many royal families suggests that he possessed more. See also Thornton, 2001a: 199. 10 This was probably composed in Northumbria in the late eighth century: Thornton, 2001a: 199. 11 This would probably have included the ‘Laws’ of Eorcenberht as well (3.8). Plausibly, this manuscript contained the laws of other Kentish monarchs, perhaps including Hlothere and Eadric or Wihtred, whose codes have survived, though Bede makes no mention of possessing them. 12 Harrison, 1976a: 121–23, made a bold case for the sixth-century origin of the Kentish genealogy, which was accepted by Wallace-Hadrill, 1988: 61. Hunter Blair, 1959: 140, however, argued that, for ‘Northumbria’ at least, the more likely period for the creation of such documents was the reign of Ecgfrith or shortly afterwards. 13 Composers of genealogies were ‘fertile in their imaginations’: Hunter Blair, 1970b: 14. The Kentish king list represents a significant simplification of the reality of that kingdom’s politics. 14 There is evidence, beyond Bede, for the original existence of at least one more because some form of diploma is suggested by the apparently genuine witness list added to a forged charter: Kelly, 1995: 7–8. 15 ‘[C]unctis … regum tempora computantibus’. 16 Dumville did not go quite as far, but even so argued that the origins of such texts lay with learned groups keeping royal records: Dumville, 1976a: 81. 17 As Winchcombe probably was for one branch of the Mercian royal family: Rollason, 1982: 47. Ss Peter and Paul’s, Canterbury, is another likely example. 18 VW, 2, shows that Wilfrid only decided on the ecclesiastical life after his education at Lindisfarne was complete. VW, 21, shows that others faced the same choice. 19 The HE itself provides evidence, contra Gunn, 2009: 31–33, for the maintenance of some form of working ‘library’, or at least book collection, within the king’s court. Lapidge, 2006: 48–59 posited one for Alfred’s court, but this is more likely to represent continuity than innovation. 20 The use of major monasteries as royal treasuries is attested in Cogitosus’s Life of Brigit: Ó Cróinín, 2005: 385. 21 In addition to the analysis in 1.25, see also, Shaw, 2016c. 22 Bede’s source would have had a more precise figure, which Bede has simplified. 23 Bede’s use of circiter with this number implies that he was rounding up or down from the figure in front of him. 24 The power to take tribute is the ‘most obvious attribute of this hegemony’: John, 1966: 13. 25 It was apparently Oswiu who made this division. 26 See Wood’s arguments for the king’s relationship with that monastery: for example, Wood, 2008a. 27 ‘[N]ecnon et Meuanias … insulas … Anglorum subiecit imperio’. 28 The evidence for other use in the HE –and the HA – of documentary sources, including charters, points in the same direction: Shaw, 2016c. 29 This should not be taken as evidence that they cannot have been included in the manuscript of the laws he possessed. 30 For background on Anglo-Saxon episcopal lists, including analysis of some of the few surviving ones, see Page, 1965 and 1966. 31 That is not to say that the shift necessarily occurred during Deusdedit’s episcopate. 32 There is no way of confirming whether these details are reliable or not.

218  Bede’s sources for Kent before Theodore 33 In 5.8, Bede gives the rounded number of 22 years for Theodore’s episcopate. This was either his own generalisation, or perhaps it represents a figure derived from the omitted portion of the archbishop’s epitaph. 34 Perhaps Bede’s note about Thomas’s having been Felix’s deacon originally came from the episcopal list as well. 35 Stenton’s attempt to simplify matters ignored some of the more important, and more complex, issues, especially related to Hereswith: Stenton, 1970: 398. 36 Nor was Essex alone in this. Lindsey is another good example: Kirby, 2000b: 77. 37 Leaving London and the East Saxons out of the equation. 38 ‘Qui etiam prouinciae Orientalium simul et Occidentalium Saxonum, nec non et Orientalium Anglorum atque Nordanymbrorum, a quibus praesulibus uel quorum tempore regum gratiam euangelii perceperint, nonnulla mihi ex parte prodiderunt.’ Bede’s use of the phrase successio sacerdotalis in the Preface, in reference to Lindsey, could indicate his possession of the episcopal list for that bishopric: Jones, 1947: 43. 39 ‘Vt nullus episcoporum se praeferat alteri per ambitionem; sed omnes adnoscant tempus et ordinem consecrationis suae (That no bishop assert precedence on the basis of ambition; but all be placed according to the date and the order of their consecration).’ HE 4.5. 40 Canterbury, understandably, is the exception, with Theodore apparently able to draw the line with his predecessor, Deusdedit, not simply himself. 41 A similar situation seems to pertain to Bede’s knowledge of West Saxon bishops. Anecdotal information, presumably from Daniel, expanded what material Bede could derive from the episcopal list he possessed, but again, there is an apparent shift between the coverage of those prelates appointed before Theodore’s arrival and those after. There are some signs that the West Saxon list may, like that for Canterbury, have included notice of the location of the consecration of each of the early bishops – another probable indication of central organisation of the material. 42 As argued by Keynes, 2001b, who saw their origins lying perhaps at Clofesho, 747. 43 This phrase, which Bede used for both Ss Peter and Paul’s and St Andrew’s, is found on contemporary continental church dedication inscriptions. 44 Expansions of abbreviations have been underlined. 45 Although if any included specific statements claiming to be reconstructing a church originally built by the Romans, these claims would have had no evidential basis. 46 The fact that the tombs of those early mission leaders were in the positions they were in c.730 does not necessarily mean that they had not been moved since their deaths; but for Bede, and no doubt Albinus, the present position was taken as the location of their original internment. 47 Bede’s language could be taken to imply – though it does not necessarily mean – that Bertha was buried in the south porticus of Ss Peter and Paul’s. 48 Although Bede could have deduced the latter from Gregory the Great’s letters. 49 This would parallel the information on Augustine’s epitaph. 50 ‘King Æthelberht died on 24 February, twenty-one years after he had received the faith’. 51 The tombs of the early bishops of Canterbury – those before Theodore – were all in the northern porticus of the church of Ss Peter and Paul, which was dedicated to St Gregory. 52 ‘Here lies lord Augustine, first archbishop of Canterbury, who once was sent here by St Gregory, bishop of the city of Rome; and supported by God in the working of miracles, he led King Æthelberht and his people from the worship of

Bede’s sources reconstructed  219 idols to faith in Christ and ended the days of his office in peace; he died on the twenty-sixth day of May during the reign of the same king.’ 53 ‘During this king’s reign, the blessed Archbishop Laurence entered the heavenly kingdom and was buried on 2 February in the church and monastery of St Peter the Apostle near to his predecessor Augustine.’ 54 As for Gregory the Great. 55 ‘And, after he ruled the church for five years, he went to heaven during ­E adbald’s reign and was buried with his fathers in the oft-mentioned monastery and church of the most blessed chief of the apostles on 24 April in the year of our Lord 624.’ 56 ‘Archbishop Justus was taken up to the heavenly kingdom on 10 November.’ 57 In 2.3, Bede says that all the bishops of Canterbury, save Theodore and Berhtwald, were buried in that porticus. 58 ‘Then Honorius himself, after he had finished running his course, also migrated from this light, in the year of our Lord 653, on 30 September.’ 59 Honorius would be the earliest Canterbury figure whose epitaph included a year. 60 ‘Deusdedit, the sixth bishop of the church of Canterbury, died on 14 July. Eorcenberht, king of the Kentish, also died on the same month and day.’ The year is dated as 664 in HE 3.27. 61 Orchard, 1994: 278–80, made a persuasive case for Aldhelm’s authorship of this text. 62 Later tradition associated the tombs of some Kentish kings with the church of St Mary’s, immediately to the east of Ss Peter and Paul’s. Perhaps, Eorcenberht’s tomb was among them. 63 However Bede ‘knew’ Eorcenberht’s date of death, he used that information, combined with the regnal years in the Kentish king list, to calculate the year of Eadbald’s death and thence also Æthelberht’s. 64 ‘In his (Oswiu’s) second year, that is in the year of our Lord 644, the most reverend father Paulinus, once bishop of the city of York, but then of Rochester, departed to the Lord on 10 October; he was a bishop for nineteen years, two months, and twenty-one days.’ 65 Chronologically, this would have been the first figure whose ‘Kentish’ epitaph included a reference to an actual year. 66 Might he even be considered the possible author? Bede was credited with writing the texts of epigrams for the Wilfridian church at Hexham that were presumably inscribed there (Lapidge, 1996c: 363); Acca, of course, commissioned many other compositions by Bede. Equally, there are signs that Bede sought to insert minor ‘works’ that he had written which might not otherwise be widely known within the HE: the poem on Æthelthryth in 4.20 is the obvious example; the letter to Nechtan in 5.21 may well be another. 67 As with the foundation stone inscriptions, church redecoration, rebuilding and possibly destruction mean that these inscriptions did not survive even until the eleventh century. The process of adding columns and arches to the tombs ‘to form some kind of ciborium or canopy of honour’ (Thacker, 1999: 375) in Ss Peter and Paul’s would be one plausible opportunity for the loss of the earlier inscriptions, though it seems likely that renewal of the porticus and the monuments within it took place in several stages, any of which could have displaced the epitaphs: Thacker, 1999: 375–76. 68 Although the letter is only addressed to Honorius in the HE, its content, as demonstrated earlier, shows that the epistle would originally have been sent jointly to both Bishop Honorius and Bishop Paulinus, with separate copies going to each.

220  Bede’s sources for Kent before Theodore 69 These letters, their provenance, contexts and implications are being considered in separate work I am undertaking. 70 ‘[D]e uita monachorum et quiete ordinaturus’. 71 Beyond the Letters: Pastoral Care [1.23 and 2.1]; Dialogues [1.23 and 2.1]; Moralia in Job, Homilies on the Gospels, Homilies on Ezekiel, and Libelllus Synodicus [2.1]. 72 Major Chronicle from the De Temporum Ratione (this chronicle is ultimately based on a core of information derived from Isidore) [1.23 and 2.1]; Commentary on Ezra-Nehemiah [1.23 and 1.26]; and Historia Abbatum [3.29 and 4.1]. 73 The Bible is used consistently by Bede but also, specifically, in 1.26, 1.29, 2.1, 2.5 and 2.6. 74 Stancliffe’s proposal of Pechtelm is an intriguing one (Stancliffe, 1999: 128), but the situation does not allow for certainty. 75 Bede specifically says in the Preface that some of the information from Albinus was conveyed by Nothelm uiua uoce. 76 In the Preface, Bede specifically mentions that some of what he learned about both Wessex and Lindsey came via letters from Bishop Daniel and Bishop Cyneberht, respectively. 77 And possibly the East Anglian genealogy. 78 ‘Albinus … institutus, diligenter omnia, quae in ipsa Cantuariorum prouincia, uel etiam in contiguis eidem regionibus a discipulis beati papae Gregorii gesta fuere, uel monimentis litterarum, uel seniorum traditione cognouerat; et ea mihi de his, quae memoria digna uidebantur, per religiosum Lundoniensis ecclesiae presbyterum Nothelmum, siue litteris mandata, siue ipsius Nothelmi uiua uoce referenda, transmisit (Albinus … diligently ascertained, either from written records or from old tradition, all the things which were done in the kingdom of Kent or in the neighbouring kingdoms by the disciples of Pope St Gregory. And he sent on to me those things from among these which seemed worth remembering, through Nothelm, a godly priest of the London church, either set out in writing or handed on orally by Nothelm).’ 79 Bede may have had a document listing the dates of liturgical commemoration of the early saints of Kent. If so, it would have been a copy of one maintained at Canterbury. No independent evidence of Bede’s use of such a source was discovered in the earlier analysis. Nonetheless, he may have had access to one, which would have confirmed some of the Canterbury death dates he already ‘knew’ from the inscriptions on their epitaphs. 80 Such as length of pontificate, gifts to the church, or number of consecrations. 81 This ignorance of the early church in England stretched beyond Kent: Bede possessed little more than the names and lengths of reign for the bishops of the East Angles. 82 The detail about Benedict Biscop comes not from the HE but from HA, 3. ­Bede’s source was Wearmouth-Jarrow tradition, not Albinus and Canterbury. 83 If the decisive break occurred between Honorius and Deusdedit, then why was Bede still almost completely uninformed about Deusdedit? As for Theodore and Berhtwald, while there seem to have been political troubles in Kent in the early 690s (Brooks, 1984: 76–77), Hadrian provided ecclesiastical continuity in Canterbury, as did Gefmund at Rochester. 84 Because Bede gives 27 May as both the date of Theodore’s departure from Rome (4.1) and of his arrival in Canterbury (4.2), it seems more likely than is usually credited that at least one of these is wrong: which one is less certain. 85 In HA, 4, Bede says that Biscop held the abbacy at Canterbury for two years. The precise timing of the handover cannot now be retrieved and is not relevant for present purposes.

Bede’s sources reconstructed  221 86 Even Thomas of Elmham has to accept a vacancy of two years following the death of ‘Nathaniel’: Elmham, History: 202, Titulus, 8. 87 There is reason to think that Bede’s information about Putta derived not from Kent but from the VW and sources connected to Mercia. 88 At some level, there must have been a degree of survival of personnel. Such individuals might plausibly have been able, implicitly, to preserve orally some tradition of what had occurred before Deusdedit’s death. They may even have been able to preserve basic liturgical functions at Canterbury, including the commemoration of the dates of the feast days of the dead, but they did not amount to a sufficiently critical mass to maintain the effective functionality of these institutions. 89 14 July 664. 90 The lack of any surviving charters from the period before Theodore’s arrival is probably another sign of the administrative discontinuity that occurred in the 660s rather than an indication that such documents had only been introduced to England by that prelate. 91 For a discussion of the Mildrith Legend and the texts containing the stories surrounding it, see Rollason, 1982. 92 She was the daughter of Anna, king of the East Angles (3.8). She had sisters connected to Faremoutiers (3.8). Another sister was Æthelthryth, the wife of Ecgfrith (4.22). Seaxburh succeeded her at Ely as abbess (4.19). According to texts associated with the ‘Mildrith Legend’, Seaxburh founded Milton Regis and Minster-in-Sheppey. Her date of death is unknown, though later sources claim she died at an advanced age. Rollason, 2004. 93 It is noteworthy that, despite Bede’s assumption, Pope Vitalian appears to be communicating solely with King Oswiu about the appointment of a new bishop of Canterbury (3.29). 94 VW, 14, mentions that the exiled Wilfrid was required to fulfil episcopal functions in Mercia during this time. 95 For the reasons set out earlier, the positive dating of bishops of East Anglia is uncertain. Theodore consecrated Berhtgisl’s successor Bisi (4.5). Although Berhtgisl may possibly have survived until Theodore’s arrival, it is more probable that, as in so many other places, there was also an episcopal interregnum in East Anglia in the late 660s. 96 These arguments will be developed further in separate work I am undertaking. 97 Perhaps Damian of Rochester and Nathaniel of Ss Peter and Paul’s (if he existed), both dying in this period, were other victims, given that Kent seems to have been disproportionately affected. 98 Under 664, in the so-called ‘Chronicle of Ireland’, Charles-Edwards, 2006: 154. 99 Sharpe has an informative note on the scale of the plague in Ireland between 664 and 668 in his translation of Adomnan’s Life of Columba, noting the various annal references to its impact: Sharpe, 1995: 348–49, n. 346. 100 ‘[V]el mortalitate de saeculo rapti, uel per alia essent loca dispersi’. 101 One might wonder if Wilfrid ‘delayed’ (demorante –HE 3.28) in Gaul out of fear of returning with the plague in full force. This might explain some of Benedict Biscop’s travels. 102 Maddicott, 1997: 16, added Alhfrith, King Oswiu’s son, as another potential victim. 103 Although there were to be other violent recurrences – for instance, in the 680s – that famously affected Wearmouth-Jarrow: AnonVCeo, 14. 104 We know nothing about monastic life in Kent before Theodore. Maddicott’s argument for the disproportionate effect of the plague on monastic communities may explain why: Maddicott, 1997: 25–27.

222  Bede’s sources for Kent before Theodore 105 ‘Ecgberhtus quoque rex Cantwariorum religiosus pontificem nostrum ad se accersivit, et illic presbiteros multos, … et non paucos diacones ordinavit.’ 106 The date is now definitively settled at 672, though Bede mistakenly calculated 673: Harrison, 1976a: 84–85. Cubitt even saw Theodore as responsible for the foundation of the Anglo-Saxon conciliar tradition (Cubitt, 1995: 25 and 76), although her basis was somewhat circular, resting on the absence of evidence for conciliar practice before Theodore. In reality, the point is not that there would have been no synods/councils before 664. It is simply that whereas with ­Theodore, we see the practice restarting, it appears to be beginning as if ex nihilo because almost no evidence at all of any episcopal activity at Canterbury survives prior to his time. 107 In addition to Aldhelm, who became abbot of Malmesbury and then bishop of Sherborne, there was Tobias, who became bishop of Rochester; Oftfor, later bishop of Worcester; and John of Beverley, who became bishop of Hexham and finally of York.

6 Bede’s ‘Canterbury tales’

6.1  The unexplained sections of the Gregorian mission narrative There remain certain passages in the Bedan chapters considered in ­Chapters  2–4 that have not been able to be sourced and are not merely ­rhetorical expression and embellishment on Bede’s part. These sections were noted in each chapter, but it is helpful to set them out now, together in consecutive order, chapter-by-chapter, in order to be able to view them clear of their context in the HE. Placing these elements side-by-side makes it easier to analyse and elucidate whence Bede derived these pieces of otherwise unexplained information. As will be seen, they point to his possession of another source: a set of Lives of the early mission fathers, produced after Theodore’s arrival. 1.25 - Augustine arrived in Thanet - He had about 40 people with him - The king met him on the island, outside, because he was scared of being indoors - The group arrived at the meeting bearing a cross and an image of Christ - Following their preaching, the king said he was unwilling to convert himself instantly but granted them leave to preach - He gave them a mansio in Canterbury - The party, taking possession of this dwelling, entered the city singing the Rogation litany. 1.26 - Following his conversion, King Æthelberht did not compel anyone else to convert. 1.33 - Peter, abbot of Ss Peter and Paul’s, was sent on a mission to Gaul - He drowned in a bay of the sea known as Amfleat (Ambleteuse) - He was given an unworthy burial

224  Bede’s sources for Kent before Theodore - But a heavenly light appeared every night above his grave - At last, the people of the neighbourhood noticed the light and realised the grave must have held a saint’s body - They found out who the saint had been - And they reburied his body honourably in a church in Boulogne. 2.2 - - - - - - - -

Augustine met British ecclesiastics at Augustine’s Oak He urged them to work with him They were unwilling to agree A blind man was brought in to test the justice of each case The ministrations of the British bishops failed But the man was cured by Augustine [The British acknowledged Augustine’s righteousness]1 [Augustine prophesied that they would be punished for their unwillingness to help.]

2.5 - Eadbald refused to receive the faith - He married his father’s wife - He permitted those who had not converted or were lukewarm toward Christianity to reject it - He was punished by frequent fits of madness - In Essex, on Sæberht’s death, his three sons and successors were all still heathen - They practised open idolatry and permitted it - They demanded the Eucharist from Mellitus, who refused - He was exiled as a result - He went to Kent and conferred with Laurence and Justus - Justus and Mellitus departed for Gaul - The East Saxon kings were punished for their crimes by their defeat and death in battle against the Gewisse. 2.6 - - - - - - - - - - -

Laurence slept in the church of Ss Peter and Paul St Peter appeared to him Peter scourged Laurence And admonished him to follow his own example of perseverance Laurence showed Eadbald his stripes Eadbald was shocked He banned all idolatrous worship He gave up his unlawful wife And he was baptized [On his request, Justus and Mellitus returned from Gaul] Only Justus received his see back, however.

Bede’s ‘Canterbury tales’  225 2.7 - Mellitus suffered from gout - Canterbury was on fire, which was spreading to the bishop’s residence - Mellitus had himself carried to the church of the Four Martyrs, which lay in the path of the flames - His prayers averted the fire by turning the wind backwards, saving the church and the people. 2.9, 2.12–14, 2.16 and 2.20 Although this study has not concentrated on the ‘Northumbrian’ material, it is not impossible that some of Bede’s information concerning Paulinus, as one of the early ‘mission fathers’, may have been of a similar character to these other stories whose provenance must surely be Canterbury. 2.20 - Romanus drowned in the Italian Sea on a mission to Pope Honorius for Justus, bishop of Canterbury. This, then, is the sum total of what it was not possible to source in the Bedan chapters considered earlier. The intriguing connections these stories share have already been commented on in a general way. Now that all the pieces have been placed together, the picture becomes even clearer, and it is necessary to consider and discuss those characteristics in more detail in order to understand Bede’s sources for these passages.

6.2  Characteristics of the ‘Canterbury tales’ Perhaps the more important shared characteristic of these passages is that almost all of these otherwise unsourced sections are extended stories, the core, at least, of which it is difficult to imagine coming from more than a single source. Even those parts that are dispersed among other sourced sections of a chapter, such as the landing on Thanet or the mention of the nearly forty companions in 1.25, fit naturally as parts of the story that Bede later goes on to tell. Stories, such as the meeting with Æthelberht, the miraculous discovery of Peter’s body, or Laurence’s vision of St Peter, are not each compiled by Bede from information he had collected from a variety of sources. They read as single-sourced tales, although he may have retold them in his own words. The material within them is not explainable by other sources that have survived nor could the stories, or the details within them, plausibly be derived from what can be termed more ­archival-type sources, such as episcopal lists, epitaphs, or even annals. It is difficult to envisage any type of sources out of which each tale could have been individually compiled. They are not Bede’s complex confection from a variety of different ingredients. With allowance made for some narrative

226  Bede’s sources for Kent before Theodore crossing over two Bedan chapters, each reads like its own coherent story. There is no reasonable doubt that the tales must have come from narrative sources, each essentially from its own. Despite the individuality, or internal cohesion, of each story, we should not underestimate the common elements that unite the tales as a group. The most obvious point is that every one of these stories relates to members of the Gregorian mission or to the progress of that mission. Bede presumably obtained the sources for all these accounts from Albinus and Canterbury. The apparent emergence of a set of stories about the early ‘mission fathers’ used by Bede in a work inspired and informed by Canterbury is already suggestive. There are, however, yet more thematic connections between these tales. All are hagiographic, at least in tone, and some are direct accounts of ­m iracle working, such as the miraculous light that drew the locals to ­Peter’s place of burial, Augustine’s cure of the blind man, his prophecy of misfortune for the British stubbornness, the punishments Eadbald and the East Saxon kings suffered for their resistance to the faith, Laurence’s vision and scourging, and Mellitus’s turning the Canterbury fire back by his prayers. These narratives sources, then, can be described as hagiographic in nature. This is not simply a set of stories about Augustine and his party: it is a set of miracle stories about them. This is, in short, a hagiographic collection. Moreover, there are strong anachronistic elements in many of the stories that go beyond their status as hagiography: Æthelberht’s fear of meeting a Christian indoors (1.25), the party’s entering Canterbury singing l­ itanies not known in Rome until a century later (1.25), and the confusion over who precisely did ‘convert’ Eadbald (2.6 and 2.8, 2.10 and 2.11) are the most ­obvious examples. But none of the stories provides any useful positive or comparative dating evidence. Nothing in any of them suggests direct knowledge of events or points to composition near the time the story is said to have taken place. The anachronistic and often implausible ­nature of much of the evidence strongly suggests that this was a collection composed significantly after the events in question were supposed to have occurred. This characteristic should probably be taken as an indication that Bede found these stories in written sources rather than simply oral tradition. Furthermore, many of the tales rely on hagiographic topoi, with distinct parallels, especially in the works of Gregory of Tours and Gregory the Great’s Dialogues: the heavenly light guiding locals to Peter’s tomb, ­Augustine’s healing a blind man to prove the error of spiritually blind ­heretics/schismatics, Laurence’s physical scourging by a saint in a vision, and Mellitus’s turning back a fire in the town. The latter tale is so obviously derived from the Dialogues that Mellitus has even been given gout in imitation of the model! These examples do not only underline the hagiographic nature of Bede’s sources for these stories – they also emphasise the lack of

Bede’s ‘Canterbury tales’  227 genuine information about the ‘mission fathers’ possessed by the ‘author(s)’ of these tales. The need to copy so precisely the accounts of miracles found elsewhere is a sign of how disconnected the writer was from the early s­ eventh century and the Augustinian mission. This is not to say that Bede did not adapt the stories in his own words – plausibly even specifically to underscore the connections with classic hagiographic tales. Nonetheless, he seems to have had reservations about the material himself. This points to yet one more connection shared between the unsourced stories in these chapters: Bede frequently qualifies them. His methods of inserting caveats have already been dealt with at length (see also, Shaw, 2015). Bede uses characteristic phrases – such as fertur – to indicate that he does not have full confidence in his sources, for whatever reason. Such comments do not mean that his statement was automatically based on ‘hearsay’. On several occasions, he used such a phrase when his source must have been a written one, as was almost certainly the case here. His caveats cover a cross section of the stories under consideration, the extent of which can be viewed most easily by organising the instances by chapter. 1.25 - The claim that Augustine landed with his companions, who are said to have been nearly 40 in number, is qualified with ferunt. - The statement that as the party approached the city, they sang the litany Bede cites is qualified with fertur. 1.26 - The assertion that Æthelberht compelled no one to accept Christianity is qualified with perhibetur. 2.2 - The claim that Augustine warned the British with threats is qualified with fertur. 2.5 - The story of Sæberht’s pagan sons’ demands of Mellitus is qualified with ut uulgo fertur. The prevalence of such caveats in these stories is striking. About 10 percent of all such cautious phrasing in the entire HE is found in these tales. Their repetition across the span of this Canterbury hagiographic collection is further support for the conclusion that the tales came from the same overall source. Bede’s attitude toward their trustworthiness was similar. Perhaps this was because he, like us, could see how topos-bound so much of the content was. Perhaps there is also a hint at the nature of the sources Bede had been given: a written source, with a sufficiently ‘oral’ character to inspire

228  Bede’s sources for Kent before Theodore him to caution his readers. This is something that will require further consideration later.

6.3  The shape and content of Bede’s ‘Canterbury tales’ By placing the information Bede took from these sources together, it is evident that the collection of tales consisted, at a minimum, of stories about the following figures: Augustine – two stories (or one about the ‘mission party’ in general and one about Augustine specifically); Laurence; Mellitus – two stories; possibly Paulinus; and plausibly Romanus. Although Bede might theoretically have been drawing each story from a longer uita of each saint, this seems unlikely. That does not appear to be the type of story under discussion here. There are no indications that Bede has substantially more information than he provides or that he is working from larger individual Lives of, say, Mellitus or Augustine. The stories he tells are not extracts from uitae written on the scale of others he used, such as those of Cuthbert, Wilfrid, or Germanus. Rather, the episodes imply an originally more abbreviated treatment of each saint, limited to a miraculous event or two. A better comparison would be to the Dialogues of Gregory the Great or a work like the Glory of the Confessors by Gregory of Tours or, perhaps even more, his Life of the Fathers. The scale of the total Canterbury collection would have been much less ambitious than any of these examples and would have contained fewer saints and probably miracles. Nonetheless, the basic model of short, quasi-anecdotal miracle stories, often intended, in Gregory of Tours’s works at least, to boost the cult of a specific church, seems to fit the evidence for Bede’s ‘Canterbury tales’. The connections between these similar tales from the same location suggest that Bede’s source is best understood as a collection of little stories within a longer book in which the gesta of these early heroes were brought together. Perhaps, to borrow the model of Gregory of Tours’s Life of the Fathers, we might conceive of a series of short libelli of miracula collected together inside a single larger liber. It is even possible to reconstruct the basic outlines of these libelli and so, implicitly, the liber. There might be some ambiguity over elements of one or two of the possible stories – for instance, that concerning Romanus – but most are very clear. The division of content was by saint, although one initial chapter/libellus about the mission party as a group would be consistent with the evidence. Each of the libelli would have included one or more stories about the saint in question. Ideally, these would have included a ­m iraculous sign of their heroic virtue. Normally, the tales would necessarily be anachronistic in content, given the author’s lack of reliable information about the ‘mission fathers’. Bede is highly unlikely to have inserted the ­material into the HE in precisely the order or in exactly the same words as his source: he was too skilled a writer, and indeed a historian, to be restricted in such a way. But by dividing up those stories that share the characteristics examined earlier according to the saint who is the chief protagonist, it is possible to

Bede’s ‘Canterbury tales’  229 move towards a restoration of the original narrative cohesion. Thus, the basic structure of the original collection of ‘Canterbury tales’ that Bede possessed starts to emerge. Bede concentrates the material he takes from each individual libellus in a single chapter or in linking two consecutive chapters. This mirrors his practice elsewhere in the HE, where his account relied on extended written sources: Bede tends to confine material from such libelli either to a single chapter or to a series of chapters in a row. There are several examples of this: for instance, the Life of Fursey in 3.19; a libellus in his description of the miracula about Barking in 4.7–11;2 his own VCP, as well as the AnonVC, in 4.27–32; and the VW in 5.19. Bede’s use of the Canterbury libelli is consistent with this approach. The situation here, of course, is a little different from the examples mentioned earlier because the ‘Canterbury tales’ represent a collection of libelli. It is the content of each libellus that is limited to a chapter or a run of two chapters, not the collection as a whole. What follows is the summary of the content of each libellus within the ‘Canterbury tales’. The following tales are arranged starting with the ­bishops of Canterbury in order and then follow the sequence of mentions in the HE – plausibly the original configuration of the stories as they were set out in the liber that Albinus sent to Bede via Nothelm. Saint Augustine Story one - Augustine arrived in Thanet [1.25] - He had about 40 people with him [1.25] - The king met him on the island, outside, because he was scared of being indoors [1.25] - The group arrived at the meeting bearing a cross and an image of Christ [1.25] - Following their preaching, the king said he was unwilling to convert himself instantly but granted them leave to preach [1.25] - He gave them a mansio in Canterbury [1.25] - The party, taking possession of this dwelling, entered the city singing the Rogation litany [1.25] - Following his conversion, King Æthelberht did not compel anyone else to convert [1.26]. Perhaps, up to here, the chapter/libellus was about the Mission party,3 rather than Augustine, whose individual tale may have been limited to little more than the next story. Story two - Augustine met British ecclesiastics at Augustine’s Oak [2.2] - He urged them to work with him [2.2]

230  Bede’s sources for Kent before Theodore

- - - - - -

They were unwilling to agree [2.2] A blind man was brought in to test the justice of each case [2.2] The ministrations of the British bishops failed [2.2] But the man was cured by Augustine [2.2] [The British acknowledged Augustine’s righteousness] [2.2] [Augustine prophesied that they would be punished for their unwillingness to help] [2.2].

Saint Laurence - Eadbald refused to receive the faith [2.5] - He married his father’s wife [2.5] - He permitted those who had not converted or were lukewarm toward Christianity to reject it [2.5] - He was punished by frequent fits of madness [2.5] - Laurence slept in the church of Ss Peter and Paul [2.6] - St Peter appeared to him [2.6] - Peter scourged Laurence [2.6] - And admonished him to follow his own example of perseverance [2.6] - Laurence showed Eadbald his stripes [2.6] - Eadbald was shocked [2.6] - He banned all idolatrous worship [2.6] - He gave up his unlawful wife [2.6] - He was baptized [2.6]. Saint Mellitus Story one - In Essex, on Sæberht’s death, his three sons and successors were all still heathen [2.5] - They practised open idolatry and permitted it [2.5] - They demanded the Eucharist from Mellitus, who refused [2.5] - He was exiled as a result [2.5] - He went to Kent and conferred with Laurence and Justus [2.5] - Justus and Mellitus departed for Gaul [2.5] - The East Saxon kings were punished for their crimes by their defeat and death in battle against the Gewisse [2.5] - [Mellitus returned with Justus from Gaul at Eadbald’s request after his conversion] [2.6] - But Mellitus did not regain his see of London [2.6]. Story two - Mellitus suffered from gout [2.7] - Canterbury was on fire, which was spreading to the bishop’s residence [2.7]

Bede’s ‘Canterbury tales’  231 - Mellitus had himself carried to the church of the Four Martyrs, which lay in the path of the flames [2.7] - His prayers averted the fire by turning the wind backwards, saving the church and the people [2.7]. Saint Peter

- - - - -

Peter, abbot of Ss Peter and Paul’s, was sent on a mission to Gaul [1.33] He drowned in a bay of the sea known as Amfleat (Ambleteuse) [1.33] He was given an unworthy burial [1.33] But a heavenly light appeared every night above his grave [1.33] At last, the people of the neighbourhood noticed the light and realised the grave must hold a saint’s body [1.33] - They found out who the saint had been [1.33] - And they reburied his body honourably in a church in Boulogne [1.33]. Saint Paulinus? [2.9, 2.12–14, 2.16 and 2.20] Most of Bede’s stories concerning Paulinus appear to have been derived from Northumbrian material. Indeed, in general, their principle protagonist seems to have been the king, Edwin, rather than the bishop. There is no specific narrative about Paulinus that could naturally be claimed as one of the ‘Canterbury tales’. Nonetheless, so much of what Bede ‘knew’ about him seems to have been anecdotal that the possibility should not be dismissed out of hand. Saint Romanus? - Romanus drowned in the Italian Sea [2.20] - He was on a mission to Pope Honorius [2.20] - He had been sent by Justus, bishop of Canterbury [2.20]. As noted previously, Bede uses this story merely to preface his mention of Paulinus’s taking over the see of Rochester. Perhaps, therefore, rather than being taken from a separate libellus about Romanus, these are simply ­parenthetical details from one about Paulinus. This completes the set of identifiable chapters/libelli from the Canterbury hagiographic collection. Given, however, that this group includes stories for several of the mission party, it might be speculated that, originally, libelli were also dedicated to both Justus and Honorius. If these were in the initial collection, then no sign of them has survived in Bede’s work. Perhaps they never existed; or perhaps by the time the HE’s narrative had reached the chronological stage where those tales would have fit, Bede was already deep into stories based on his Northumbrian material and was unwilling

232  Bede’s sources for Kent before Theodore to increase the scale of the work or shift the balance out of proportion by including more from the Canterbury source.4 As it stands, this collection, and especially each individual libellus, is short, even in comparison with Gregory of Tours’s Life of the Fathers. Thus, while they are unlikely to have been much longer, it is quite reasonable to imagine that each libellus included more than the solitary stories Bede needed and used. To an extent, it should be expected that he picked from the collection only what he wanted for the construction of his chosen narrative in the HE, just as he did with the Gregorian letters he possessed. Equally, there is no specific reason to expect that there would have been much more in each libellus than Bede does include. The same reasoning may explain why at best, only a very small amount of the HE’s material about Romanus and Paulinus appears to have derived from Bede’s ‘Canterbury tales’. The only real information he provides about Romanus is a striking story, raising complex chronological problems beyond the scope of this study and describing the manner of his death in what is almost a throwaway line. Nor is there any clarity about Paulinus. The best argument for the dedication of a libellus to Paulinus is the sheer scale of stories associated with him in the HE. The same, however, can be said for the VG, which had no access to the ‘Canterbury tales’.5 Moreover, none of the Paulinus stories in either work points unambiguously in the direction of Canterbury as a source in the way that the others do. We should accept that, despite the range of material on Paulinus, all of the anecdotes surrounding him could quite credibly have come to Bede from Northumbrian tradition. Even if those chapters/libelli are ruled out of the projected hagiographic work, Bede still had a significant amount of content to work with, and he used it effectively. This conclusion raises the question of whether it might be possible to retrieve any of the original source or even provide the groundwork for an edition of some of the stories from the collection. As James Campbell stated, in relation to Bede’s use of the Life of Germanus, ‘Where we know what his sources were, and they have survived, he can be seen often to have followed them word for word or very nearly so’ (Campbell, 1986b: 36; see, also, Harrison, 19776a: 134 and Campbell, 1986e: 13, n. 9). It is reasonable to wonder whether Bede may not simply be copying down verbatim what was in front of him, especially in those places where a whole section of a chapter in the HE seems to have been dedicated to one of these single-sourced stories. In the absence of the original sources, this is very difficult to prove, even indicatively. Although Bede did have difficulties moving away from the narrative of the source in front of him, he was nevertheless an author who was quite capable of rewriting the phrasing to improve the rhetorical effect. Such is obvious even from just the recasting of the AnonVC in the VCP. At first sight, these ‘Canterbury tales’ seem to be quite Bedan in style, but further vocabulary research on them would be worthwhile in case any of the original was obtainable. To mention just one example: in the story of Mellitus’s

Bede’s ‘Canterbury tales’  233 miraculous deterrence of the fire in Canterbury (HE 2.7), Bede uses the phrase a lesione twice, but he does not use that word anywhere else in the HE. Might this represent a borrowing from the original? Certainly, from a merely practical perspective, it is very hard to believe that none of these hagiographic sections and stories retains any of the original text of the source from which they came. Such an analysis would need to be an extended one, and there is no space to undertake it here.6 Even such a comprehensive vocabulary analysis, however, is unlikely to provide sufficient materials for an edition, in the usual sense, of the collection. The best one could probably hope for is the recovery of certain phrases. Otherwise, it is difficult to go beyond what has already been set out above: namely, the basic structure of the liber and the essential content of many of the libelli it comprised.

6.4  Nature of the ‘Canterbury tales’ One thing should be clear by now: Bede was not working from orally obtained information. At one level, this should be obvious. Given that this is Canterbury information, Nothelm has hardly been told all these stories by Albinus and then merely repeated them, parrot-like, to Bede. At the very least, Albinus has written up the stories himself and given them to Nothelm to take north with him. But such a minimalist version of events is hardly convincing, given all that has been seen above. There is more behind ­Bede’s stories than a hastily written epistolary summary of the current stories about the first mission saints circulating in Canterbury in the early eighth century.7 Armed now with a more informed understanding of the characteristics of these stories and the nature of the source in which they seem to have originally been found, careful consideration of Bede’s account in the HE Preface of the information he received from Canterbury seems to confirm that a source of precisely this type had reached him from Albinus via Nothelm on his first visit: More than anyone else, the auctor and helper of this little work was the most reverend abbot Albinus, a man most learned in all things. He was trained in the church of Canterbury by Archbishop Theodore of blessed memory and Abbot Hadrian, most venerable and most learned men. Albinus diligently ascertained, either from written records or from old tradition, all the things which were done in the kingdom of Kent or in the neighbouring kingdoms by the disciples of Pope St Gregory. And he sent on to me those things from among these which seemed worth remembering, through Nothelm, a godly priest of the London church, either set out in writing or handed on orally by Nothelm.8 The source being posited here, which this Chapter has worked towards reconstructing, would fit neatly within this description: written sources about

234  Bede’s sources for Kent before Theodore the deeds of the disciples of Pope Gregory the Great, both in Kent and in the neighbouring regions. This collection, therefore, would conclude the set of sources discussed in Chapter 5. There, it was argued that the material identified in Chapters 2–4, which Nothelm had brought on his first visit, could be neatly divided into three collections: secular sources, episcopal lists and a sylloge. All these collections help to explain Bede’s description of the material that Albinus assembled. The ‘Canterbury tales’ – a fourth collection – complete the picture and do so in a more specific way, fully justifying Bede’s language.9 Even so, it might seem surprising that such a source has so completely disappeared that the only evidence for it is buried in Bede’s more hagiographic chapters in the HE on the members of the Gregorian mission.10 One more piece of evidence indicating the existence of such a source may help in explaining this anomaly and point towards a further clue concerning the collection’s nature. In 2.3, while describing the church of Ss Peter and Paul, Canterbury, Bede states: Habet haec in medio pene sui altare in honore beati papae Gregorii dedicatum, in quo per omne sabbatum a presbytero loci illius agendae eorum sollemniter celebrantur.11 Colgrave translated this passage as if Bede is simply saying that Mass was celebrated in honour of those original missionaries every Saturday. Here, he is following Plummer, who claimed that, in this context, agendae ‘means Mass’, taken ‘from the phrase “agere missas”’ (Plummer, 2.81). This may well be Bede’s meaning, but if so, such commemorative Masses for these saints would have required material to preach from. A set of stories such as that sent to Bede would be the ideal resource. Indeed, the use of the term agendae might mean something more specific than ‘Mass’. Bede may well be saying that the deeds of these mission saints were celebrated each Saturday (Thacker, 1999: 374). If so, that points yet more directly to the existence of material that could have provided the basis for such commemorations. ­Either way, we seem to be looking plausibly at a homiletic source. Interestingly, homily material is often considered to have lain behind much of Gregory of Tours’s hagiography (Schlick, 1966; Shaw, 2016a). ­Gregory himself refers to the reading of stories from a saint’s uita on their feast day as normal practice (Glory of the Martyrs, 85). In the same way, the short ‘­Canterbury tales’, focusing on some fairly formulaic miracles, would have been the ideal material for such commemorative preaching. Crucially, however, unless someone chose to write them up into specific hagiographic ­uitae, as Gregory did for his, they would be unlikely to ­survive independently. They represented a much more transitory resource than a standard saint’s life and one, incidentally, that would have retained its implicitly oral character. This

Bede’s ‘Canterbury tales’  235 would help explain Bede’s own consistent caveats about the material he had acquired from the collection. A homiletic source – which, while written, would have been by its very nature quasi-oral, if not ‘hearsay’  – would fit Bede’s reservations, as well as the rest of the evidence, perfectly.12 This is probably how we should conceive of the ‘Canterbury tales’ that Albinus and Nothelm put at Bede’s disposal: a connected series of homiletic ‘lives’ of the Gregorian mission saints that were already in a written form ready to be sent to Bede, but not composed in a sufficiently formal rhetorical format to be treated as a ‘book’ worth preserving and disseminating on its own terms.

6.5  Dating the ‘Canterbury tales’ One question remains: when do these ‘Canterbury tales’ date from? The similarities to the hagiography of Gregory of Tours or Gregory the Great should not mislead us into thinking that these Canterbury works were essentially contemporary with the works of those authors. Instead, all the signs suggest that these sources were put together significantly later than the events in question. The connections with earlier hagiography amount to evidence of nothing more than the education and intellectual context and contacts maintained in Canterbury at the time these stories were composed. They represent a similarity based on conscious copying of famous sources, rather than one borne of a shared milieu. The stories in this collection were composed much later than the ‘events’ they describe. Unfortunately, more precise dating of Bede’s ‘Canterbury tales’ is very difficult. The anachronism in the detail and the topos-driven approach to the ‘mission’ period strongly suggest that they were written long after the death of any who had lived through those events or who could convey a genuine sense of the world of the early seventh century. Therefore, the broad dating range for the origins of the collection lies between the early stages of Theodore’s episcopate and about 720, which is when Bede obtained them from Albinus via Nothelm. Within those boundaries, it is possible to posit a general purpose for their creation; this implies at least a thematic context, which might, in turn, be chronologically suggestive. Evidently, the works are intended to commemorate and celebrate these saints. Thus, it makes sense to associate their composition with attempts to promote, or perhaps inaugurate, the cults of these individuals – especially if it is right to associate the work with the weekly celebration at Ss Peter and Paul’s of the mission fathers’ ‘deeds’. In this context, it should be remembered that the epitaphs of Augustine and Liudhard, and presumably of the other bishops of Canterbury before the great break of the 660s, were not composed until Theodore’s episcopate at the earliest. Perhaps, then, the composition of the episcopal epitaphs and of the hagiographic narratives were both activities associated with the same programme to raise the profile of the early mission. The use of hagiographic texts to

236  Bede’s sources for Kent before Theodore enshrine or establish ecclesiastical claims is seen frequently throughout the early Middle Ages.13 Jean-Michel Picard even argued that by 700, Irish hagiography had become principally concerned with establishing such claims (Picard, 1982: 170). When would such a motivation make most sense at Canterbury? The ­obvious answer must be the time of Theodore, who, on his arrival, undertook a self-conscious renouatio ecclesiae. Pursuing such an agenda, the production of epitaphs and hagiography related to the ‘founding fathers’ would make perfect sense. Alan Thacker argued something very similar for the cult of Gregory the Great, which he has shown that Theodore successfully developed within the English church (Thacker, 1998: 75–78). Thacker ­suggested that Theodore did this at the expense of Augustine.14 In contrast, we may be seeing signs that this was not actually the case. Thacker’s argument was based on the absence of evidence for a promotion of Augustine’s cult.15 ­Perhaps now, the evidence has been found. Such an interpretation would fit well with Stephanie Hollis’s claim, ­apropos the cult of Mildrith, that in the later seventh century, ‘to have translated her remains without creating a legend of the saint would have been ­unusual’ (Hollis, 1998: 62). Books, though not necessarily hagiography, were apparently regularly placed on display at ecclesiastical tombs in this period (Brown, 2000: 10). Próinséas Ní Chatháin suggested that the mid-­seventhcentury Life of Fursey was probably written for his translation (Ní Chatháin, 2002: 285). The existence of such hagiography was, as a general rule, vital for constructing and sustaining a prospective saint’s cult (Rollason, 1982: 4). This may well be what happened with the ‘Canterbury tales’ and Augustine and the other ‘mission fathers’. Even though such consistency of purpose might be considered indicative, the case remains uncertain. Emphasis on the importance of ­Augustine and the rest of the ‘mission fathers’ might have been almost as useful for ­Berhtwald’s efforts to expand and solidify Canterbury’s authority in the early eighth century (Brooks, 1984: 76–80) as it would have been for Theodore’s earlier attempt to revive ecclesiastical life in the country. If the epitaphs and hagiography dated to Berhtwald’s episcopate, these activities might well be linked to the same process that gave rise to the commissioning of the HE. Perhaps the case for a Theodorean context for the creation of these texts may be stronger,16 but whether these works date to the late seventh century or the early eighth, both the epitaphs and the ‘Canterbury tales’ are evidence of the close working relationship of cathedral and abbey in this period and of their joint efforts towards shared agendas.

6.6  Conclusions Bede, therefore, possessed a set of late seventh-/early eighth-century stories memorialising the Canterbury saints, but not on any firm historical basis, and even with frequent signs of anachronistic understanding of their past.

Bede’s ‘Canterbury tales’  237 Again, it should be stressed that this does not mean that every single item within these tales is inevitably false, but it should be apparent that no weight should be placed on the details within them.17 Indeed, it is further evidence of the conclusion from Chapter 5: there was a very real gap in the ecclesiastical administration and records of Kent during the 660s. Consequently, the veracity of the elements of the stories cannot be taken for granted. It is not possible simply to remove the miracles from the stories and trust what is left. There are no inherent grounds for believing the information these stories contain about the Gregorian mission. Rather, only a specific reason should make us consider trusting any individual detail within them. This is especially true, given not only how anachronistic the stories were in places but also how reliant they were on hagiographic topoi for their material. ­Mellitus did not have gout. Interestingly, there is another set of English saints’ lives that follow much the same pattern and derived from Kent as well: those relating to the so-called Mildrith Legend (Rollason, 1982; Hollis, 1998; Sharpe, 1990). The origins of the Mildrith Legend stories, and the nature of their recording, differ in major ways from Bede’s ‘Canterbury tales’. Nonetheless, the process of the composition of the Mildrith Legend points to an intellectual and cultural atmosphere in Kent c.700 in which such compositions could be expected.18 Moreover, the Mildrith material, like that of the ‘Canterbury tales’, seems to have been linked to stories about the royal house (Rollason, 1982: 41). Hence, the ‘Canterbury tales’ were far from exceptional. Some of the stories even share topoi with those in the Mildrith Legend.19 More space than is possible here could be devoted to a comparison of the content and structure of the Mildrith Legend with the ‘Canterbury tales’. This might well add to the understanding of both.20 One crucial similarity between the two, however, should be highlighted: their content is more legendary than historical. This may help guide modern historians’ usage of the material from the ‘Canterbury tales’. The Mildrith Legend stories are sources that scholars do use, but they have to do so cautiously.21 There is no real reason to rely on the traditions within the stories, though it might be feasible to trust them for some details of the names involved, even if only to the extent that they may represent evidence that such individuals existed. In fact, there is good reason to trust them less. The royal material in the Mildrith Legend stories is hardly the most convincing part of the text. The Mildrith Legend stories often give the impression of having been drawn up with a genealogy in the author’s other hand, as it were (Rollason, 1982: 42). So too, the ‘Canterbury tales’ could perhaps be said to have been drawn up with one eye on an episcopal list. But the actual stories included in the Mildrith Legend fill us with no confidence in the credibility of the tales as a source. Something similar might be said about the hagiographic stories concerning the early mission fathers composed in Canterbury and identified above.

238  Bede’s sources for Kent before Theodore As a result, it has been possible to identify what lay behind almost all of the HE passages that were unable to be sourced in the previous Chapters. Thanks to Albinus and Nothelm, Bede had access to a connected series of stories about the Gregorian mission saints that was probably, in form, homiletic or quasi-homiletic material, such as that which was used at Canterbury in the weekly commemoration of these saints in the church of Ss Peter and Paul. These ‘Canterbury tales’ were composed and compiled long after the events in question, and in tone, they are more reminiscent of the texts connected to the Mildrith Legend than to any of the more archival sources that Bede also used. Historians have to be more than cautious in using material from these stories as evidence for Kent in the early seventh century or for the conversion more generally. No weight can be placed on these hagiographic and deeply anachronistic accounts, especially given their reliance on long-standing topoi for even minor details. It has been possible to suggest reconstructions of many of the elements and much of the content – and probably even the ­organisation – of Bede’s original source, but the question of language is a more difficult one. Bede was probably often quoting verbatim, but more research would be required to demonstrate that hypothesis more fully and to see whether something approaching a tentative edition of the basic source text might be possible. It should be acknowledged in advance that the prospects are not good for anything comprehensive. Considering, for instance, the relation of ­B ede’s account of Fursey with the uita on which he drew, it is clear that, had the latter not survived, it would not be possible to reconstruct it from Bede’s references. The same is true for Gildas, and, sadly, the same is probably true for the ‘Canterbury tales’. This is not to say that they are entirely irretrievable. It is simply that Bede’s very method, now better ­u nderstood, thanks to this study, means that the language will almost ­c ertainly be mainly his, even though the content and the narratives are not. He constantly reworked his sources to maximise their utility and impact. The examples are manifold, but none of the changes made in transforming the AnonVC or Adomnan’s De locis sanctis should offer any grounds for confidence that an edition of the original ‘Canterbury tales’ will be easily derived from the HE.22 Finally, it is possible to say, in ending this Chapter, that the analysis of what Bede used and how he used it is now complete. His ‘historical’ method is much clearer, and we have been able to see him at work in his scriptorum. We have unpicked the sources for his content and his methods for turning them into a narrative in the relevant chapters of the HE. By adding the newly discovered ‘Canterbury tales’ texts as a source for the Bedan chapters under consideration to those set out in detail – and partially reconstructed – in Chapter 5, in essence, nothing remains unexplained or unsourced in ­Bede’s account of the Gregorian mission and the Church in Kent prior to

Bede’s ‘Canterbury tales’  239 the arrival of Theodore. It is time, therefore, to summarise the conclusions of this study and to discuss how these findings could be taken forward in further work.

Notes 1 Passages in square brackets may represent Bedan additions. 2 In HE 4.10, Bede notes that he is working from such a libellus. 3 Possibly also including, as was noted at the time, some of the generic material about the party’s virtues and the conversion of the king. 4 This would seem the most natural explanation for Bede’s abbreviated treatment of the Romanus material. 5 As this study has implicitly revealed, the case for the Life’s access to any material at all from Canterbury is much weaker than Colgrave believed (Colgrave, 2008: 53). 6 One question that immediately comes to mind in this context is whether the eleventh-century Lives of these Canterbury saints by Goscelin drew on the earlier source material. It has generally been assumed that Goscelin was using only Bede (and his imagination) for his account. This probably remains the most likely position, but now, it is possible to wonder whether in addition to Bede, Goscelin was using a local source that Bede himself had drawn on earlier. A definitive answer to this question is not possible until a modern edition of these hagiographic works is published. 7 As suggested by Higham, 2011: 7. 8 ‘Auctor ante omnes atque adiutor opusculi huius Albinus abba reuerentissimus, uir per omnia doctissimus, extitit; qui in ecclesia Cantuariorum a beatae memoriae Theodoro archiepiscopo et Hadriano abbate, uiris uenerabilibus atque eruditissimis, institutus, diligenter omnia, quae in ipsa Cantuariorum prouincia, uel etiam in contiguis eidem regionibus a discipulis beati papae Gregorii gesta fuere, uel monimentis litterarum, uel seniorum traditione cognouerat; et ea mihi de his, quae memoria digna uidebantur, per religiosum Lundoniensis ecclesiae presbyterum Nothelmum, siue litteris mandata, siue ipsius Nothelmi uiua uoce referenda, transmisit.’ Emphases added. 9 His use of the word gesta, for instance, now seems very apposite. 10 Although the extent to which the popularity of the HE led to the loss of much earlier material should not be underestimated: Plummer, 1.xlvii. 11 The Colgrave translation is: ‘Almost in the middle of the chapel is an altar dedicated in honour of the pope St Gregory, at which a priest of that place celebrates a solemn Mass in their memory every Saturday.’ 12 Interestingly, Thacker, 1999: 385, argued that the Canterbury cult of Augustine was primarily liturgical. 13 The later ‘Histories’ relating to Glastonbury or Abingdon are good examples of this. 14 He even posited ‘a certain indifference to Augustine’s memory in Canterbury itself’. Thacker, 1999: 383. 15 Although Thacker, 1999: 382–83, acknowledged that Augustine’s date of death was included in Bede’s Martyrology and that province-wide celebration of this feast day was mandated by the 747 Council of Clofesho, Canon 17. 16 In this context, it may be worth mentioning an anonymous Byzantine source from the 660s, The Miracles of St Artemios, which includes several incubatio miracles in which the man experiencing the vision is physically punished by the saint, as occurred to Bishop Laurence in 2.6. 17 That they might be right in places, especially concerning relatively obvious points, does not validate the source.

240  Bede’s sources for Kent before Theodore 18 Harrison, 1976a: 120–41, argued for the composition of other ‘historical’ materials in c.670. 19 Guidance from heavenly light, for instance. 20 Perhaps especially because Canterbury seems to have played a later role in the dissemination of texts associated with the ‘Mildrith Legend’: Rollason, 1982: 31. 21 Although sometimes the trust historians invest in the information found in the ‘Mildrith Legend’ seems to be extremely ill-placed. 22 The same practice is found in Bede’s poetry. He tends to mask borrowed poetic phrases by substituting metrically equivalent synonyms for them: Orchard, 1994: 260.

7 Conclusion Bede’s methods and ours

Bede’s Historia ecclesiastica will always be historians’ principal entry point to the world of early Christian Anglo-Saxon England. The better we understand Bede and his magnum opus, the better will be our appreciation of that period and place. The approach advanced in this study has offered a different perspective on the HE, focused on identifying Bede’s methods and his sources. The findings neatly parallel and support other recent scholarship on the attitudes and agendas that Bede brought to the HE. But they offer the opportunity to go further. In completing this process for the narrative of the Gregorian mission to Kent, it becomes clearer that such an analysis represents not the end of an exercise but the beginning of a broader enterprise with potentially wide-ranging and rewarding implications. The limited information for the seventh and eighth centuries means that certainty in assigning Bede’s sources is rarely possible, and it is in the nature of such an endeavour that not everyone will agree with every claim of sourcing made here. Nonetheless, it should now be clear that nothing in the HE can be assumed or accepted without asking what it is based on, where it comes from, and whether it is reliable. Conclusions about early seventh-­ century Kent built on ‘Bede’, as if he were a primary source, are valueless. Nor is it enough to reject the explanations of Bede’s sources offered above without providing alternatives. Simply expressing the possibility of the existence of a variety of ambiguous, unspecified options will no longer suffice as an answer. It is incumbent on historians to set out our theories of Bede’s specific sources, explaining the credibility of their provenance and insertion in light of what we know of his connections and methods. Our methodology has to change, and, in tandem with examining Bede’s motivations, we must face the question of his sources, despite its difficulty. This should now, however, be an easier process than it was previously. This work has provided new insight into Bede the scholar and, particularly, into Bede the historian. In producing the sort of ‘distant history’ he writes in the account of the Gregorian mission, Bede was engaged in a recognisable process. The materials he possessed gave him very little to work with. He brought his own perspective to their interpretation and his own rhetorical norms to their expression. But with all the limitations upon him, what

242  Conclusion Bede achieved was still remarkable. That his often misleading narrative has lasted for so long is not an indictment of historians – it is a testament to Bede. By examining Bede at work, this book has given good reason to believe that the HE is more than a grand exercise in manipulation for agenda-driven narrative purposes. This is not to deny either that Bede did engage in such rhetorical processes or that his work was influenced by his attitudes. Even so, the evidence suggests a more positive view of his method. It has been possible to see in some detail how he strove to reconstruct the past using the limited resources at his disposal. This part of the HE, at least, was much more than a mosaic of oral tradition and personal reminiscences. As has long been appreciated, perhaps Bede’s greatest skill was in blending the material from his sources to create a narrative that far surpassed the meagre scraps of information in front of him. For this, deductions were a vital part of his historical method. As Charles Jones noted, ‘Bede would not invent a date’ (Jones, 1947: 43; see also, Harrison, 1976a: 139). Such a view has been confirmed by this investigation. But Bede would happily insert a date he had calculated into his text as if it were a mere statement of fact, as he does with the years of death of the Kentish kings. His deductions are always sensible and often probably not necessarily false. This does not make them a source that historians can use as a premise. Bede’s statements are often made on the same basis – or even less – than our own inferences. For instance, this study has shown that the assertion of motivation throughout the HE should always be viewed with suspicion. When Bede gives a reason for someone’s action, there is often a rationale behind it, but most of the time, his claim is either a deduction or an assumption. When faced with contradictions in his sources, however, Bede struggled to reconcile their accounts and even their tones. At the same time, when he possessed only one source for an event or person, he found it difficult to do much more than paraphrase the text in front of him. Together, these limitations in his method have an impact on the HE and our understanding of that work. Apparent contradictions in Bede’s characterisations of individuals, such as Augustine, often represent competing sources rather than reflecting authorial agenda. Consistent pictures can imply that Bede possessed limited resources on that individual, not that such an account is more trustworthy. Often, therefore, these portrayals are arguably less reliable, and there is more value for the historian in examining the areas in which tension is evident. If such contradictions represent different sources, then analysing what those sources were, as well as the question of their own access to early information, can provide a better basis for our interpretations of the individuals in question. Despite the difficulties he may have had in individual instances, in general, Bede skilfully accumulated and amalgamated information from his sources to create a convincing narrative. Its subtlety is impressive. This quality contrasts with some of Bede’s more obvious influences, such as the

Conclusion  243 Ecclesiastical History of Eusebius-Rufinus or the History against the ­Pagans of Orosius. The present book has not been a comparative treatment of ­Bede’s approach, but even the briefest consideration of these writers shows that Bede integrates the material he uses much more organically into his work than does Eusebius (or Rufinus, for that matter), while his authorial presence is much less marked than is Orosius’s, with the agendas and attitudes less obviously on display. Most of the time, Bede’s method was to show, not tell. This helps to explain why it took historians so long to start looking for his motives in writing. Modern scholars have spent much time seeking to illuminate Bede’s purposes. Elements of his agency have also emerged from the present inquiry, supporting and supplementing earlier findings. In four areas, in particular, Bede has been seen going beyond his sources in a way that suggests an intent to influence his readers. First, there is his emphasis on preaching and/or on the learning of the preachers: for instance, in describing Augustine and the mission party in 1.26 or Laurence in 2.4. In none of these cases does there seem to be any specific evidence upon which Bede is basing his statements, and in some cases – for instance, Ithamar in 3.14 or Wigheard in 4.1 – Bede’s claims seem to be nothing other than rhetoric. They are assumptions that serve his purposes. The second point is closely linked to the first: Bede dwells on the apostolic life of the mission party – as well as on that of others, like Aidan (4.27) – that he sought to use as models for behaviour.1 Bede’s statement about ­Augustine and his companions is probably partially a deduction from a reference in the Libellus, but the focus is all Bede’s. Third, Bede repeatedly refers in a very generic manner to the endowment of the early churches, especially by kings (for instance, in 1.25, 1.26 and 2.3). In a broad sense, some of this perspective probably comes from Albinus, but much seems to be simply Bede’s attempt to portray idealised behaviour of patrons in support of the Church. Finally, Bede goes well beyond his sources in his frequent statements directly or indirectly claiming that Gregory the Great was deeply concerned with the English mission. This latter attitude is likely to reflect a genuine sense of gratitude on Bede’s behalf; at the same time, it supported the contemporary purposes of the church of Canterbury, which, in crucial ways, seems to lie behind the work. Therefore, through analysis of Bede’s sources and methods, it is possible to see not only what he possessed but also how he used it, combining his materials with his own deductions and rhetoric to construct a coherent narrative. As a result, his perspectives and his sources emerge more clearly. It is, however, evident that Bede only introduced these elements with great care and never allowed his agendas to dominate the narrative or distract from it. He makes his case – or the case of his patrons, such as Canterbury – through examples, linking phrases, rhetoric and subtle allusions, not via heavy-handed harangues.

244  Conclusion Much more of the account of the Gregorian mission was focused on sources. His agendas may have influenced his interpretations, and rhetoric may have affected his presentation, but at the level of composition, ­a lmost everything Bede writes derives from sources. This was his method as a historian; this was his view of how to write history. ­P resent-day historians of ‘distant history’ should recognise and understand, ­m utatis mutandis, the method that Bede applied to the reconstruction of the ­Roman mission. It has been possible to go further, however. By breaking down his narrative into its constituent parts, and by showing how he worked with his sources in writing the HE, we have gained a sense not only of Bede’s historiographical theory and historical approach but even of his practice of history in a concrete sense. We have been able to look behind the curtain. By assessing and as far as possible reconstructing the sources and their shape, the picture of Bede at work becomes more distinct. It is now easier to imagine him at his desk or in the scriptorium or library, writing or dictating; we can visualise the spread and scale of the actual ‘books’ around him. The basic logistical possibilities now become easier to envisage. The physical reality is that he can only ever have had a small number of works open in front of him at once. We have identified which these were and, in some places, even given a sense of how they were organised. This is above all true for the Canterbury-sourced material for the HE’s account of the Gregorian mission. It is now possible to set out in some detail what the Preface’s description of the information Canterbury provided about conversion-period England meant in practice. The statements in the Preface about Albinus collecting material and passing it on via Nothelm are no longer vague guides to what Bede possessed and how. Albinus put together four collections of written material that Bede used in his account of the Gregorian mission, all of which Nothelm brought on his first visit to Wearmouth-Jarrow and Bede. First, secular sources, such as the Kentish regnal list, genealogy and laws; second, episcopal lists, probably together with other canonical documentation, such as the decrees of the councils of Hertford and Hatfield; third, a sylloge with inscriptions of both e­ pitaphs and church dedication stones; and, fourth, the series of ‘Canterbury tales’, identified for the first time in the preceding analysis. On the same occasion, Nothelm passed on, orally, other information from Albinus, such as the l­ocations of churches and of tombs, and the details of liturgical ­practices. Taken together, these are the results of Albinus’s compilation of the ­monimenta litterarum and the seniorum traditio that Bede describes in the Preface. Our appreciation for the material Nothelm brought on his second visit has also increased. Bede possessed many more papal letters than he included the texts of in the HE. We now have a clearer sense of what that collection would have looked like, paving the way for further study of the role the papal letters played in the History and in its composition. Here – as

Conclusion  245 in every case – this summary does not pretend to promise comprehensiveness. Nothelm will have brought more sources than outlined above. Even so, the basic picture is clearer and the structure of the manuscripts in front of Bede – even the contents of Nothelm’s luggage – can almost be visualised. We can start to see the stages in the process of compilation and construction that Bede went through in creating the HE: the sources and, in places, the intermediate sources; the gaps he found he needed to fill; and the decisions he had to make in order to do so. We gain a clearer sense of the competing agendas of his various patrons over the years of writing and of his own attempts to ensure that his voice and message were not lost. The complex issues surrounding the questions of the audience for the work and the context for its composition can be traced more easily. This lays solid foundations for a more thorough assessment of the process of composition of the HE, including key questions such as: what did Bede know when? How did his connections and sources influence the process of writing? What did different drafts of the HE look like? How and why did the work change over time? Some of these questions have begun to be addressed above, but they are ones I intend to take further separately and directly in the light of the present conclusions about Bede’s methods and sources. We are already much more aware of the challenges Bede faced in constructing a credible narrative of the mission to Kent. One element stands out: the paucity of his sources – especially primary sources. What material Bede did have was catalogued and analysed in Chapter 5. His account of the Gregorian mission was composed without access to information deriving from a genuinely unbroken link to that part of Kent’s past. He possessed almost no early sources for the period beyond the papal letters and probably the bare texts of some church dedication stones. This discovery must affect historians’ approach to, and use of, the HE as a source. Elements and oddities in Bede’s narrative have sometimes been trusted on the basis that they were said to derive from ‘Canterbury tradition’. In fact, there were no credible Canterbury traditions stretching back to Augustine or beyond. Some very basic elements of reliable information may have been passed on, such as, perhaps, the Julian dates of death of the early mission fathers. As a whole, however, ‘Canterbury tradition’ should not be treated as trustworthy: it should be viewed with extreme suspicion. What Canterbury ‘traditions’ there were post-dated Theodore’s arrival and the great evidential break of the 660s. The stories Canterbury provided Bede barely even merit the title of ‘oral history’. Bede himself seems to have treated them with caution and qualified them for his readers. These – including the ‘Canterbury tales’ discussed in Chapter 6 – should be used rarely, if at all, by modern historians to build a picture of what happened in Kent in c.600. They provide no useful insight into the world at that point in time. This conclusion requires scholars to reapproach much previous work on the period, reassessing its basis to ensure that established views do not simply rely on Bede and his narrative without consideration of what Bede’s own

246  Conclusion evidential basis was. His material was so limited that his History is not a source for early Christian Kent and should not be used as such. There is a natural explanation for this caesura in the evidence. The chaos of the 660s left a church in Kent gravely debilitated at best. H ­ ierarchical continuity was broken and record-keeping was disrupted. Whether ­A lbinus was aware of this or not is unknowable and irrelevant. Apart from perhaps the texts of inscriptions on ecclesiastical foundation stones, Canterbury did not possess genuinely original ecclesiastical material dating back ­b efore the 660s. Even the epitaphs were apparently written after Theodore arrived. The analysis of Bede’s sources has not only clarified the picture of such a qualitative break but also provided additional reason for believing that it is the accession of Theodore that represented the essential dividing line. As a general rule, therefore, the resources at Bede’s disposal were even more meagre than might have been imagined, but the poverty of his sources is not the only point that has emerged about their nature from this work. We have seen him drawing on some perhaps unexpected types of sources – ­especially archival. Regnal lists were vital tools in constructing his narrative, while a hegemon list document and a hidage document similar to the Tribal Hidage provided valuable information, enabling Bede to add colour to his account. As a result, our appreciation for Bede’s library and for others at the time has grown. This expands our view of what an early medieval monastery such as Wearmouth-Jarrow might have retained. Where the line between ‘archive’ and ‘library’ ends may be difficult to judge, but archival material was not maintained by mere chance or for antiquarian interest. Chapter 5 made some cautious suggestions about the implications of the presence of such material at Wearmouth-Jarrow for our understanding of Bede’s milieu, monastery and world. With more space, it would be possible to go further. His use of his materials is more broadly functional than is usually assumed was the case for early medieval scholars. The HE shows that ‘libraries’ could be used for purposes transcending the ‘sublime, but ultimately incomplete “recapitulation” of … [those] of Late Antiquity’ (Lapidge, 2006: 3). The evidence of the HE suggests a more positive, or perhaps more pragmatic, view of early Anglo-Saxon libraries. They were teaching establishments, but they were also repositories – in a more active, bureaucratic sense than might have been assumed. Nonetheless, this conclusion need not directly challenge the views of those like Michael Lapidge or Rosalind Love, who have seen monastic libraries as resources directed primarily or even purely to teaching. The vision of what was taught and who was there to learn simply has to expand. We are drawn towards a more sanguine view of ‘secular’ learning in the late seventh and early eighth centuries and of the role of the ‘ecclesiastic’ in governance. The ensuing picture even begins, in a general way, to resemble that for contemporary Ireland. Further work on this issue would be valuable and is likely to increase the evidence for such a connection.

Conclusion  247 A crucial step is to complete the process of analysis of the HE begun here. This book has examined in the depth required a coherent narrative within the work: the Gregorian mission and the Church in Kent before Theodore. The same now needs to be done for the rest of the HE. Completing such a task for the rest of Book 1 would be a simple exercise. As it was extended to the later sections of the work, more apparently ‘traditional’ sources would be encountered whose origins are difficult to discern. Such difficulty means that certainty would be even less achievable; at times, viable options would be the best that could be provided. Despite its difficulty, the task remains both vital and possible. Even in many of the more obviously oral situations, the provenance of Bede’s story can usually be recovered. If this analysis is carried out systematically, judgements can be made about the capacity of those ‘sources’ to serve as evidence for the detail in the stories told. Moreover, our conclusions about Bede’s method and practice of history can help guide the process. His methodology is sufficiently clear that the challenges involved in extending the analysis to the rest of the HE should not prevent it from being undertaken. Indeed, although the process carried out here is tailored to Bede and his History, ideally, this analysis will inspire similar studies on different authors and texts. There are many comparable works, Anglo-Saxon and continental, that are relied upon for historical information but whose own sources have not been examined in detail. One obvious example is Stephen’s Life of Wilfrid. If the HE is, by genre, a history, but includes a significant amount of hagiographical content, then Stephen’s VW is its mirror image: a hagiography including a significant amount of historical content. Too often, the two can be confused. Too infrequently is it asked what Stephen’s source was for particular statements about his protagonist. Does his authority really justify relying even on the basic narrative and chronology provided for Wilfrid’s life? Until his work is interrogated in the same detail as Bede’s has been here, the credibility of even some of the more famous elements of Stephen’s account must be in doubt. Following such an examination, often the best that may be able to be said is that details of the stories represent incidents believable within – and to – contemporary society, not that they necessarily happened to Wilfrid. Looking across the Channel, something similar might be said about Jonas’s Life of Columbanus. The historicity of this work has been vigorously and justly undermined (for example, Wood, 1998), but its story of the saint’s life often remains the foundation for treatments of his biography. For Bede, at least, it should now be apparent that historians cannot undermine his methods and materials while continuing to have faith in his narrative. His statements must not be trusted on his own authority: the reliability of his narrative is no better than that of his sources. This has always been true. The difference is that his sources have now been identified, and it is thus possible to make more informed judgements about their credibility. At first, this outcome may appear discouraging. Much that was considered ‘known’ is not. But this ‘loss’ is only theoretical. It brings us closer to the

248  Conclusion truth, even as we seem to be moving further away. It might seem disappointing that many ‘proof texts’ are no longer useable, but they must nevertheless be rejected. Despite the sense of loss, our knowledge has expanded. Subsequently, it will no longer be enough to reassert Bede’s stranger and unsupported statements by simply adding the caveat, ‘Bede tells us…’. Such rhetorical sleights of hand are no better than his own attempts to shift responsibility with a targeted fertur. For instance, when Bede is discovered ‘improving’ his story with his own favourite characteristics, this should not be a surprise; it needs to be realised, however, that these cannot then be used as evidence for the saint’s or king’s real, historic personalities. Consequently, going forward, part of the challenge will be historiographical: there is so little information about this period that it feels as if the tiny amounts we are told must be clung to, even when, reasonably, they cannot have happened.2 This study offers the confidence to move beyond such limits. Doing so is a necessary step that has been avoided for too long, but which will offer new opportunities for historians. Separating Bede from his sources, detaching his rhetoric and deductions from the evidence, and distinguishing between the types of material he used provide the basis for doing something never previously considered possible. In the past, scholars have complained of an irreplaceable dependence on the HE. Now, having isolated Bede’s sources, it is both possible and necessary to lay aside his narrative. With the ability to dispose of many falsehoods long considered certain, we can potentially dispense with our traditional reliance on the HE’s unattested account of the early Christian period in Kent. By reconstructing the process and material Bede used in his story of the Gregorian mission and by breaking down the narrative into its constituent parts, many ‘facts’ may have been lost, but in the absence of such errors, a more realistic picture of early seventh-century Kent can be allowed to emerge. Bede was, for instance, ideologically committed to a view of a pre-Christian past that was necessarily barbaric. This vision underpins his narrative of the Gregorian mission, but it also helps to undermine it. In contrast, the archaeological evidence implies that Bede’s is a deeply misleading perspective. The material evidence suggests that Kent in c.600 was not only closely connected to contemporary Gaul but was also, in important ways, similar to its Merovingian neighbours.3 Previously, these pieces of evidence stood in contrast to Bede’s narrative. Reconciling their implications was not easy. But removing his information from his deductions and isolating only those – very few – sources he possessed that were genuinely from the period in question will reveal a more consistent world. The construction of Bede’s narrative was informed by his own deductions, but he was not in the best place to make them. The stunning shifts in geopolitics and economics during the seventh century meant that the political world view of Gregory the Great was inconceivable to Bede and his contemporaries. Events far from the shores of Britain had repercussions that dramatically affected even Anglo-Saxon England. By the time the HE

Conclusion  249 was written, the symbiosis of the Late Antique relationship between Kent and Gaul had long since been transformed. The world looked very different from Wearmouth-Jarrow in c.730. The ‘England’ of c.600 was irrecoverable for someone like Bede, who lacked meaningful information about it. In contrast, modern historians, are, in many ways, in a better position to reconstruct that part of the past than Bede was. The foregoing analysis has stripped away the deductions and inferences Bede made in constructing the story, often on the basis of later unreliable sources of the Gregorian mission. With these obstacles removed, the road is open to work that for the first time comprehensively assembles and assesses the full range of early evidence about the period from a variety of different disciplines. Our contemporary sources for the world in c.600 outnumber Bede’s. They go well beyond the Gregorian letters. They include coins, laws, and archaeology as well as the diplomatic, literary and material evidence from the contemporary Frankish, Irish and Italian worlds. Without being framed by the Bedan narrative, the original sources, naturally interpreted, open up quite a different view of late sixth-/early seventh-century Kent and even of the Gregorian mission. Thus, the history of early Christian Kent can be re-envisaged independently of Bede’s narrative, though it can now make use of those sources of his whose existence, content and value have been identified here. Therefore, the potential should now be present for scholars to construct new narratives, more reliable than Bede’s and on a firmer evidential basis. As a result, despite an initial sense of ‘loss’, in making the basis for his narrative clearer, this study has strengthened historians’ ability to write more credible accounts of the period that can more easily move beyond Bede and his narrative. Instead of being rushed through the early days of the ­Gregorian mission by his limited sources and desire to move the narrative quickly on to Northumbria and the more congenial Irish, we can slow down and more constructively assess the evidence for what happened. In this way, we can discover much more about that crucial early stage. Nonetheless, it is worth emphasising that in one sense at least, it is true to say that Bede’s narrative will never be replaced. The HE’s story has dominated historians’ version of events. It is unified and coherent, and seeks to explain things in a large way. A like for like replacement of such a single narrative is not possible. Sufficient material or suitable authority does not survive to underpin an alternative single vision that will control historians’ perspectives in the way Bede’s narrative has. And while there are still many elements from reliable sources in which we can place trust, the sense of certainty that overconfidence in ‘Bede’ provided cannot be restored or transferred to another version of events. What is needed is not a single new narrative to substitute for Bede’s but the proposal of various narratives consistent with evidence from the time in a way that Bede’s is not. As a result, the world in which these events occurred can be painted more convincingly than in the HE, even if no single narrative ever gains the universal acceptance that used to be accorded to Bede’s.

250  Conclusion None of this is intended to deny that there have been previous attempts to recreate what happened in the period, that these have differed from Bede’s account, or that they have included useful arguments and interpretations. Such attempts have been frequent and have often moved knowledge of the period forward meaningfully; but all have, to varying degrees, treated Bede himself as a source and have been bound by his story, even in those places where they reject it. This book has shown that there is now no choice but to prepare narratives not based on the HE as a source but using informed and early sources – those Bede possessed and others not available to him. In doing so, it is necessary to ignore Bede’s version. It is irrelevant. Historians should end the practice of repeatedly returning to the History, ‘checking’ reconstructions against Bede’s account and in so doing imbuing his story with the pretence of some independent validity. The HE does not possess such an authority. At times, scholars may come to some of the same conclusions as Bede, but, crucially, this will be because such is the natural interpretation of the sources, not because Bede has been treated as a source. The preceding analysis has already begun this work, answering some of the questions that the sources raise – such as, for instance, the date of ­Augustine’s death or the purpose of Wigheard’s journey to Rome – and providing the basis for addressing many others. Much more remains to be done. Without the false confidence in Bede’s account, underpinned by his enduring auctoritas, it is true that all future reconstructions will be working with probabilities, plausibilities and possibilities more often than certainties. This should not prevent scholars from undertaking such an endeavour. The present study has attempted to clear the ground; in so doing, it has tried to provide a new, more coherent starting point from which to begin the process of historical reconstruction. The foundation this book has laid, through a better understanding of Bede’s methods and sources, should assist others not only in extending our analysis across the entire HE but also in enabling the production of new narratives more reliable than Bede’s and on a firmer evidential basis. Only in this way will it finally be possible to rewrite, and not merely reinterpret, seventh-century Anglo-Saxon England.

Notes 1 In HE 3.5, Bede is quite upfront about his desire to contrast Aidan’s supposed actions with ‘the laziness of our own times’ (nostri temporis segnitia). 2 Again, there is a parallel here with Bede’s own apparent discomfort in using certain sources on which, given his lack of alternatives, he was compelled to rely. 3 The connection between Kentish and Frankish coins of the period, for instance, is so close that it is sometimes difficult to tell whether newly discovered coins are from one or the other: Blackburn, 2006, and Grierson and Blackburn, 1986: 161.

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Index

Acca, bishop of Hexham 104, 204 Adomnan, abbot of Iona 4, 38, 215, 238 Æcci, bishop of Rochester 191–2 Ælle, king of the South Saxons 157n84, 185 Æthelbald, king of the Mercians 36, 80n48, 103, 122, 157n83 Æthelberht, king of Kent 19, 35–6, 41–3, 45–6, 50, 54–9, 71, 73–5, 77, 91, 99–105, 107, 109–10, 117–27, 129, 131, 133, 136, 139, 157n80, 162, 164, 179, 181, 185, 188, 194–5, 198–200, 205, 208, 211, 223, 225–7, 229 Æthelburh, wife of Edwin 128, 139–40, 142, 151, 205 Æthelfrith, king of the Northumbrians 77, 82n76, 90, 97 Agilbert, bishop of the West Saxons and later of Paris 60, 214 Aidan, bishop of Lindisfarne 82n82, 243, 250n1 Albinus, abbot of Ss Peter and Paul’s Canterbury 6, 11–13, 15n22, 21, 44, 48, 53, 58, 61, 68–9, 71, 74–7, 101–2, 104–7, 110–11, 119, 123, 125, 127, 131–3, 140–1, 143, 162, 168–9, 182–3, 188, 192, 196–7, 204–5, 208–13, 216, 226, 229, 233–5, 238, 243–4 Alcuin of York 80n32, 209–10 Aldhelm, bishop of Sherborne 79n17, 83n98, 154n3, 196, 219n61, 222n107 Alfred the Great, king of the West Saxons 69, 217n19 Anglesey, Isle of 37–8, 81n54, 81n57, 123, 139, 186–7 annals, Irish 97–8, 207, 215 archives: Anglo-Saxon see libraries, Anglo-Saxon; papal 12, 33, 65, 138, 160n120, 204, 205–7

Arles 34–5, 59–62, 65–6, 189 Augustine, bishop of Canterbury 189, 194, 197, 199–200, 204–7, 210–11, 223–4, 226–30, 235–6, 239n12, 242–3, 245, 250 Augustine’s Oak 91, 98, 224, 229 Baduwine, bishop of Rochester 191, 192 Bede’s works: Commentary on EzraNehemiah 29, 33, 57, 220n72; De natura 38; De temporibus 21, 38; De temporum ratione 20–2, 38, 79n28; Eight Questions 191; Historia Abbatum 22, 37, 69, 82n77, 86n152, 156n55, 168, 170–2, 217n28, 220n72, 220n82, 220n85; Letter to Ecgberht 47, 81n64; Life of Cuthbert, Prose 4, 13, 15n23, 40, 65, 81n63, 135, 228–9, 232; Minor Chronicle 21, 23–4, 27, 70, 78n13; Major Chronicle 21–4, 26–8, 33, 70, 78n13, 79n18, 80n34, 85n137, 86n142, 87, 89, 149, 168, 176n21, 220n72; Orthography 24; Retractations on Acts 24, 79n14 Benedict Biscop 69, 82n77, 86n139, 86n152, 156n55, 168, 170, 172, 174, 211–12, 220n82, 220n85, 221n101 Benedict of Nursia 29, 158n99 Berhtwald, archbishop of Canterbury 60–1, 106–7, 167–8, 190, 199, 212, 219n57, 220n83, 236 Bernicia see Northumbrians, people and kingdom of the Bertha, wife of Æthelberht 41–3, 45, 50, 54, 63–5, 69, 81n67, 82n68, 83n104, 109, 129, 194, 198, 205, 218n47 Berhtgisl, also known as Boniface, bishop of the East Angles 165–6, 191, 214

272 Index Bible, Bede’s use of 39, 44, 58, 66, 71, 88–9, 92, 127, 130–2, 159n111, 207, 220n73 bishop lists see episcopal lists Bisi, bishop of the East Angles 191, 221n95 Boniface, bishop of the East Angles see Berhtgisl, also known as Boniface Boniface, archbishop of Fulda 65 Boniface IV, pope 98, 117–18, 205 Boniface V, pope 25, 133–4, 136–8, 141–2, 145, 159n104, 205 Bradwell-on-Sea 103 Bretwalda see Brytenwalda British, church and people of the 19, 31, 90–98, 113–15, 118, 151, 154n12, 165, 206–7, 224, 226–7, 229–30 Brunhilde, Frankish queen 30–3, 40, 45, 62–3, 67, 71, 84–5n122, 205 Brytenwalda 121 Burgundy 51, 143, 191 Cælin, also known as Ceawlin, king of the West Saxons 157n84, 185 Cædwalla, British king 151 Cædwalla, king of the West Saxons 171n7, 197–8, 204 Canterbury 6, 8, 10, 12–13, 21, 43–6, 48, 55, 57–9, 61, 68–71, 73–4, 76–77, 84n109, 85n130, 88, 91–2, 101, 104–5, 108, 110–16, 119, 123, 125, 127–8, 130–1, 135, 137, 140, 143–4, 151, 153–4, 156n44, 162, 164, 169, 182, 189–90, 192–3, 196, 207–16, 220n84, 222n106, 225–6, 229–30, 232–3, 235–8, 239n5, 240n20, 243–6 Canterbury churches: see Four Martyrs Canterbury, church of; Holy Saviour Canterbury, ‘cathedral’ church of; Mary Mother of God Canterbury, church of; St Martin’s Canterbury, church of; Ss Peter and Paul Canterbury, monastery of Cedd, bishop 12, 99, 103, 155n32, 214 Ceolfrith, abbot of WearmouthJarrow 22, 51, 143, 156n41, 156n55, 176n20, 214 Ceolwulf, Northumbrian king 11, 78, 154n5 Chad, bishop 12, 81n52, 214 charters 36, 37, 80n48, 179, 184, 213, 217n28, 221n90, 249 Chester, battle of 90, 93, 95–98, 154n12, 207

Childeberht, king of Austrasia 32 Chlothar, Frankish king 32 coinage 7, 44, 249, 250–1n3 Colman 172, 214 computus 15n21, 92, 114–5, 150, 204, 206; see also Easter, date of commemoration, liturgical 119, 133, 136, 156n48, 167, 200–1, 220n79, 221n88, 234, 238 Cuthbert, St 13, 49, 80n32, 83n84, 214 Cuthwine, bishop of Dunwich 191 Cwichelm, bishop of Rochester 175n11, 191 Cyneberht, bishop 13, 220n76 Dagan, Irish bishop 114 Damian, bishop of Rochester 155n25, 165, 168–9, 175n11, 190, 212, 221n97 Daniel, bishop of the West Saxons 12, 61, 104, 218n41, 220n76 Deira 89; see also Northumbrians, people and kingdom of the Deusdedit, bishop of Canterbury 61, 108–9, 119, 129, 157n75, 162, 165–70, 172–4, 189–90, 201–3, 211–13, 215 Dionysius Exiguus 160n127 diplomas see charters Eadbald, king of Kent 42, 50, 81n67, 101, 119, 126–33, 136, 138–9, 141–2, 152–3, 158n94, 159n114, 161, 175n4, 179, 181, 195, 200–1, 224, 226, 230 Eadric, king of Kent 101, 179, 181 Ealdwulf, bishop of Rochester 61, 175n11, 191 Ealdwulf, king of the East Angles 143 Eanflæd, daughter of Edwin 139–40, 151 East Anglians, people and kingdom of the 12–13, 122, 142–4, 155n24, 159n115, 159n117, 159–60n118, 165–6, 181–2, 185, 191–3, 221n92 East Saxons, people and kingdom of the 12, 50, 99, 102–3, 126–7, 129–30, 155n32, 181, 192, 214, 224, 226, 230 Easter, date of 91–2, 95, 99, 111, 113–14, 148–50, 170–2; see also computus Ecgberht, bishop and later archbishop of York 47 Ecgberht, king of Kent 101, 169, 173–4, 179, 181, 213, 215 Ecgfrith, king of the Northumbrians 38, 81n58, 122, 157n83, 183, 186–7 Edwin, king of the Northumbrians 38, 65, 71, 86n142, 122–33, 128, 137,

Index  273 139–47, 151, 153, 185, 187, 205–6, 208, 231, Ely 81n54, 186, 221n92 Eorcenberht, king of Kent 101, 119, 125, 129, 161–2, 173–4, 179, 181, 202–3, 213, 215 episcopal lists 10, 140, 161, 165, 167, 168–9, 175n14, 189–93, 209, 218n38, 218n41, 234, 237, 244; Canterbury 34–5, 61–2, 65–6, 111–12, 118, 133, 137–8, 144–5, 147–8, 157n75, 167–9, 175n15, 189–90, 209, 213; East Angles 143–4, 165, 168, 175n12, 191–2; East Saxons/London 99–100, 102, 192; Rochester 71, 99–100, 104, 111, 133, 137–8, 153, 164–5, 168–9, 175n11, 190–2 epitaphs see inscriptions Essex see East Saxons, people and kingdom of the Etherius, bishop of Lyon 30, 34–5, 59–62, 65–6, 189, 205 Eulogius, patriarch of Alexandria 62, 84n121 Eusebius/Rufinus, Ecclesiastical History of 20, 243 familiae see hides Felix, bishop of the East Angles 143–4, 165–6, 191 filidh 183–5 foundation stones see inscriptions Four Martyrs Canterbury, church of 55, 135, 137, 195, 225, 231 Fredegund, Frankish queen 32 Fursey 166, 236, 238 Gefmund, bishop of Rochester 175n11, 191, 220n83 genealogies 10, 102, 180–85, 188, 217n9, 237; East Anglian 143–4, 169, 181–2; Kentish 26, 36, 45, 102, 111, 121, 125, 130, 158n92, 159n116, 161–2, 173–4, 181, 188, 208, 213, 244 Genlade, River see Wantsum, River Germanus, St 91, 228 Gewisse 126, 130, 224, 230; see also West Saxons, people and kingdom of the Gildas, Ruin of Britain of 4, 19, 24, 104, 238 Gilling 41, 214 Gregory of Tours: Histories 23, 81–2n 68; Miracula 154n9, 158n98, 226, 228, 232, 234, 235

Gregory the Great, pope 87–9, 107, 168, 204, 207, 216, 218n48, 232, 234, 236, 243, 248 Gregory the Great’s works 90, 146, 207; Dialogues; 29, 33, 135, 158n99, 226, 228, 235; Letters: 12, 29–36, 40–3, 45, 47, 56, 58, 60, 62–74, 109, 117, 120–1, 134, 205, 207; Libellus Responsionum 15n21, 47–8, 58–60, 63–6, 82n70, 82n81, 82n82, 84n116, 85n124, 85n126, 90, 112, 206; Pastoral Care 29, 33, 69 Gyrwe, province of 166, 191 Hadrian, abbot of Ss Peter and Paul’s Canterbury 11, 86n152, 170, 172, 174, 211–12, 216, 220n83, 233 Hatfield, synod of 209, 244 Hatfield Chase, battle of 151 Hæthfelth, battle of see Hatfield Chase, battle of ‘hegemon list’ document 36, 45, 103, 111, 121–3, 129, 131, 141, 185–8, 246 Hengist 19, 125, 181, 209 Hertford, synod of 209, 244 Hexham 83n85, 219n66, 222n107 hidage see hides ‘hidage document’ of the ‘tribute’ type 36–8, 45, 123, 129, 141, 186–8, 246 hides, land unit 36–8, 186–8 Hild, abbess 81n52, 140 Hlothere, king of Kent 101, 179, 181, 216n6 Holy Saviour Canterbury, ‘cathedral’ church of 48, 50–2, 55, 57–8, 74, 76, 194 Honorius, bishop of Canterbury 61, 78n5, 109, 144, 146–8, 153, 164, 166–7, 169, 175n15, 189, 201, 206, 211–12, 220n83, 231 Honorius, pope 52, 71, 83n101, 86n142, 145–9, 151–2, 157n69, 206, 225, 231 Horsa 19, 125, 181, 209 Humber, River 36, 102, 121–2, 139 Hwætberht 22, 78n9, 159n106 Hwicce, kingdom of the 91 inscriptions: epitaphs 25–8, 33, 42–3, 45, 49, 53, 56, 58, 79n17, 82n73, 87–9, 100, 106, 107–111, 119–20, 123, 129, 133–4, 136–7, 140–1, 146, 148, 161–2, 164–5, 167, 169, 173–4, 196–204, 219n67, 225, 235–6, 244, 246; foundation stones 43, 45, 48–54,

274 Index 58, 74–6, 83n83, 100–1, 105, 108, 110–11, 132, 164–5, 193–6, 204, 209, 211, 218n43, 219n67, 244, 246 Iona, island and monastery of 38, 81n54, 81n57, 186, 215 Irish, people and church of the 38, 77–8, 111–15, 118, 134, 148–51, 169, 184, 206, 214–15, 246, 249 Isidore of Seville 23, 24, 26, 27 Ithamar, bishop of Rochester 61, 163–5, 167–8, 170, 189–90, 243 James the Deacon 140, 153 Jaruman, bishop of the Mercians 214 John IV, pope 52, 114, 134, 148–9, 151, 160n127, 206 John of Beverley, bishop of York 112, 222n107 Justus, bishop of Rochester and later of Canterbury 61, 67–8, 98–100, 103–4, 109, 114, 118, 126–33, 136–8, 141–2, 144, 146–8, 152–3, 159n114, 189–90, 195, 201, 205–6, 224–5, 230–1 king lists 10, 102, 161, 175n7, 179–80, 182–5, 188, 216n4, 246; Kentish 36, 45, 101–2, 111, 119, 121, 125, 129, 157n80, 158n92, 161–2, 173–4, 179–80, 188, 208, 217n13, 219n63, 244 Lastingham 12, 99, 104 Laterculus Malalianus 21–2 Laurence, bishop of Canterbury 42, 49, 61, 63–4, 67, 71, 75, 98, 105, 108–9, 111–18, 126–33, 136–7, 157n69, 189, 194, 200, 206, 224–6, 228, 230, 243 Laws of Æthelberht 124–5, 129, 158n92, 162, 182, 188 Laws of Eorcenberht 125, 162, 175n6, 188, 208, 217n11 Laws of Hlothere and Eadric 217n11 Laws of Ine 124, 155n32, 175n6 Laws of Wihtred 124, 175n6, 217n11 Liber Pontificalis 25–6, 28, 30, 33, 52, 68, 71, 80n34, 84n117, 87–9, 112, 118, 134, 136–8, 145–6, 149, 151, 161, 207, 210 libraries, Anglo-Saxon 1, 8–9, 184–5, 188, 211–12, 217n19, 246 Life of Ceolfrith 143, 176n20, 214, 221n103 Life of Columba, by Adomnan 81n59, 215 Life of Columbanus, by Jonas 247

Life of Cuthbert (Anonymous) 13, 81n63, 135, 215, 229, 232, 238 Life of Fursey 166, 229, 236, 238 Life of Germanus 19, 91, 228, 232 Life of Gregory 4, 26, 36, 60, 89–90, 111, 139, 140, 156n54, 158n98, 207, 232 Life of Guthlac 184 Life of Wilfrid 4, 215, 228–9, 247 Lincoln 51, 61, 144, 147, 189 Lindsey, people and kingdom of 13, 81n49, 144, 218n38, 220n76 Liudhard, bishop from Gaul 41–3, 45, 54, 69, 82n73, 83n105, 110, 198–9, 204, 235 Lindisfarne 13, 104, 217n18 London 12, 50, 53, 68, 99, 100, 102–3, 105, 111, 115, 126–7, 131, 133, 155n32, 189, 192, 209, 214, 230, 233; St Paul’s church see St Paul’s London, church of Lyon 34, 60–2, 83n102, 84n119 Man, Isle of 37–8, 81n54, 81n57, 123, 139, 186–7 Mary Mother of God Canterbury, church of 48, 117, 131–2, 195, 219n62 Maurice, emperor 19–21, 24–8, 70 Mellitus, bishop of London and later of Canterbury 50, 61, 67–8, 71–72, 98–103, 108–9, 111, 115–118, 126–138, 189, 195, 200–1, 205–7, 224–8, 230–2, 237 Mercians, people and kingdom of the 12, 38, 163, 185–7, 213–4, 217n17, 221n87, 221n94 Mevanian islands, the 159n112, 187 Mildrith Legend 86n156, 213, 221n92, 236–8, 240n20 Minster-in-Sheppey, monastery of 221n92 Minster-in-Thanet, monastery of 38 Nathaniel, possible abbot of Ss Peter and Paul’s Canterbury 221n86, 221n97 Neustria 32, 67 Nicaea, Council of (325) 149, 160n127 Northern Mercia 81n54, 186 Northumbrians, people and kingdom of the 12–13, 14n13, 68, 77–8, 89, 113, 122, 139, 140–3, 145–6, 151, 153, 163, 165, 170, 172–3, 179–80, 182–3, 185–7, 192, 195–6, 213–6, 231–2, 249 Nothelm, priest of London and later archbishop of Canterbury 12–13,

Index  275 15n22, 25, 31, 33, 35, 42, 48, 53, 61, 63–66, 69–70, 72, 74, 77, 98, 102, 104, 106–7, 110, 117–8, 123, 125, 132–4, 134, 138, 141–3, 148–9, 162, 168–71, 174, 188, 190, 192, 196–7, 204–9, 229, 233–5, 238, 244–5 oral information, Bede’s use of 4, 6, 9, 11, 13, 14n9, 14n13, 40, 44, 46, 58, 69, 71, 76, 104, 111, 123, 137, 139, 151, 153, 166, 172, 174, 207–9, 220n78, 221n88, 226–7, 233–5, 242, 244–5, 247 On the Holy Places, by Adomnan 4, 238 Orosius 4, 20–4, 33, 207, 243 Oswald, king of the Northumbrians 38, 76, 122, 163, 185 Oswine, king of Deira 104, 163 Oswiu, king of the Northumbrians 38, 81n52, 122–3, 140, 163–4, 169–72, 174, 176n22, 185–7, 206, 217n25 Paulinus, bishop of York and later of Rochester 61, 67–8, 71, 100, 110, 137, 139–42, 144–8, 151–4, 156n52, 163–6, 189–90, 203–4, 206, 208, 225, 228, 231–2 Peada, son of Penda 165 Penda, king of the Mercians 151, 165, 187 Phocas, emperor 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 70, 115, 117 Picts, people and kingdom of the 38, 40, 155n39 plague 10, 12, 97, 155n25, 172, 174, 214–16, 221n99, 221n101 porticus of St Gregory see Ss Peter and Paul Canterbury, monastery of porticus of St Martin see Ss Peter and Paul Canterbury, monastery of Ps-Clementine Recognitiones 112, 118, 207 Putta, bishop of Rochester 155n25, 175n11, 191, 212, 221n87 Rædwald, king of the East Angles 142–3, 181, 185 Reculver, monastery of 39 regnal lists see king lists Ricule, sister of Æthelberht of Kent and wife of Sæberht of the East Saxons 102, 181 Ripon 81n52, 203–4 Rochester, town and church of 10, 48, 50, 52, 55, 99–101, 103–4, 110–11,

133, 138, 140, 145, 151–3, 163–6, 195, 203, 208–9, 212–13, 231 Romanus, bishop of Rochester 100, 138, 152–4, 190, 225, 228, 231–2, 239n4 Rome 12, 31–2, 42, 49, 51–3, 60–5, 69–71, 79n17, 84n117, 85n135, 89, 92, 106–7, 111–12, 114–20, 129, 143, 149–50, 152–3, 169, 170–4, 189, 196–9, 207, 212, 220n84, 226, 250 Rufinus see Eusebius/Rufinus, Ecclesiastical History of Sæberht, king of the East Saxons 50, 100, 102–3, 118, 126–7, 130, 181, 224, 227, 230 St Martin’s Canterbury, church of 42–3, 45, 48–55, 58, 83n104, 194 St Paul’s Jarrow, church of see Wearmouth-Jarrow, Bede’s monastery of St Paul’s London, church of 48, 50, 52–53, 55, 100–3, 105, 111, 195 Ss Peter and Paul Canterbury, monastery of 10, 42, 48–52, 55, 7–6, 105, 107, 110–11, 119, 123, 132, 183, 194–5, 198–203, 208, 212–13, 219n67, 220n85, 224, 230, 234–5, 238; porticus of St Gregory 106, 198–9, 201–2, 218n51, 219n67; porticus of St Martin 42, 119, 123, 198–9, 218n47 South Saxons, people and kingdom of the 12, 37, 81n54, 122, 165, 168, 185–6, 190 Southern Mercia 38, 81n54, 186–7 Sussex see South Saxons, people and kingdom of the Stephen of Ripon 215, 247 sylloges 49; Canterbury 53, 110, 194–204, 209, 234, 244; Roman 33, 79n17, 83n83, 134, 196–8 Tatwine, archbishop of Canterbury 61 Thanet 35–46, 56–7, 59, 76, 81n54, 186, 223, 225, 229 Theodore, archbishop of Canterbury 11, 21, 34, 61, 70, 89, 106–9, 167, 170, 172, 174, 189, 192–3, 197, 199, 202, 204, 208, 211–12, 214–16, 218n33, 220n84, 221n90, 222n106, 233, 235, 236, 238–9, 246 Theudeberht, Frankish king 41, 45, 205 Theuderic, Frankish king 41, 45, 205

276 Index tidal information, Bede’s use of 36–8, 45, 81n60, 102, 207 Thomas, bishop of the East Angles 165–6, 175m14, 191 Thomas of Elmham 68, 211, 221n86 Tilbury 103 Tobias, bishop of Rochester 175n11, 191, 222n107 Tribal Hidage 37, 45, 186, 246 Tuda, bishop 214 Vergilius, bishop of Arles 65–6, 205 Vitalian, pope 61, 170–2, 174, 189, 206 Wantsum, River 38–9 Wearmouth-Jarrow, Bede’s monastery of 3, 12, 22–3, 31, 33, 38, 43, 49, 51–2, 78n9, 79n17, 81n58, 86n152, 101, 122, 168, 170, 172, 174, 176n20, 182–3, 185–8, 194–6, 205, 208, 220n82, 221n103, 244, 246, 249; library of 1, 3, 5–7, 14n6, 22–3, 79n17, 81n58, 122, 184–5, 187–8, 208, 210, 244, 246

Wessex see West Saxons, people and kingdom of the West Saxons, people and kingdom of the 12, 91, 122, 126, 129–30, 139, 154n8, 167, 185, 189, 192, 197, 214, 218n41, 220n76, 224, 230 Whitby 104, 155n39 Whitby Life see Life of Gregory Whitby, ‘synod’ of 153, 172, 214 Wigheard, ambassador to Pope Vitalian 165, 168–74, 243, 250 Wight, Isle of 12, 37, 81n54, 104, 186 Wihtred, king of Kent 101, 181, 216n7 Wilfrid, bishop of York and Hexham 2, 60, 81n52, 197, 203–4, 214, 215, 217n18, 221n94, 221n101, 228, 247 Wilfrid II, bishop of York 209 Wine, bishop of London 84n118, 214 Winwæd, battle of 187 Woden 125, 181–2, 217n9 York 51, 68–9, 86n141, 112, 147–8, 153, 155n26, 160n120, 163, 209–10