The Short Oxford History of Europe

The Early M iddle Ages

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Figure 1 Stucco relief from the eighth-century church of Santa Maria in
Valle, Cividale
The Short Oxford History of Europe
General Editor: T. C. W. Blanning

The Early
Middle Ages
Europe 4 0 0 -10 0 0

Editor: Rosamond McKitterick

OXFORD
U N IV E R S IT Y PR ESS
 OXFORD
U N IV E R S IT Y PRESS

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General Editor’s Preface
The problems of writing a satisfactory general history of Europe are
many, but the most intractable is clearly the reconciliation of depth
with breadth. The historian who can write with equal authority about
every part of the continent in all its various aspects has not yet been
born. Two main solutions have been tried in the past: either a single
scholar has attempted to go it alone, presenting an unashamedly
personal view of a period, or teams of specialists have been enlisted to
write what are in effect anthologies. The first offers a coherent per­
spective but unequal coverage, the second sacrifices unity for the sake
of expertise. This new series is underpinned by the belief that it is this
second way that has the fewest disadvantages and that even those can
be diminished if not neutralized by close cooperation between the
individual contributors under the directing supervision of the vol­
ume editor. All the contributors to every volume in this series have
read each other’s chapters, have met to discuss problems of overlap
and omission, and have then redrafted as part of a truly collective
exercise. To strengthen coherence further, the editor has written an
introduction and conclusion, weaving the separate strands together
to form a single cord. In this exercise, the brevity promised by the
adjective ‘short’ in the series’ title has been an asset. The need to be
concise has concentrated everyone’s minds on what really mattered
in the period. No attempt has been made to cover every angle of every
topic in every country. What this volume does provide is a short but
sharp and deep entry into the history of Europe in the period in all its
most important aspects.
T. C. W. Blanning
Sidney Sussex College
Cambridge
Editor’s Preface
When the six of us agreed to try to write about the history of Europe
in the period 400-1000 in 80,000 words, we knew it was a challenge
and some might think it was foolhardy. Quite how difficult but also
how enjoyable it would be became increasingly apparent as we settled
down to writing. With such a long period to discuss, our perspective
is what might be termed the Boeing 767 view of early medieval
Europe. We have not attempted to be comprehensive, for that was
clearly impracticable. We have emphasized, therefore, what we think
are the most important elements within the period and have tried to
make generalizations that are sufficiently valid in relation to the sur­
viving evidence and on which we are more or less agreed. A homo­
geneous view of this crucial period in Europe’s history is not possible,
but we have endeavoured at least to provide one that is coherent. The
six authors have worked very closely together on this book. We
exchanged and discussed our original synopses and, once our drafts
were written, met for a full day in Cambridge to discuss all the chap­
ters and the distinctive interpretations they offered, moving para­
graphs from one chapter to another and deciding what should be
discussed where. Thus, in addition to many small exchanges between
us all, Chris Wickham and Jonathan Shepard contributed a number
of paragraphs to the Introduction, notably those concerning Byzan­
tium, Jean-Pierre Devroey provided the section on finances to the
chapter on politics and Rosamond McKitterick offered material on
Carolingian and Ottonian culture and we have all contributed to the
Conclusion. We circulated our revised and final versions thereafter so
that all six of us are indeed the authors of this book: it represents a
truly collaborative effort.

As Editor I wish to thank my fellow authors for all their hard work,
frank criticism, and good cheer, especially during the inevitable inter­
ruptions to writing time. I am indebted to Caroline Burt for her help
with the Chronology, and to Lucy McKitterick and Laurent Terrade
for their help with the translation of Jean-Pierre Devroey’s chapter
from French into English. Collectively the six authors benefited greatly
from the candour and learning of each other as well as the many
 e d i t o r ’s PREF ACE I v ii

friends and colleagues who were willing to read and comment on our
chapters, especially David McKitterick, Yitzhak Hen, Christina Pössel,
David Pratt, Barbara Rosenwein, Thomas Noble, and Julia Smith. We
wish to thank our anonymous referees of the original proposal made
to Oxford University Press, whose scepticism about the feasibility of
our particular enterprise was a useful stimulus. We are also very
grateful to our General Editor Tim Blanning, whose brain children
this series and this volume are, and to Ruth Parr and our special
editors, Andrew Maclennan and Fiona Kinnear, and Jo Stanbridge at
Oxford University Press for their advice and support.
Rosamond McKitterick
Cambridge
August 2000
Contents
List of Illustrations xii
List of Maps xiv
List of Contributors xv

Introduction i
Rosamond McKitterick

Context 2
Evidence 4
Events 9
The establishment o f the early barbarian kingdoms to
Byzantium 15
The emergence o f the Carolingians 16
The tenth century 18

1 Politics 21
Rosamond McKitterick

Late Roman political structures 23

The early medieval kingdoms o f Europe 24
The king 28
The queen 30
Power and responsibility: consensus 32
The court and closeness to the king 34
Officials and assemblies 36
Law 43
The resources and practicalities o f government: finance and the army 47
Political ideology 53

2 Society 59
Chris Wickham

Roman aristocracies 60
Early medieval western elites 64
X I CONTENTS

Byzantium and the Arabs 73

England and Norway 75
The peasantry 80
The year 1000 90

3 The economy 97
Jean-Pierre Devroey
The traditional interpretations 98
Facts and key issues 100
The awakening o f the eighth century 104
The late antique city 105
Justinian and Charlemagne 106
The western city 110
The Roman villa 113
Rural transformations, 400-1000 115
The evolution o f the great estates 117
Rural society and the state 121
The problem o f rural growth 123
The year 1000 and beyond 124
The long slow rise o f the western European economies 126

4 Religion 131
Mayke de Jong
‘Real Christianity’ 131
New Christendoms 132
Elusive others: Jews, heretics, and pagans 142
Sacred domains and strategies o f distinction 148
Changing legacies 161

5 Culture 167
Jan Wood
The last century o f the western Roman empire 168
The successor states and the imperial tradition 171
Spain after 711 182
The Carolingian Renaissance 185
The tenth century 194
 CONTENTS XI

6 Europe and the wider world 201

Jonathan Shepard
Empire without end? 202
The Mediterranean as a barrier to east-west travel 209
Out-of-body experiences in east and west 212
The eastern empire’s survival tack 214
Byzantine reports on ‘barbarians’: the focus narrows 217
Christians across the sea: Bishop Liudprand’s viewpoint 220
Views from the fringes: Orosius, Isidore, Bede 223
Travelling and converting 227
Charlemagne’s ambit 230
Ends o f empire and Otto III 237

Conclusion: into the eleventh century 245

Rosamond McKitterick

Further reading 251

Chronology 261
Maps 279
Index 293
List of Illustrations
Cover The personification o f the provinces, Sclavinia, Germania,
Gallia, and Roma doing homage to the Emperor Otto III
Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek Clm 4453, fo. 23v. Reichenau c.1000

1 Stucco relief from the eighth-century church o f Santa Maria in

Valle, Cividale ii
Photograph © Archivi Alinari

2 Stilicho, magister militum, and his wife Serena (the niece o f

Emperor Theodosius I), and his son Eucherius xviii
Ivory diptych from Monza cathedral treasury. Photograph © Archivi
Alinari

3 Charles the Bald, king o f the west Franks (840-877), enthroned 20

Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Clm 14000, fo. 5V. Palace school
of Charles the Bald, west Francia, c.870

4 The Utrecht Psalter: A Carolingian assembly 42

Utrecht Psalter, Utrecht University Library, MS 32, fo. 90v.
Hautvillers near Rheims, c.820

5 Beatus o f Liebana, Commentary on the Apocalypse 58

Girona Beatus, Museu de la Catedral de Girona, Num. inv. 7(11), fo. i34v.
6 July 975, produced in the Christian kingdom of Leon, probably
at Tâbara. Written by the scribe Senior and painted by the artists Ende
and Emeterius. © Cabildo de la Catedral de Girona

6 Palace o f Santa Maria de Naranco, Oviedo, built during the

reign o f King Ramiro I, 842-850 96
Photograph by permission of the Conway Library, Courtauld Institute
of Art

7 Franks Casket 130

The British Museum, London. A whalebone box with a depiction of
Weland the Smith, and the Adoration of the Magi
Photograph © The British Museum, London

8 Gelasian Sacramentary, produced probably at Chelles, or

Jouarre, in the first half o f the eighth century 153
Alpha et Omega page. Rome, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, reg. lat. 316,
fo .3v

9 Missorium o f the Emperor Theodosius I (379-395) 166

Madrid, Real Academia de la Historia
 LIST OF I L L U S T R A T I O N S | XÜi

10 Caroline minuscule script 187

By permission of the British Library, London. Harley 3012, fo. 1. The text
is Augustine’s Retractationes, ‘De animae quantitate’, 1. Possibly written
at Lorsch in the first half of the ninth century

1 1 Otto III, king (983-996), emperor (996-1002), enthroned 200

Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek Clm 4453, fo. 24". Reichenau c.iooo

12 Hraban Maur, Liber sanctae crucis, with the portrait o f Louis

the Pious, emperor o f the Franks (814-840) as miles Christi 244
Rome, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, reg. lat. 124, fo. 4V. Fulda c.840
List of Maps
1 Europe c.400: The late Roman empire 279

2 Europe c.526: The early medieval successor states 280

Based on The Times Atlas of European History, 2nd edn. (1998)

3 Europe c.732: Arab expansion 282

Based on The Times Atlas of European History, 2nd edn. (1998)

4 Europe c.814: The Carolingian empire 284

Based on map 4 in R. McKitterick (ed.), The New Cambridge Medieval
History, II. C.700-C.900 (Cambridge, 1995)

5 The division o f the Frankish empire in 843 286

6 Early medieval Europe: Monastic and cathedral centres o f learning

and culture 287
Based on map 20 in R. McKitterick (ed.), The New Cambridge
Medieval History, II. C.700-C.900 (Cambridge, 1995)

7 The ecclesiastical provinces o f Latin Europe (reflecting changes

made in 811) 288

8 Europe c.1000 290

List of Contributors
MAYKE d e J o n g is Professor of Medieval History at the University of
Utrecht. After earlier publications on early medieval monasticism,
notably In Samuel’s Image: Child Oblation in the Early Medieval West
(Leiden, 1996), she has now turned her attention to the interface of
politics, ritual, and exegesis in the Carolingian world. She has edited a
special issue of Early Medieval Europe, 7 (1998), on ‘The power of the
word: The influence of the Bible on early medieval politics’, and two
collaborative volumes: (with Esther Cohen) Medieval Transforma­
tions (Leiden, 2000) and (with Frans Theuws and Carine van Rhijn)
Topographies of Power in the Early Middle Ages (Leiden, 2001).
Her forthcoming book will address the dynamics of penance in the
politics of the reign of Louis the Pious.

je a n -p ier r e DEVROEY is Professor of Medieval History at the Uni­

versité Libre de Bruxelles and a member of the Académie royale de
Belgique. In addition to many seminal articles on the economy of the
early middle ages he has published editions of the Carolingian polyp -
tychs, notably Le Polyptyque et les listes de Cens de l’abbaye Saint-Remi
de Reims (DC-XT siècles) (Reims, 1984) and Le Polyptyque et les listes
de biens de Vabbaye de Saint-Pierre de Lobbes (IXe-X T siècles): Édition
critique (Brussels, 1986), and Études sur le grand domaine carolingien
(Aldershot, 1993). He is currently writing a book on Peasant Economy
and Societies in Carolingian Europe.

R o s a m o n d MCKiTTERiCK is Professor of Medieval History at the

University of Cambridge and Fellow of Newnham College. She is a
Korrespondierendes Mitglied of the Monumenta Germaniae His­
torica. Her work includes The Frankish Church and the Carolingian
Reforms, 789-895 (1977), The Frankish Kingdoms under the Carolin-
gianSy 751-987 (1983), The Carolingians and the Written Word (1989),
Books, Scribes and Learning in the Frankish Kingdoms, Sixth to Ninth
Centuries (1994), The Frankish Kings and Culture in the Early Middle
Ages (1995), and the edited volumes The Uses of Literacy in Early
Mediaeval Europe (1990), Carolingian Culture: Emulation and Inno­
vation (1994), The New Cambridge Medieval History, IL C.700-C.900
(1995) and (with Roland Quinault) Edward Gibbon and Empire
XVI LIST OF C O N T R I B U T O R S

(1997). She is currently completing a book on The Migration of Ideas

in Early Medieval Europe and a new study of Charlemagne’s reign is
in preparation.

J o n a t h a n s h e p a r d was until recently Lecturer in Russian History

at the University of Cambridge and a Fellow of Peterhouse. His vari­
ous contributions to Byzantine, Russian, Scandinavian, and Balkan
history include the synthesis (with Simon Franklin) The Emergence of
Rus 750-1200 (1996), which has now also been published in Russian,
and the edited collection (with Simon Franklin) Byzantine Diplomacy
(1992). He is currently completing Byzantium between Neighbours,
812-C.1050.

C h r i s W i c k h a m is Professor of Early Medieval History at the

University of Birmingham, a Fellow of the British Academy, and a
Corresponding Fellow of the Accademia Nazionale dei Lincei. His
books include Early Medieval Italy: Central Power and Local Society
(1981), The Mountains and the City: The Tuscan Appennines in the
Early Middle Ages (1988), Land and Power: Studies in Italian and Euro­
pean Social History, 400-1200 (1994), and Legge, pratiche e conflitti
(Rome, 2000).

I a n w o o d is Professor of Early Medieval History at the University of

Leeds and was recently Visiting Professor at the University of Vienna.
His publications include The Merovingian Kingdoms, 450-751 (1994)
and The Missionary Life: Saints and the Evangelisation of Europe,
400-1050 (2001). Among his edited works are (with Evangelos
Chrysos) East and West: Modes of Communication (1999). He is the
general editor for the series The Transformation of the Roman World.
This is the outcome of the European Science Foundation’s research
project of the same name of which he was a coordinator.
Figure 2 Stilicho, magister iltu
m
, and his wife Serena (the niec
Emperor Theodosius I), and his son Eucherius
Introduction
Rosamond McKitterick

When the poet of the Paderborn epic in 799 referred to Charlemagne

as the pater Europae, father of Europe, he gave an ancient classical
name to a new Christian territory, embodied, for the poet at least, in
the rule and realm of the Frankish ruler. In this volume we have
elected to take the long view of historical developments within an
even greater geographical extent than the European kingdoms over
which Charlemagne ruled. The definition of Europe between 400 and
1000 is ambiguous. In many ways it was coterminous with Latin
Christendom. But Latin Christian Europe was dynamic, polymorph­
ous, and constantly expanding and thus does not fit neatly for long
into any one political mould. Further, westerners knew of the exist­
ence to the east of another, well-established, form of Christian order.
As we shall see, Latin Christendom had moreover crucial contacts
with other areas, themselves affected by, or affecting, western Euro­
pean civilization. These include Scandinavia, the Celtic areas of
western Britain and Ireland, the Slavic regions of the Balkans and
eastern Europe, the Islamic Middle East and North Africa, and Byzan­
tium. A sense of a shared ‘Roman’ imperial past and a common
Christian religion did not create an integrated Europe in any political
or ecclesiastical sense, but the forces straddling, if not binding
together, this politico-cultural magnetic field were strong. We shall
follow the particular themes of this Short Oxford History, namely,
politics, society, economy, religion, culture, and links with the wider
world, through the entire period with the appropriate geographical
diversity and a comparative element between the earlier and later
parts of the period. Unlike the other volumes in this series, we have
integrated military matters and warfare, which were so entrenched in
social and political structures in this period, into the chapters on
2 ROSAMOND M CKITTERICK

politics, economics, and society where they can be discussed in con­

text. We have added a separate chapter on religion, for the insti­
tutional foundations of the Christian church, as well as the crucial
developments in faith and ritual and the definition of relations with
other religions to be observed in Europe subsequently, were estab­
lished in this period. This is not, therefore, a narrative history but a
set of thematic interpretations. In this introduction, however, I pro­
vide, after a discussion of modern historiographical debates and the
original sources, a brief narrative of the principal developments
within Europe between 400 and 1000. The reader is also directed to
the detailed chronological table and the guide to further reading at
the end of this book.

Context
The period between c.400 and c.iooo has been seen in the past as a
transitional period, overly Franco-Germano-centric in emphasis,
between the supposedly coherent world of the Roman empire and its
provinces and the disparate world of medieval Europe, where local
differences assumed far greater significance. More recent perspec­
tives, however, stress two things. First, there is the great diversity of
the Roman world of late antiquity. Secondly, a strong coherence was
lent to the successor states of early medieval Europe by the insti­
tutional religion of Latin Christianity and a rich but distinctive blend
of classical, Christian, and non-Roman culture. Major issues for this
period remain the collapse of the western Roman empire in the fifth
century; its replacement by Germanic political and military elites, the
unification and expansion of the Frankish kingdoms and their ultim­
ate reintegration (largely via cadet lines and marriage) into the local
aristocratic power-bases in the tenth-century successor states within
the areas we now label Germany, France, Benelux, Switzerland, Aus­
tria, and Italy. Nevertheless, the relationship between central power
and the localities in the lands west and east of the Rhine, and the
sheer variety of polities across Europe warn us that the old simplistic
understanding, governed by developments in what became France
and Germany, is inadequate.
This volume takes into account, therefore, the diversity of Ireland;
 INTRODUCTION 3

the gradual unification of the English kingdom in the tenth century;

the small Christian kingdoms of northern Spain; the emergence of
kingdoms such as Denmark, Norway, Poland, Hungary, Croatia,
Bulgaria, the Kievan Rus, and Bohemia and their adoption and
exploitation of Christianity; the complexities of Byzantine politics
throughout the period; and the strength of the maritime com­
munities based around the Mediterranean, Irish, Baltic, and North
Seas. Dominant themes of this period, which the subsequent chapters
will explore in detail, are the continuity and discontinuity with the
Roman world and the ways these can be examined. A major pre­
occupation for much of this period is the degree to which a particular
culture or society (in this case, Rome) as observed in its forms of
government, ideologies of rulership, social organization, and intel­
lectual and cultural preoccupations, can provide such an overwhelm­
ingly powerful model that societies with which it came into contact
(in this case, the barbarian successor states of western Europe) sought
consciously to emulate it. The strength of the Roman heritage in
many different contexts and the degrees of continuity and dis­
continuity with the Roman world need to be explored further. How
and why have historians perceived this period in the shadow of
Rome? Why has the earlier period in particular been seen in such
stark terms of cultures in conflict? Why was the traditional picture
one of a civilized Roman empire overrun by barbarian tribes?
Yet anyone writing the history of western Europe in a six-hundred-
year period must also be concerned with unconscious emulation and
assimilation, continuities as well as discontinuities, selection and
rejection, and new influences. How can the barbarian successor king­
doms and their peoples be defined? How can notions of identity and
self-consciousness be identified? These questions are considered in
the context of the broad areas of political development, social groups,
the economy, religion, intellectual traditions, and cultural develop­
ments. Many themes within these broad categories, such as literacy,
t

memory and orality, the role of women and gender, the working of
law and justice, perceptions and representations of the past, belief
and its expression, or ethnicity and identity are of crucial importance.
How can we document the cultures of power at central and local
levels, the role of courts, lordship, kingship, ‘queenship’, and the fam­
ily? Further questions arise concerning the modern perception of the
later part of the period as dominated by the Carolingians. What is
4 ROSAMOND M CKITTERICK

the legacy of the whole period between 400 and 1000 for the political,
social, economic, and cultural development of Europe as a whole?
What are the consequences of the expansion of Europe to the north
and east and with whom did the peoples of Europe come into con­
tact? Further, given the preoccupation with the year 1000 in relation
to interpretations of the history of medieval Europe, and common
notions of periodization, it is necessary to consider the validity of the
year 1000 as a dividing line of any kind in the ‘formation of Europe’.

Evidence
How does one fit together an interpretation of the history of this
period that makes sense in terms of the surviving evidence? What
questions are appropriate to that evidence? Although the surviving
sources are not nearly so abundant as for more modern periods, to
focus on the relative paucity of bureaucratic remains or the lack of
personal details about so many men and women of this period is to
miss the point. There is still a remarkable quantity and variety of
evidence, from the scruffiest potsherd and remains of a rural settle­
ment to gold crowns and ruins of a palace complex, and from a scrap
of a local legal document, recording the transfer of a small field by a
devout farmer to a local monastery, to the massive output of royal
chanceries, letters, sophisticated treatises on images and doctrine,
narrative histories, and universal encyclopaedias. As for any period of
history, we are dependent to a considerable degree on chance and
random selection for the survival of our evidence. Excavation by the
French antiquarian Chifflet uncovered the rich grave of Childeric,
father of Clovis, the first king of the Franks, in 1653. His drawings, and
a few items missed by the thieves who broke into the palace of the
Louvre in 1831 and stole all the gold, are all we now have to tell us of
the political status of Childeric in northern Gaul at the end of the
fifth century. The correspondence between the first three Carolingian
rulers and the popes in Rome in the second half of the eighth century
depends on one late ninth-century manuscript copied at Cologne
and now in the Österreichische Nationalbibliothek. Confirmation of
the mint at Quentovic (near Rouen) for the so-called imperial coin­
age of Charlemagne exists in the unique specimen portraying the
 INTRODUCTION | 5

ruler as a Roman emperor and a ship with a bird at the masthead,

now in the Fitzwilliam Museum in Cambridge. Allied bombs in 1944
exposed the grave of a young Merovingian prince underneath the late
medieval Cologne cathedral. Finds of building structures and tools
from the Viking period found at L’Anse aux Meadows in Newfound­
land have confirmed thirteenth-century stories that the Vikings had
discovered America by about 1000. New material continues to come
to light. Thus, the current ‘millennium’ excavations in the Nerva
Forum in Rome have uncovered a fine early ninth-century town
house. The vast ninth-century monastic complex at San Vincenzo al
Volturno in central Italy has been steadily revealed by archaeologists
over the past twenty years.
Other categories, such as documents recording legal transactions,
the deliberations of legal assemblies, books, letters, and historical
narratives, were deliberately preserved in an effort to make lasting
records. Wherever the institutions in which these records were
deposited have survived undisturbed, as at the monastery of St Gallen
in Switzerland, so too have the documents. At St Gallen, over eight
hundred charters, that is, single-sheet documents recording legal
transactions from the eighth to the tenth centuries, are preserved in
their original form. Similarly, St Gallen’s library still houses the books
produced by the monks of St Gallen in the early middle ages. Archives
such as those of Saint-Denis, Fulda, Lorsch, Canterbury, and Farfa
have similarly preserved a range of documentation of crucial import­
ance for high politics as well as for the history of local society. Yet the
selections made from historical records by subsequent generations
and decisions made by contemporaries in, say, the eleventh and
twelfth centuries, mean that much was also deliberately cast into
oblivion. Thus, the historian of this period is as much concerned with
what has or may have been destroyed and forgotten as with what is
still remembered. Still other texts and objects, such as letters, jewel­
lery, graves, contributions to political and intellectual debates, the
written inventories of an estate’s resources known as polyptychs,
poems, and weapons, were designed for contemporaries but have
become rich veins of material for modern historians of this period.
As a matter of course, early medievalists have become accustomed to
tackling a wide variety of material and written evidence for the light
it may shed on the past.
The survival to the present day of these sources is similarly
6 I ROSAMOND M CKITTERICK

dependent as much on chance as on deliberate conservation. Modern

historians of late antiquity and the middle ages owe an enormous
debt, for example, to the antiquarians and curiosity hunters of the
early modern period who gathered objects and recorded the appear­
ance of artefacts and buildings. Further, scholars since the Renais­
sance have searched for and printed many texts from manuscripts
they discovered. Men such as Poggio Bracciolini and his colleagues in
the Renaissance, and Jean Mabillon, Humphrey Wanley, Ludovico
Muratori, and Etienne Baluze in the seventeenth and eighteenth cen­
turies, developed scholarly methods for the categorization, dating,
and authentification of the sources on which we are still thoroughly
dependent. Indeed, some of the editions of texts we still use are those
made in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Many of these
were reprinted in an astonishing enterprise in Paris in the middle of
the nineteenth century known as the Ateliers Catholiques. This book
factory was run by the Abbé Migne and produced the Patrologia
Latina and Patrologia Graeca. Migne’s printers set older editions in
close-packed, double-columned reprints from stereotypes on steam-
driven presses. The story goes that the printing was done by a motley
group of proscribed priests, petty criminals, and vagrants kept off the
streets, all on minimal wages, and that the Ateliers were under con­
stant police surveillance. One of the other most important and
indispensable repositories of historical texts for the early middle ages
is the series of publications of the Monumenta Germaniae Historica.
The MGH was founded in 1819 (and is still active) in order to produce
new scholarly editions of the texts relating to the medieval history of
‘Germany’, a region so generously defined as to embrace the whole of
Latin Christian Europe from Ireland to Hungary and Poland.
National enterprises for the preservation of historical sources in
libraries and in scholarly editions were, of course, linked with nation­
alistic wishes to record the past of a particular region and to foster the
political as well as the historical identity of the people of that region.
This was as true of the so-called ‘national’ histories written in the
early middle ages as of the use made of the medieval past by many
subsequent generations. One has only to think of François Hotman’s
Francogallia (1573), which attempted to prove the derivation from
Frankish tradition of the consultative assembly and the dependence
of the king upon his people, or the cult of King Alfred by the Victori­
ans. Twentieth-century examples also spring to mind, such as the
 INTRODUCTION 7

Council of Europe exhibition on Charlemagne, planned in the after-

math of the Second World War and the beginnings of the European
Community and finally staged in 1965; the anniversary celebration of
the conversion of the Rus in 1988; the extraordinary circumstances
surrounding the papal visit to France in 1996 to celebrate the 1500th
anniversary of the baptism of Clovis, first Christian king of the
Franks; the Paderborn exhibition of 1999 to celebrate the meeting
there between Charlemagne and Pope Leo III in 799; and the Council
of Europe exhibition on Otto the Great planned in Magdeburg for
2001. All these reflect the varied propagandistic, celebratory, political,
and academic exploitation of the early medieval past. Yet underlying
many of these commemorations remains the sense of a common
cultural and political inheritance across Europe and the imperative
need for all of us in the modern world to understand it fully.
All categories of sources, moreover, present images of their own
societies in a variety of media—art, buildings, coins, religious sym­
bols, political tracts, historiography, law, and a plethora of other
kinds of text—which it is for modern readers to analyse. One striking
feature of the early middle ages is the extent to which knowledge and
subsequent discussion of the barbarian kingdoms of early medieval
Europe have been shaped by the narrative histories written in these
kingdoms one or two centuries after their establishment. Once
labelled ‘national’ histories, these narratives provide, in their different
ways, a long and distinctive past for a particular people. They played a
crucial role in defining that people’s identity both at the time they
were written and subsequently. In the eyes of modern historians these
texts mirror the process of ethnogenesis, that is, the construction and
metamorphosis of political or professional groups into ethnic groups
and the birth of a ‘people’. The early medieval narratives also pro­
posed a special perspective for the peoples about whom they wrote,
quite apart from the selection of events and personalities on which
attention has been concentrated ever since. Gregory of Tours (d. 594),
for example, writing in Gaul in the later sixth century, started his
vigorous narrative with the Creation, Adam and Eve, and a selective
account of Old Testament history and the early Christian church
before he chronicled the violent deeds of the Frankish kings and
bishops of Gaul.
Gregory does so very cleverly and thereby makes the Franks the
new Chosen People in a direct line from the Children of Israel. By
8 ROSAMOND M CKITTERICK

contrast, Jordanes the Goth (d. 552), and the Lombard Paul the Dea­
con (d. 799) from northern Italy provide accounts of the Goths and
the Lombards which stress the ancient Germanic origins of the
people. Bede (d. 735) in his Ecclesiastical History of the English People
emphasizes above all the Christianity of the English and their kings
and the church’s connections with Rome. The narrators of Frankish
history in the eighth, ninth, and tenth centuries similarly focus on the
identity and triumphs of the Christian Franks. The histories written
in England and Germany in the later ninth and the tenth centuries
celebrate the emergence of strong united kingdoms under the kings
of the house of Wessex and of the ‘Ottoman* or Saxon rulers,
respectively.
All these writers, drawing on oral and written tradition and social
memory, constructed an immensely influential and powerful image
of their society and its events. They created what can be recognized as
attempts to establish an agreed version of their pasts. Anyone study­
ing the early middle ages, therefore, has to exploit all other available
sources in order to provide a counterweight to the extent to which the
narrative sources have set the agenda for our understanding of the
past they portray.
To a great degree, moreover, the extant sources are primarily those
of the social elites, though local charter evidence and the material
evidence permits some indication of people in the lower strata of
society. It is important not to underestimate the authority of the
written word and the levels of pragmatic literacy in the various king­
doms of western Europe. Texts had many practical uses as well as
symbolic force in early medieval Europe. Old assumptions about lit­
eracy being the preserve of a small clerical elite simply do not accord
with the great variety of uses of literacy that have now been identified
in the material surviving from the early middle ages. Patterns of
literacy in the Roman world persisted side by side with new ways of
exploiting writing in the Germanic kingdoms. The strongly textual
culture of the early middle ages provided secure foundations for the
subsequent further expansion of literacy in the later middle ages.
Nevertheless, what survives is a predominantly, though not
exclusively, elite perspective of the course of events in early medieval
Europe. Literate skills were concentrated in the leading lay and cleri­
cal groups. Although ecclesiastical institutions have been best able to
preserve records of the past, moreover, it is by no means the case that
 INTRODUCTION 9

all our material is from clerical writers or clerical sources. The grow­
ing recognition of the sheer volume of material relating to secular
society as well as the degree to which lay and clerical interests
and activities were intertwined is something which is stressed and
elaborated in every chapter in this book.
The majority of the extant written sources for the period are
in Latin. In the areas once part of the Roman empire, Latin was
effectively the vernacular and it gradually evolved into the various
Romance languages of western Europe. There were also the vernacu­
lars such as Irish, Old English, Old Norse, Frisian, Old Saxon, Old
High German, Hebrew, and the Slav languages, and in the east a host
more such as Greek, Coptic, Arabic, Syriac, Armenian, and Aramaic.
Apart from Arabic Spain, Latin, whether as first or second language
of the people, was the language of liturgy, learning, and the law in the
west (though in Ireland, Scandinavia, and England the laws were in
the vernacular). This created coherence and an ease of communica­
tion across political boundaries, just as the Christian religion, itself a
remarkable amalgamation of different traditions, helped to forge a
common culture.
Inevitably there can be dispute about how to interpret particular
texts or objects. So too, it is difficult to gauge the influence the time
and place of production or the author’s or craftsman’s intentions
may have had on the information a text or object purports to contain.
We offer our particular interpretations of the evidence with emphases
and details on which we are agreed, but we wish to stress that it would
be unrealistic to expect a comprehensive treatment of the period. The
fine line between a coherent account which omits some things and a
jumble of information is one we have tried not to cross. What we
have tried to convey is a sense of the principal developments and the
complexities and excitements of this period, and some of the new
interpretations of it.

Events
The remaining task of this introduction is to provide the basic
chronological framework for the period C.400-C.1000.
To write the history of the period between the fourth and sixth
10 ROSAMOND M CKITTERICK

centuries and of the ‘fall of the Roman empire’ and the ‘barbarian
invasions’ was once a simple matter. The sack of Rome by Alaric and
his Goths in 410, luridly described in far-off Palestine by Jerome, who
cribbed his details from the biblical account of the sack of Jerusalem,
could be taken as the leitmotif for barbarian behaviour. The
deposition of Romulus Augustulus, the ‘last emperor in the west’, in
476 could be taken as a neat break. It was not difficult to add in
concepts of decline and decadence (encouraged by sòme contempor­
ary and localized ecclesiastical comment) and emotional rhetoric
about the ravening barbarian hordes pouring out of the Germanic
forests across the Rhine and Danube, destroying Roman civilization
as they came. The notion of a Dark Age that descended upon Europe
proved very resilient and perversely attractive. But, of course, it was
not as simple as that.

The establishment o f the early

barbarian kingdoms
The growing strength of the Huns in the region north of the Black
Sea in the late fourth century appears to have encouraged, if not
forced, other groups, identified in Roman sources as the Vandals,
Sueves, Alans, and Goths, to advance into Roman territory. In the
east, the Goths, for example, were permitted by the Roman authori­
ties to cross the Danube and settle in Thrace in 376. In rebellion
against their dreadful living conditions, they inflicted a heavy defeat
on the Romans at Adrianople in 378. Thereafter they were established
as federates (supporting defensive troops for the Romans).
This federate arrangement and the use of tribal groups either as
mercenaries or as regular sections of the Roman army were in fact the
commonest forms of relations between the Roman authorities and
the ‘barbarians’. The word ‘barbarian’ itself originally simply meant a
non-Greek speaker, a man who could only make the sound ‘ba-ba’.
It came to mean non-Latin speaker, non-Roman or foreign. In
the extensive frontier regions, moreover, and most particularly in the
Rhine and Danube areas, daily contact between the Roman garrisons
and their supporting networks of administration involved the
peoples settled in the area and thus ensured a steady interchange.
 INTRODUCTION 11

This was enriched by the supply of provisions, gear, tools, news,

building materials, luxuries, and livestock. Recent studies and the
increasingly abundant archaeological evidence have emphasized
the mixed nature of the societies in these frontier zones.
Similarly, in the west, Sueves, Alans, Burgundians, and Franks
appear to have crossed the Rhine by the beginning of the fifth century
(groups and individuals had done so for more than a century earlier)
and it seems likely that most were settled under federate troop
arrangements within the Roman provinces of Gaul, Germany, and
Spain. It was also as invited troops that Alaric and his Visigoths first
assisted Stilicho, then commander-in-chief of the western Roman
army and related by marriage to the emperor Theodosius II, in a
campaign in Illyricum. But the campaign was called off, and pleas by
Alaric to be paid fell on deaf ears. Only after a series of fruitless
negotiations to secure payment for his army, did Alaric finally sack
Rome in 410 and leave Italy to seek employment for his warriors
elsewhere. Eventually the Visigoths, after a brief period of fighting for
the Romans in Spain, were established in south-west Gaul in 418 by
the praetorian prefect. In due course they expanded over the area
south of the Loire and took over the rulership of the whole region.
The Vandals, on the other hand, invaded North Africa and by 450 had
established control and captured most of the coastal provinces,
including Carthage. The Huns in the meantime, famous for their
ferocity in battle and under the leadership of Attila, attacked both the
eastern and the western empires. Attila was decisively beaten by the
Roman troops on the Catalaunian plains in 451 and died of a violent
nosebleed soon afterwards. Hunnic power dwindled rapidly
thereafter.
In the course of the fifth century the political life and administra­
tive arrangements of the western (Latin) empire and eastern (Greek)
empire were increasingly divided, and the central control of the west­
ern emperor became less effective. This process was assisted by the
apparent lack of interest on the part of the emperor in the affairs of
the various western provinces. The Emperor Honorius, for example,
failed to replace the legions withdrawn from Britain early in the fifth
century. There is a particularly marked diminution of contact and
interest maintained between Italy, on the one hand, and Gaul and
Spain, on the other, from the middle of the fifth century onwards. So
dissatisfied with the situation were the people in southern Gaul
12 ROSAMOND M CKITTERICK

indeed, that in the 450s the Visigothic military rulers and members
of the Gallo-Roman senatorial aristocracy joined forces to elevate
the Gallo-Roman Avitus to the imperial throne. Within Italy itself the
rapid succession of emperors, who with few exceptions were but
the puppets of factions, enabled the commanders-in-chief of the
Roman armies, many of whom were, more often than not, themselves
of barbarian origin (such as Stilicho, Ricimer, or Odoacer) to become
de facto rulers.
In Italy, Odoacer’s assumption of control and deposition of the 16-
year-old emperor Romulus Augustulus in 476 was simply one of a
succession of political coups and interregna. Despite the existence of
another western emperor, Julius Nepos, who took refuge in Dalmatia
and did not die until 480, Odoacer simply ruled as ‘king’ in Italy in
the name of the eastern emperor, Zeno. Theodoric the Ostrogoth
invaded Italy at the request of Zeno, got rid of Odoacer by treacher­
ously inviting him to dinner to discuss terms and then murdering
him, and took control in 493. His rule as king of the Goths and
Romans in Italy was recognized by the eastern emperor Anastasius,
Zeno’s successor. Theodoric ruled the peoples of Italy peacefully for
the next thirty years, though the three decades after his death saw the
violent efforts of the Byzantines to reconquer Italy. The Gothic wars
of the first half of the sixth century enabled the Lombards, another
Germanic group from Pannonia (roughly equivalent to present-day
Hungary) who had originally served as mercenaries for the Byzan­
tine armies in Italy, to invade and settle in the Po plain and set up
their own northern kingdom based at Pavia, but with duchies in
Spoleto and Benevento in central Italy as well. The Byzantines
retained control of the north-east portion around Ravenna until the
eighth century and also of the southern tip of Italy until well into the
tenth century. The pope had his own small territory of the ‘Republic
of St Peter’ around Rome and by the later eighth century had suc­
ceeded in casting off even any lingering or nominal deference to
Byzantium.
In southern Gaul the Visigoths who had assumed complete control
in the south, once the central authority of the western Roman empire
ceased to exist, were ousted in 507 by the Franks from the north.
From the second decade of the sixth century, therefore, the Visigoths
ruled only in Spain over a mixed population of Hispano-Romans and
Visigoths until defeated in their turn by the Arabs and Berbers in 711.
 INTRODUCTION | I3

Some of the Visigothic ruling elites were able to retreat to found the
northern Christian kingdoms of Spain. It was from Leon and Castile,
centuries later, that the Reconquista started, culminating with the
expulsion of the Arabs from Spain in 1492.
In northern Gaul the Franks under the Merovingian rulers—
Clovis, his sons, and grandsons—in the sixth century systematically
expanded their territory by military conquest of Visigothic Aquitaine
and Provence, of the Burgundian kingdoms, and of the Rhineland
Frankish kingdoms. In partnership with the Gallo-Roman aristocracy
and the episcopate, they created a strong polity securely based on the
foundations of the Roman provincial administration they had taken
over. Even within Gaul, however, some areas such as Brittany, Bavaria,
Frisia, Rhaetia, and the territories of the Alemans (in what is now
southern Germany and Switzerland) remained independent, though
it was a Frankish family, the Agilolfings, who appear to have estab­
lished their rule in Bavaria. There are indications that in England at
least Kent, among the new territorial kingdoms based on various
Anglian and Saxon tribal units, was in some way subservient to the
Merovingian kings. Certainly links between Frankish Gaul and Eng­
land were strong, particularly in the spheres of trade and the work of
the church, as they were with Ireland.
In all these emergent kingdoms of western Europe the local reac­
tions to the political shock of the demise of the western emperor were
very different. But in no case was there a brutal and immediate
imposition of an alien political system on a conquered people. To a
considerable degree the incoming Franks, Vandals, Visigoths, Sueves,
Burgundians, Ostrogoths, Lombards, and the like had intermarried
with and adopted the language and mores, institutions, and culture
of the people among whom they had settled, often long before the
end of the fifth century. Although many of the Germanic peoples
were Arian rather than Catholic Christians, and had been Christian,
moreover, before they settled within the empire, most accepted
orthodox Christianity in due course. No doubt the strongly
entrenched Catholic ecclesiastical hierarchies of the former Roman
provinces exerted considerable pressure on them to do so. Assimila­
tion and transformation were very gradual processes. Many Roman
traditions and institutions also disappeared or simply became redun­
dant in the process, not least the arenas and amphitheatres for the
circuses and games once supported by the state and municipal
authorities.
14 ROSAMOND MCKITTERICK

It is all very well to speak of settlement, transformation, and the

like, but where did the notion of invasion, coupled with the violent
destruction of the western Roman empire, originate? In part it is due
to contemporary observers, recording local short-term crises, dra­
matic takeovers, and upheaval. Commanders were changed; the
rulers were replaced. The military elites, full of those identified as
non-Romans and foreign troops, played a major role. Some, such as
the Vandal regime in Northern Africa, were decidedly aggressive
towards the Catholic Romans in their midst. Elsewhere the picture
is more complicated. Occasionally we get a glimpse of what it was
like to see the world ostensibly change before one’s eyes. Sidonius
Apollinaris (d. 479x486) in Gaul, for example, speaks of the often
conciliatory policies adopted by his Roman contemporaries in terms
of containing the power of the Visigoths. But of Euric (d. 484), the
Visigothic ruler, he says that the king may in fact be able to ‘protect
the dwindled Tiber’, that is, help to conserve the trappings of Roman
civilization prized by Sidonius and his contemporaries. In Italy,
Romulus Augustulus’ deposition was not a signal for anarchy. Rather
Odoacer and Theodoric both continued the pattern of Roman gov­
ernment and bureaucracy. In northern Gaul, Childeric, father of
Clovis, appears to have acted as military governor of a Roman prov­
ince and Clovis succeeded to his father’s power in 481, ruling Romans
and Franks and supported by Remigius, archbishop of Rheims and
his ecclesiastical colleagues.
Major physical upheaval was rare, as distinct from the beginnings
of slow but ultimately radical changes in society and political organ­
ization, as we shall see in subsequent chapters. In Italy, the real dis­
ruption, as it was to a lesser extent in Spain and Africa, was not the
Vandals or Goths but the Byzantine reconquest. Yet as it turned out,
Byzantium was unable to consolidate its conquests. Byzantine rule
was replaced, in North Africa and Spain at least, by the Arabs. The
picture of forceful barbarian invasion in the fifth century may have
been influenced by some Byzantine historians of the sixth century,
overanxious to justify Justinian’s wars of reconquest in the western
empire. In the archaeological record it is primarily in association with
the Byzantine wars of reconquest that layers of destruction are to be
observed.
 INTRODUCTION 15

Byzantium
The crisis for the Byzantine empire came in the seventh century, with
the long war against the Persians and then, in 636-642, the conquest
by the Arabs of two-thirds of the lands of the empire and probably
three-quarters of its wealth. Byzantium was left with the Aegean Sea,
and the Anatolian plateau to its east, which was both poor and
exposed to Arab raiding. Most of the Balkans, too, was temporarily
lost in this period to the Slavs. This was retraction on a massive scale.
Everything had to be refigured as a result. The Arab conquests even­
tually effected far more of a transformation in the east than the
earlier settlements of Germanic peoples within the Roman empire
had effected in the west. It is also important to remember that Arab
presence made itself felt in the west, most crucially in the Spanish
peninsula and the establishment there of Arab rule after 711, but also
in the small colonies, trading settlements, and pirate camps scattered
throughout the Mediterranean, especially in Sicily, southern Italy,
Corsica, and Sardinia.
As a result of never ceasing to tax, Constantinople remained rich
and populous, and money was available to fund the extensive civilian
bureaucracy there; but the army, too, remained partly salaried, and
imperial hegemony over its structures was correspondingly far
greater. The Byzantines maintained territorial armies, with precisely
delimited geographical remits, whose structure was quite unlike the
armed aristocratic clienteles of the west. Consequently, political prac­
tice was different. Even after 700, the major dangers to emperors
were coups by bureaucratic or military factions, in a classic Roman
tradition rather than the decentralization and potential break-up
of the contemporary Carolingian world. The mystique of the Byzan­
tine imperial court, increasingly elaborated under such emperors as
Justinian, Heraclius, or Basil I, helps to account for this cohesiveness
in the absence of particularly abundant Byzantine economic or mili­
tary resources. Indeed, regional separatism was barely a problem for
the Byzantines at all until long after 1000, if we except some of the
seventh- and eighth-century outposts of the empire in Italy such as
Rome, Naples, and Venice, which did slip out of Constantinople’s
control. It is also probable that the coherence of imperial power, and
l6 I ROSAMOND MCKITTERICK

the relative unimportance of military elites, was maintained for a

long time in the lands nearest the capital, in the northern Aegean and
in what is now north-west Turkey, which were also among the richest
parts of Byzantium. The parts of the empire most like the west, Ana­
tolia and (later) the Balkans, were also the most marginal and the
poorest.

The emergence o f the Carolingians

The period from the seventh century to the beginning of the
eleventh century in western Europe is dominated by the Frankish
expansion within Europe led by the Carolingian family and their
successors. The leading males of the Carolingian family had suc­
ceeded in monopolizing the senior position of mayor of the palace in
Austrasia (the eastern part of the Merovingian kingdom in the lower
Rhine, Moselle, and Meuse regions) by the end of the seventh cen­
tury. A judicious series of marriages enhanced their personal wealth
and they gradually extended their power and influence over Neustria,
that is, the area between the Seine and the Loire, and Burgundy (the
upper Rhone and Saône river valleys and western present-day
Switzerland).
The steady series of Frankish conquests led by the Carolingian
rulers Charles Martel, Pippin III, and Charlemagne in the course
of the eighth century, during which Alemannia, Frisia, Aquitaine,
the Lombard kingdom of northern Italy, Septimania, Bavaria, Sax­
ony, and Brittany were added to the Frankish heartlands in Gaul,
created a vast empire. Expansion ceased for a time from about 803,
with military strategies thereafter concentrated on defence and
consolidation. With the Treaty of Verdun in 843, the territory was
divided into separate kingdoms for the benefit of Charlemagne’s
grandsons, but the empire remained under the various members of
one family.
The consolidation of Carolingian strength and creation of solidar­
ity among the elite within the kingdom was made possible by the
warrior leadership the Carolingian rulers offered. They rallied Frank­
ish forces against outside threats such as those offered by the Frisians,
Saxons, Avars, and Arabs in the eighth century, and by the Vikings
 INTRODUCTION 17

and Magyars in the ninth and tenth centuries. Although such raids
and incursions considerably disrupted the political life of the differ­
ent regions of the empire, they had little lasting impact on it as a
territorial or cultural entity. The spread of Carolingian education and
culture (see below, Chapter 5), the foundation of new bishoprics and
new monasteries, and the creation of Frankish and Christian frame­
works for social and political life were important and enduring
achievements. The personnel of these bishoprics and monasteries as
well as the leading lay magnates played a crucial role in the kingdom,
both in their own institutions and in the assemblies convened by the
ruler.
As a political system, the Carolingian empire is a conscious emula­
tion of the Roman past, not least because it re-created within its
boundaries much of the old former territory of the western Roman
empire itself. It was the late Roman Christian empire above all, and in
particular the Christian emperors Constantine and Theodosius, who
provided the strongest inspiration for the Frankish rulers. Such
inspiration is reflected visibly, moreover, in the physical structures of
many Carolingian church buildings such as the palace chapel at
Aachen modelled on the church of San Vitale in Ravenna. Other
churches emulated the great fourth- and fifth-century basilicas of
Rome.
The protection of the papacy, moreover, became an increasingly
urgent task. In 754, the Carolingian king, Pippin III, had become the
protector of the Holy See. This was a role that enhanced both the
king’s prestige and, in his family’s eyes at least, his legitimacy. The
relationship culminated in the crowning of Charlemagne as emperor
by Pope Leo III in Rome on Christmas Day 800. It was an office
which carried with it the rulership of northern Italy and protection of
Rome. Until well into the tenth century, one of the Carolingian rulers
held the title of emperor and he was at least nominally the superior of
his brothers, cousins, and nephews. The imperial coronation was thus
of great symbolic significance with real if limited practical effect, even
though when first conferred in 800 it had seemed simply an extra title
redolent of the strong Roman heritage of the Franks. Certainly as far
as Charlemagne was concerned it made no difference to his actual
power. Nevertheless the relationship thus created between the west­
ern rulers and the papacy was to have ramifications and repercus­
sions throughout the middle ages, particularly once the papacy
i8 ROSAMOND M CKITTERICK

started to develop the implications of the papal office and papal

authority and ideology vis-à-vis secular power from the 1050s
onwards.

The tenth century

In the tenth century the political and economic contacts between the
Scandinavian and Slavic peoples and the older established kingdoms
of western Europe, Britain, and the eastern Mediterranean intensi­
fied. Viking adventurers established farming communities and trad­
ing centres in Russia at Staraia Ladoga, Kiev, and Novgorod and far
across the north Atlantic in Iceland, Greenland, Newfoundlànd as
well as north of Britain in the Orkneys, Shetlands, Hebrides, and on
the Isle of Man, in Ireland, northern and eastern England, and west­
ern France in what became Normandy. The peoples to the north,
east, and south of the Frankish kingdoms, notably the Obodrites,
Sorbs, Moravians, Bohemians, Poles, Bulgars, Slovenes, and Magyars
interacted with their Frankish and Byzantine neighbours in both
the political and ecclesiastical spheres, with support sought or
imposed for particular contenders for political leadership or the infil­
tration of Christian missionaries. It was, indeed, primarily in their
rivalry over the exertion of influence in the Slavic regions that the
west European kingdoms and the Byzantine empire had the most
contact.
The Carolingian empire was divided into many smaller king­
doms and duchies. New kingdoms such as those of Burgundy,
Poland, Hungary, Croatia, Bulgaria, quite apart from those of
Denmark, Norway, Scotland, Wales and Ireland, and the Venetian
Republic, had emerged by the end of the tenth century. The
Ottonian rulers in Germany built a new empire which stretched
from the Baltic to the Mediterranean and Otto I emulated Charle­
magne in being crowned emperor in Rome in 962. The new
Capetian dynasty in France which replaced the Carolingian family
in 987 ruled over a disparate set of semi-autonomous territorial
principalities. Yet many ties, symbolic and real (not least those of
marriage among the ruling elites), continued to bond the whole
together, most notably in those territories which had once been
 INTRODUCTION 19

part of the Carolingian polity. The achievement and legend of

Charlemagne himself proved powerful inspirations for his many
successors.
Figure 3 Charles the Bald, king o f the west Franks (840-877), enthroned
 1

Politics
Rosamond McKitterick

The politics of Europe in the early middle ages have rarely been
considered as a whole. Rather, separate considerations of the many
regions of Europe, on the one hand, and on the other, a predomin­
antly franco-centric perspective from which generalizations have
been made, have tended to influence interpretations and understand­
ing of political developments overall. Only a systematic and detailed
comparison of the various polities of western Europe could deter­
mine how valid generalizations about the politics of medieval Europe
might be. This would be far beyond the remit of this chapter. An
attempt needs to be made, nevertheless, to analyse the political struc­
tures, behaviour, and ideologies of western Europe in this six-
hundred-year period. I shall do so in terms of political control and
cultures of power, and determine what these polities had in common
as well as the many changes over time.
Above all, the very particular political and social emphases of this
period need to be seen, first, in the context of the gradual transform­
ation of the Roman world in the earlier part of the period. Secondly,
from the eighth century onwards, the exercise of political authority
by the Franks was determined both by their conquests and expansion
east and north into areas which had not been part of the Roman
empire and by the incorporation of new peoples to be governed.
The limits of the Frankish kingdoms of the Carolingian rulers in the
north and east were virtually also those of Latin Christianity for the
later third of this period. In the west and south, however, there are
also the Christian kingdoms of Britain, Ireland, Benevento, and
northern Spain to be considered. Further, there are the areas where
Latin and Greek Christianity each tried to exert an influence, such
as Moravia and Bulgaria. In the Ottonian period of the later tenth
22 ROSAMOND M CKITTERICK

century, moreover, there was a further expansion of Latin Christen­

dom into Scandinavia, Poland, and Hungary, while the Kievan Rus
were converted to Christianity from Byzantium. The extent of the
Frankish realm certainly contributed substantially to the configura­
tion of later medieval Europe and to the orientations of its politics.
Yet it is important to note that the Frankish frontiers were inherited
from those the Carolingian rulers subjected to Frankish rule rather
than being the outcome of deliberate strategic choice. In other words,
the Franks adapted to existing configurations even if we cannot now
reconstruct these with any precision.
The Frankish empire at its height stretched from Brittany to Carin-
thia, from the Pyrenees and northern Italy to the North Sea and the
Baltic. It comprised many different people. Thus, relations between
the centre and these (from a Frankish perspective) peripheral régions
are of central importance for our understanding of government from
the eighth century onwards. The frontiers remained regions of inter­
change and channels of communication for military leaders and local
officials, merchants, pilgrims, and the local populations, just as they
had been in the Roman empire. Nevertheless, the peoples on the
peripheries of the Frankish realms in their turn had independent
relations with the peoples to their north, south, west, and east. Expan­
sion of territory and the consolidation of political control also
brought new contacts and required new efforts within the peripheral
regions to maintain peace and stability. The narrative sources in par­
ticular are full of accounts of embassies and special meetings to
arrange truces or conclude peace between warring bands. Of the con­
summate skill with which early medieval rulers conducted relations
with their neighbours (the Byzantine rulers are the best documented),
and the degree to which there were formal protocols and ‘intelligence’
brought to bear on ‘foreign relations’, we can occasionally gain
glimpses in the archaeological and literary records of the period.1
Beyond the Frankish sphere of control but still in interaction of
some kind with it were Scandinavia, the British Isles, Moorish Spain,
the papacy, Byzantium, the Balkans, and eastern Europe. Due both to
the enormous area under Frankish jurisdiction in the ninth century,
and to the contacts with their neighbouring polities, Frankish
influences in both the practice and the ideology of ruling are as

1 See Chapter 6.
 POLITICS I 23

crucial an element of the political formation of Europe as the Roman

legacy. Indeed, the emergence of particular rulers and styles of ruler-
ship that we can see in such regions as Croatia or Denmark in the
ninth and tenth centuries was a direct outcome of contact with the
Franks.

Late Roman political structures

The Notitia Dignitatum, a ‘list of all ranks and administrative posi­
tions both civil and military’ describes, rather unsystematically, the
elaborate administrative structures of the Roman empire at the end
of the fourth century and thus the beginning of the period covered in
this book. Such was the extent of the empire, that ‘delegation was an
inescapable corollary of autocracy’.2 So, possibly, was corruption. The
civil administration of the empire was divided into provinces, each
administered by a governor. His responsibility embraced local affairs
of finance, justice, and administration. A province was divided into
dioceses supervised by a vicarius. The dioceses themselves were
grouped into four huge prefectures, each one under a powerful civil
official called the praetorian prefect. Each had overall responsibility
for the administration of the empire in Gaul (including Britain and
Spain), Italy (including Africa), Illyricum (the Balkan region), and
the east, respectively. All these officials were served by hierarchies of
bureaucrats dependent on extensive written communications and
records for the documentation of their work. Yet the career of a
military general such as Aetius, equally renowned for his negotiations
with the Burgundians and Goths and for his defeat of Attila the Hun
on the Catalaunian plains in 451, is an indication of how the military
leadership within a province or prefecture could overlie, or be com­
bined with, its civil counterpart. This was perhaps to be expected in a
system in which the emperor himself, more often than not, emerged
from the ranks of the army and where the commander-in-chief of the
Roman army was the principal support for the emperor’s position,
notably in the fifth century in the west.

2 C. Kelly, ‘Empire building’, in G. Bowersock, R Brown, and O. Grabar (eds.) Late

Antiquity: A Guide to the Postclassical World (Cambridge, Mass., and London, 1999),
pp. 170-95, at p. 176.
24 ROSAMOND M CKITTERICK

There was also a close relationship between war and political

power. Internal civil wars were an even greater threat to stability and
imperial security than the peoples on the frontiers. Many of the
peoples just beyond the empire in the frontier regions were recruited
to swell the ranks of the armies of contenders for political power
within the empire and many of their leaders in consequence rose to
civil and military prominence within the empire. These included
Stilicho the Skirian (d. 408), magister militum of the Roman army
and nephew-in-law of the Emperor Theodosius who invited Alaric
and the Goths to Illyricum to act as mercenaries on a Roman military
campaign and who is allegedly buried in a magnificent tomb in the
church of San Ambrogio in Milan. Gundobad, king of the Burgundi­
ans (474-518) was formerly magister militum of the Roman army.
King Euric the Visigoth (466-484) ruled both the Goths settled by the
Roman authorities in Aquitaine and the Gallo-Romans. Childeric,
father of Clovis, king of the Franks (d. 481), whose sumptuous grave
was uncovered at Tournai in 1653, appears to have been the provincial
governor of the second Belgic province in northern Gaul at the end of
the fifth century.

The early medieval kingdoms o f Europe

With the demise of central Roman government, the structures of
provincial government and their methods of documentation which
persisted in the west, with the barbarian leaders assuming civil
responsibilities, aided by Roman officials, combined with the mili­
tary leadership of the war-bands. Consequently, the structures and
methods of the imperial bureaucracy associated with the provincial
governorship also persisted within the early barbarian kingdoms.
Thus, Sidonius Apollinaris, a Gallo-Roman aristocrat living in the
Auvergne, refers to the rule of the Gothic kings, Theodoric and Euric
in southern Gaul, and tells us of his colleagues Leo, who ‘every day
in the councils of the king gathered information about the world’s
affairs’,3 and Syagrius who had mastered German, translated letters,

3 Sidonius Apollinaris, Poems and Letters, ed. and trans. W. B. Anderson (London
and Cambridge, Mass., 1963), II, Ep. IV. 22, p. 147.
 POLITICS I 25

and was ‘the new Solon of the Burgundians in discussing their

laws’.4
In the east, as will be seen below, the Roman system was also
continually adapted, especially from the seventh century onwards, to
accommodate the new political situation. Elsewhere, those areas
which were developing outside the Roman imperial system, such as
Scandinavia, the Slav lands, and Ireland had their own forms of leader­
ship in time of war and peace, and their own methods of regulating
a community’s behaviour and preserving order and justice. These
were no doubt effective in their own terms. By the time they are
described in the written records, however, the influence of classical
and Christian antiquity as mediated through the Christian church
can be observed, such as the strong mark of the Old Testament on the
laws and conceptions of kingship in Ireland. This makes it difficult to
reconstruct the pre-Christian organization with any confidence. Fur­
ther areas outside the former Roman empire are recorded in the first
instance by observers from within the Romanized area who translate
what they see into terms familiar to them and write, moreover, in a
Latin already carrying extra connotations. Thus, Frankish references
to the Slavs or Scandinavians are of limited value in constructing
the political structures of these regions before the introduction of
Christianity or the establishment of contacts with the rest of Europe.
Despite the enduring strength of the Roman legacy, the emergent
political structures of Europe in the sixth, seventh, and eighth centur­
ies should be understood on their own terms. It is a mistake to see the
kingdoms of early medieval Europe either as a messy version of the
late Roman social and political patterns or as rudimentary versions of
that which existed in Europe from the eleventh century onwards.
Nevertheless, the political arrangements of the early barbarian
successor states were a consequence of the peculiar circumstances of
the fifth century and of the immediate aftermath of the deposition
of the last Roman emperor in the west in 476. Regions that had
hitherto been under Roman rule now lacked any attempt at guidance,
exploitation, or control from a central government. The local popula­
tions were a mixture of people born there, military garrisons, and
families originally from elsewhere in the empire who had become
landowners and office-holders in the local civil and ecclesiastical

4 Ibid., Ep. V. 5, p. 183.

26 I ROSAMOND MCKITTERICK

hierarchies. Together they were left to their own devices. The precise
ways in which political leaders and institutions emerged in the fifth
and sixth centuries, however, is often obscure. In Britain, for example,
there is little besides surmise, modern reconstructions arguing back­
wards from a situation from a century and more after Roman central
government ceased to be effective, and from a wealth of archaeo­
logical material. The imposition of a clear structure of kingdoms in
England before the eighth century was the work of historians from
the eighth century onwards, who no doubt found it difficult to
imagine any other political arrangements. Bede at least, however, was
aware of the complexities of the existing arrangeménts.5 The archaeo­
logical evidence from England indicates that small kingdoms were
beginning to crystallize only from about 600 onwards.
On the Continent the evidence is more substantial and thé take­
over of administration and government by local elites, the army, and
the army’s barbarian federates and allies is clear. It was a situation in
which the leaders were those who had wealth and who could rely on
armed might. In the earliest written sources from the barbarian suc­
cessor states these new rulers are identified as the kings of people who
now occupied formerly Roman provinces and ruled over a mixed
population.
There is a lack of clarity in the primary evidence and lively dispute
among modern historians about the origins and identities of these
peoples—Romans, ‘Gallo-Romans’, ‘Hispano-Romans’, ‘Romano-
Britons’, Piets, Scots, Franks, Goths, Lombards, Burgundians, Sueves,
Alemans, Vandals, Angles, Saxons, and so on. Such identities were not
a matter of biological ethnicity but were in part constructed retro­
spectively, that is, invented; they are part of a process described by
modern scholars as ethnogenesis. Such cultural construction is to be
observed most notably in histories written from the sixth century
onwards, such as Jordanes on the Goths, which narrated the origins
of the different peoples. The legendary origins of the royal families
provided a crucial focus. Their victories over rivals for power, won
with the help of their loyal followers, on behalf of the people over
whom they ruled, consolidated the sense of loyalty and political
belonging. Yet law and the extent of the political power and jurisdic­

5 James Campbell, ‘Bede’s reges et principes’, Jarrow Lecture, 1979 (Jarrow, 1980)
reprinted in Essays in Anglo-Saxon History (London, 1986), pp. 85-98.
 POLITICS I 27

tion of a particular ruler, as will be seen below, assisted in the process

of the construction of political identities regardless of ethnic origin.
In other words, in ethnogenesis we are dealing not with objectively
existing ‘tribes’ but with identities created by texts.
Comparisons might be drawn between these early kingdoms and a
commonwealth of nations, each gradually seeking independence
from the old imperial, provincial, or colonial structures to which they
had once been subject. Archaeological evidence cannot help in estab­
lishing identity, though what can be discerned are major changes in
the lifestyle and the nature and concentration of the material evi­
dence. Indeed, to persist in a search for old identities such as ‘Roman’
or ‘non-Roman’ at the expense of the new is like worrying about the
proportion of eggs, cheese, and flour in a soufflé when eating it.
Rather we should seek to understand how these groups of peoples
together ordered their society.
As we might expect, their methods of government were a com­
bination of inherited structures and procedures and innovations
designed to adapt to local and immediate circumstances. Thus, the
barbarian kingdoms fitted, more or less, into the former Roman
administrative structures of provinces, assisted by the civitas divisions
(that is, the administrative area of a city with its dependent territory)
which were taken over by the church to define episcopal dioceses. Just
as the extent of the Roman imperial administration’s jurisdiction had
defined the territorial limits of the empire outlined in documents
such as the Notitia Dignitatum referred to above, so the degree of
each ruler’s jurisdiction defined his kingdom in the early middle ages.
It is important to note, however, that the kings were generally (but
not always) called kings of peoples rather than of a territory. Only
gradually in the course of this period were polities defined in clear
terms of territory and explicit geographical sensibility. The most
striking instance, and one which set a precedent, was the division of
the Frankish empire at the Treaty of Verdun in 843 between the three
surviving sons of the Emperor Louis the Pious.
Louis the German got everything east o f the Rhine and on [the western] side
o f it he got the civitates and districts o f Speyer, Worms and Mainz; Lothar got
the lands between the Rhine and the Scheldt where it runs into the sea, and
inland by way o f Cambrai, Hainault, the regions o f Lomme and o f Mézières
and the counties which lie next to each other on the western side o f the
Meuse down as far as where the Saône runs into the Rhone, and down the
28 ROSAMOND M CKITTERICK

Rhône to where it flows into the sea, likewise with the counties situated on
both sides o f it. Beyond these limits, though, all he got was Arras, and that
was through the generosity o f his brother Charles. Charles [the Bald] himself
was given everything else as far as Spain.6

In this case the kingdoms were defined in terms of regions in relation

to major rivers, civitates (that is, dioceses), and counties. The division
created the middle kingdom of Lotharingia, an area over which
disputes were constant and not finally settled until 1945.
Small units, such as the diocese or the county (or pagus in the
Frankish realms) were administered by officials acting for the king.
Other administrative units were devised in due course, such as the
ealdordoms, shires, and hundreds in England or the themes in Byzan­
tium. The military element in these divisions varied. The count or his
equivalent would often have judicial duties, charge of the mint and of
the upkeep of roads and bridges, and the obligation to summon the
army for military campaigns. Counts could be appointed to the office
from elsewhere or they could be local men. Towards the tenth century
there is an increasing tendency for these countships to be hereditarily
vested in a particular family and to be associated also with the land
held by the count. In the marcher or peripheral limits of kingdoms,
especially those of the Franks, the counts of the march probably had a
greater weight of responsibility for defence and relations with those
outside their own rulers’ jurisdiction.

The king
At the head of the administration of all the early medieval polities
was the king. He was the leader of the army. He assumed responsibil­
ity for the maintenance of justice and peace. As Roman emperors had
done before him, he issued legislation and did so with the agreement
and advice of all his leading men. From the beginning, moreover, the
king enjoyed a relationship with the church similar to that of the
Roman emperors. That is, his authority came from God and he was

6 Annals of St Bertin, ed. R. Rau, Quellen zur karolingischen Reichsgeschichte

2 (Darmstadt, 1972), p. 60; English trans. J. L. Nelson, The Annals of St-Bertin
(Manchester, 1991), p. 56.
 POLITICS I 29

responsible for the welfare and the salvation of his people. In 589, for
example,when inaugurating the change from Arian Christianity to
Catholicism in his kingdom, Reccared, king of the Visigoths in Spain,
affirmed, that ‘Omnipotent God has given us charge of the kingdom
for the profit of its peoples and has entrusted the rule of not a few
peoples to our Royal care.’7 This special responsibility became greatly
enhanced under the Carolingian rulers and was transmitted to sub­
sequent generations. A concern for the moral welfare of the subjects,
correct forms of worship, thought, and devotion, and the promotion
of education and learning in order to encourage right thinking and
understanding of the Christian faith became essential elements of the
ideology of Christian kingship. Rulers admonished and exhorted
their subjects to join in their effort to realize their vision of a Chris­
tian realm in which justice and order prevailed.
What was expected of a king in the early middle ages? The whole
answer to this question might be different if one were discussing, say,
Gundobad of the Burgundians in the late fifth century and early sixth
century, Æthelberht of Kent in the sixth century, Egica of the Visigoths
in seventh century Spain, or Charlemagne at the end of the eighth
century. This is not merely because circumstances were so obviously
different, but also because the primary sources we have vary so greatly.
By the time written accounts of rulers in the barbarian successor
states were made, in the sixth century and thereafter, some change in
the expectations of rulership from the fifth century might be
assumed. It is possible also to gain some notion from the recorded
actions of kings, especially in narrative histories, what they, and pos­
sibly their subjects also, assumed they could do. In this way practice
could provide a model for theory, and theory could elaborate the
practical possibilities of coercion and control within a political sys­
tem. The earliest opportunities to observe the barbarian rulers in
action are through the law codes attributed to them and the earliest
narratives about them. These include Victor of Vita’s condemnatory
accounts of the Arian Vandal rulers’ persecution of Catholics in fifth-
century North Africa; Gregory of Tours’s Histories, with his vivid
portraits of the axe-happy Merovingian Frankish rulers of the sixth

7 Reccared, profession of faith at the Third Council of Toledo, 589, ed. G. Martinez
Diez and F. Rodriguez, La Coleccion canònica hispana 5. Concilios Hispanos: segunda
parte, Monumenta Hispaniae Sacra, Serie Canònica 5 (Madrid, 1992), p. 54; English
trans. J. N. Hillgarth, Christianity and Paganism, 350-750 (Philadelphia, 1986), p. 90.
30 ROSAMOND MCKITTERICK

century; and Isidore of Seville’s History of the Goths, Sueves and Van­
dals, full of adulation for the Visigothic kings once they had become
Catholic in 589. The authors nevertheless make important assump­
tions about the power of the ruler and the spheres of his activities.
In their laws, the kings of early medieval Europe come closest to
emulating Roman rulers. Yet it is the warrior element of kingship in
the early middle ages which provides much of the explanation o f how
kingship worked. Leadership, tactical ability, judgement, decisiveness,
and a winning streak inspired both trust and loyalty. So much of the
effectiveness of political control might be attributed to the subjects’
feeling of security, or of being in strong hands. A successful ruler
would exploit all means of good government as a means of exerting
that control. He could also, of course, overstep the conventions of
good government, resort to fear and tyranny, and remove himself
from the bounds of the law.

The queen
Within the household, the king was supported by the queen. Her role
and the degree to which it may have altered during this period is still
being assessed, but it may be closely related to whether or not king-
ship was hereditary in the kingdoms. In many kingdoms, notably that
of the Visigoths and, to a lesser extent, that of the Lombards, kingship
was in principle elective and dynasties did not secure the throne.
Elsewhere, most successfully in Frankish Gaul under the Meroving­
ians and then the Carolingians, a dynastic succession from father to
one or more sons (by partible inheritance) or, as in Ireland, the suc­
cession of one son of the king, was established from at least the late
fifth century onwards. In still others, such as the Anglo-Saxon king­
doms, rulers appear to have been chosen from males in a leading kin
group and only gradually in the course of the later ninth century did
the dynastic succession of the house of Wessex from king to king’s
son become the norm. This remained the custom for the kings of
England. Only the Piets, possibly, diverged from the European pat­
tern of male descent with their apparently matrilinear succession to
the kingship, though this is much debated.
Some political and inheritance systems, therefore, such as those of
 POLITICS 31

the Anglo-Saxons, the Irish, and the Visigoths, apparently gave far less
prominence to the role of the queen than did those of the Franks or
the Greeks. This, however, may be due to the different perceptions
afforded by the existence of narrative sources. The importance of
Queen Theodelinda and possibly Gundeperga of the Lombards in
Italy in the seventh century should also be noted. In the Frankish and
Byzantine realms, the queen’s position was in part due to her ability
to produce male heirs. In Byzantium the term for the reigning
emperor’s consort was the Augusta. She was normally the wife of the
emperor but occasionally a widower would make his daughter or
even some other woman the Augusta, so important was it to have a
female persona in the ceremonial and court life. Overall in the west­
ern polities of Europe, however, she also appears to have been respon­
sible for the domestic affairs of the household, with officials under
her, and to have held the pursestrings for matters to do with the
provision of the court. Furthermore, as many charters, letters, and
narrative references make clear, the queen also had a role as mediator,
peace-broker, patron, and even as co-conspirator, as in the cases of
Goiswintha, queen of the Visigoths reported by Isidore of Seville to
have plotted with Bishop Uldida against the Catholic party of King
Reccared, or Rosamond, queen of the Lombards, who successfully
plotted to have her husband, King Alboin, murdered.8
A queen had, after all, her own special way of reaching the king’s
ear. Forceful personalities were able to exploit the potential for influ­
ence and power that their position as king’s wife afforded. This
extended to the ecclesiastical sphere as well, in terms of friendships
with clerics, the endowment of churches and monasteries, and the
patronage of particular scholars. In this respect early medieval queens
emulated the cultural activities of the Theodosian empresses of the
fifth century. This can be observed as much with Theodelinda, queen
of the Lombards in the sixth century as with Judith, wife of the
Emperor Louis the Pious in the ninth century.
It is striking, moreover, how many queens were left as regents
(whether de facto or de iure) for their young sons or grandsons in
this period: Amalasuintha of the Ostrogoths was regent for Athalaric

8 Paul the Deacon, Historia Langobardorum, II. 28, ed. G. Waitz, Monumenta
Germaniae Historica (hereafter MGH) Scriptores rerum germanicarum 48 (Hanover,
1878), pp. 104-5.
32 I ROSAMOND MCKITTERICK

in the sixth century and Brunhild, Balthild, and Nantechild of the

Franks for Theudebert II and Theuderic II, Chlothar III, and Clovis
II, respectively, in the sixth and seventh centuries; the Empress Irene
ruled for Constantine VI (d. 797) in Byzantium (and eventually over­
threw and replaced him); Adelaide and Theophano ruled on behalf of
Otto III (d. 1002) during his infancy in Germany in the late tenth
century. Other female members of the royal house, such as the king’s
daughters, sisters, and aunts can occasionally be documented extend­
ing political influence and patronage in very similar ways to those of
the queen herself. Ostensibly politically neutralized by marriage to
lesser nobles or being committed to the religious life, many noble and
royal women nevertheless achieved positions of considerable influ­
ence. The most striking instances are Gisela, Gisela the younger, and
Rotrud, the sister and daughters of Charlemagne, presiding over the
royal convent of Chelles but maintaining close associations with the
royal court. The female kin of Otto I of Germany in the tenth century
governed wealthy convents such as Quedlinburg and Gandersheim.
These convents functioned as five-star hotels for the royal entourage.9
The royal women thus played a crucial role in the royal itinerary and
the government of the Saxon kingdom.

Power and responsibility: consensus

The political behaviour of the peoples of the early middle ages can be
reconstructed from both their actions and their expectations
recorded in the primary sources. The narrative accounts, such as the
so-called national histories of the Franks, Goths, Lombards, and
Anglo-Saxons, and the extensive series of annals from all parts of
western Europe have been highly influential in determining much of
our current understanding of the cultures of power in this period.
These sources stress two things above all: consensus and closeness to
the ruler.
Hitherto, consensus has most often been discussed by modern his­
torians in the context of Frankish rule and has sometimes, wrongly,

9 See J. W. Bernhardt, Itinerant Kingship and Royal Monasteries in Early Medieval

Germany, 0.936-1075 (Cambridge, 1993).
 POLITICS 33

been regarded as an aspect of late Roman political influence rather

than as an original feature of early medieval govenment. Consensus
throws light on political practice, on the relationship between the
ruler and the nobility and on the different tensions of mutual
dependence, cooperation, opposition, and self-interest in the rela­
tions between the king and his magnates. It is difficult to elaborate
general principles about the way Carolingian politics worked, let
alone politics in the other regions of Europe. Most of the Frankish
and Italian capitularies, for example, can be seen as direct responses
to particular problems rather than as a formulation of policy. Further,
it is clear that politics at a local level mirrored political behaviour
centrally, with the potentes, powerful men, actively participating in
government at every level.10
Kingship is a political system in which the personal ability, talent,
and resources of the ruler are as important as the system itself. To
some degree, as the many minorities, interregna, or regencies that can
be documented in all the early medieval kingdoms attest, the system
could sustain an individual as king who was personally unable to gain
the consent of the wider political community for what he wanted to
do. But one king or a run of kings who sought to exploit the system
too much or, more commonly, who lacked the toughness to exploit it
enough, as we see in the case of the Visigoths and the Merovingian
Franks, respectively, could provide the downfall of an individual or
dynasty, even though kingship as an institution remained.
Three examples can serve to illustrate how a choice of ruler was
made and the thinking behind the resources made available to him.
In the eighth century, Paul the Deacon gave a remarkable account of
the choice the Lombards made in 584 in favour of a king after ten
years of the rule of many dukes ‘ . . . those who were then dukes gave
up half of their possessions for royal uses that there might be the
means from which the king himself and those who should attend him
and those devoted to his service throughout the various offices might
be supported.’11 When Pippin III made himself king in 751 it was, so
the annalist who tells of the matter reports, ‘with the consent and

10 See M. Innes, State and Society in the Early Middle Ages, 400-1000 (Cambridge,
2000).
11 Paul the Deacon, Historia Langobardorum, III, 16, ed. Waitz, p. 123; English trans.
W. D. Foulke, Paul the Deacon, History of the Lombards (Philadelphia, 1907 and 1974),
p. 114.
34 ROSAMOND M CKITTERICK

advice of all the Franks’.12 In 888, when the legitimate ruler Charles
[Simplex (straightforward, simple)] was but a baby, the west Frankish
nobles elected one of their number, Odo, count of Paris to be king,
whose reputation as a warrior offered them the hope of effective
leadership against the Vikings.13
Loyalty was something to be won and retained, but it could also be
both bought and institutionalized. Gift-giving in the form of gold,
jewellery, weapons, or animals, grants of land and offices could all
build up a cohort of faithful men around a king as well as building up
their own power. Followers electing a king were also proclaiming
themselves as his loyal supporters. Charlemagne chose to require a
formal oath from his followers, both while he was king of the Franks
and afresh after his famous coronation as emperor in Rome in 800.
The oath, explicit in his case and echoed under his successors, neatly
expresses the ties of mutual obligation and duty that bound man and
lord to each other. The following extract is a typical example of the
emphases of such an oath:

I shall be your faithful helper, as much as my knowledge and powers allow,

with the help o f God, without any deception or revolt, in counsel and in aid,
according to my function and my person, so that you will be able to maintain
and exercise your authority which God has given you at His will and for your
own salvation and that o f your faithful subjects.14

The court and closeness to the king

Closeness to the king (Königsnähe) was also a crucial element of
political behaviour. Being a duke or a count, or holding more generic
royally conferred titles such as vir inluster (in Francia) or vir magnifi-

12 Annalesregni francorum, ed. F. Kurze, MGH, Scriptores rerum germanicarum 6

(Hanover, 1895), p. 8 (entry for the year 749); English trans. B. Scholz, Carolingian
Chronicles (Ann Arbor, 1970), p. 39.
13 Richer, Histoire de France (888-995), F 5> ed. Robert Latouche (Paris, 1967), p. 16.
14 Extract from the oath to Charles the Bald, king of the west Franks (840-877) at
Quierzy in 858, ed. A. Boretius and V. Krause, MGH, Capitularia regum francorum II
(Hanover, 1897), no. 269, p. 296; partial English trans. D. Herlihy (ed.), The History
of Feudalism: Selected Documents (London, 1970), p. 88. See C. E. Odegaard, ‘Carolin­
gian oaths of fidelity’, Speculum, 16 (1941), pp. 284-96 and his Vassi et Fideles in the
Carolingian Empire (Cambridge, Mass., 1945), appendix iv, pp. 75-9.
 POLITICS 35

eus (in Italy) were important.privileges; so was being close to the king
in a personal sense. Both brought not only status but royal protection
and support for the private acts of such aristocrats (such as their
court cases) but also more direct material benefits such as treasure
and land. It was to the advantage of the ‘elite’ as a whole that kings
should remain able to enforce their wills so that these practices could
continue. All the same, as factional struggles continued in every royal
court, one could very easily be on the losing side, and have to give up
wealth and status and in many cases one’s life. Kings, particularly
Merovingian and Visigothic kings, were not shy of killing those who
were suspected of disloyalty or who were otherwise out of favour.
Enjoying Königsnähe, therefore, was both risky and not necessarily
permanent. Losing factions sometimes found themselves fighting the
king, or else switching loyalty from one king to another if there were
alternatives. There were alternatives in Francia with its tradition of
dividing the kingdom or England with its many small kingdoms.
Across Europe, moreover, there are records of many political exiles
and men claiming diverse origins offering service to foreign kings far
from their original home. A rune stone put up by Gulli in Västergöt-
land in eastern Sweden in the late Viking age commemorates his
wife’s brothers ‘Æsbiorn and Iuli, very tough lads [who] met their
deaths on active service in the East’.15 Cultures of power were a
combination of intimacy and responsibility. The king’s communal
activity with his court, such as feasting, hunting, and horseracing,
and his association with the queen were essential aspects of early
medieval kingship. Einhard said of Charlemagne how the king
enjoyed swimming in the hot springs at Aachen with members of his
court, so that at any one time ‘a hundred or more men might bathe
with him’.16 Louis the Pious keenly enjoyed hunting, especially ‘in
the month of August, when the deer are very fat, he spent his time
hunting them until the time to hunt wild boars came’.17 Many royal

15 R. I. Page, Chronicles of the Vikings: Records, Memorials and Myths (London, 1995),
p. 87.
16 Einhard, Vita Karoli, c. 22, ed. R. Rau, Quellen zur karolingischen Reichsgeschichte 1
(Darmstadt, 1974), p. 194; English trans. P. E. Dutton, Carolingian Civilization: A Reader
(Peterborough, Ontario, 1993), p. 36.
17 Thegan, Gesta Hludowici imperatoris, c. 19, ed. E. Tremp, MGH, Scriptores rerum
germanicarum 64 (Hanover, 1995), p. 204; trans. Dutton, Carolingian Civilization,
p. 146.
36 ROSAMOND M CKITTERICK

residences or palaces seem to have been partly intended as hunting

lodges, such as Thionville in the Ardennes or Tamworth in the king­
dom of Mercia. The Lombard courts and royal families of the eighth
century, as well as those of the Carolingians and Anglo-Saxons in the
ninth century and the Ottonian rulers of the tenth century, quite
apart from those of Byzantium and the emirs of Cordoba, were also,
at different times, noted for their culture, promotion of scholarship
and learning, and active patronage of the arts. In'such patronage
especially, the households of bishops and leading members of the
aristocracy emulated them.18
Within kingdoms, there were often civil wars between rival claim­
ants. In these circumstances, losing factions became much harder to
coerce. Tenth-century kings were less able to extend their direct polit­
ical control over the full theoretical and territorial extent of their
kingdoms than their predecessors had been in France and Italy, and
thus were less of a focus for aristocratic interest. In Germany they
were far more directly able to impose their will in their territories, but
they did not directly control more than portions of their kingdom.
Only in kingdoms such as England and Leon Castile (both imitative
of Carolingian patterns and also relatively small) were tenth-century
kings actually more able to exert direct control over their subjects and
enforce their authority than before, though the difficulties of govern­
ing kingdoms which had recently expanded in size, such as tenth-
century England, should not be underestimated. In most parts of
Latin Europe, however, real holders of public power in the tenth
century, the foci of placita (judicial assemblies) and the upholders of
peace, were dukes and counts rather than kings. They did this in a
Carolingian manner but they operated on far smaller a scale.

Officials and assemblies

Men gathered at the court acted as advisers to the king and officers
within the palace. One way to understand early medieval government
is not to categorize it, its officials or its structures and their spheres of

18 See below, Chapter 5.

 POLITICS 37

jurisdiction too narrowly. Under the earlier barbarian rulers, clerics

and laymen together were in charge of public affairs, even if each had
their own distinct areas of responsibility. The Visigothic church
councils, for example, legislated against political conspiracy and
rebellion and the Anglo-Saxon kings of Northumbria and Mercia
convened the meetings to receive the papal legates in 786. In the
administration of the Ostrogothic kingdom of Italy reflected in the
Variae of Cassiodorus,19 and in the Lombard kingdom before 774, on
the other hand, the clergy do not appear to have played a direct role
in political life. Whereas many of the other law codes refer to the
assistance of clerics, bishops, or abbots, the Lombard laws refer only
to judges and advisers in a manner which makes their secular char­
acter without doubt.
Under the Carolingians, the versatility of public officials is particu­
larly apparent. A court notary could also be a scholar and a cleric. A
bishop could run his diocese spiritually and materially but also serve
as a royal adviser, missus (see below), and ambassador. A count could
be a missusy judge, lead a section of the army on campaign, run his
own estates, be a scholar, and a patron of the church. Clerics played
an important role in government. Laymen supported the church and
some even held abbacies, at least in the ninth century. This was a
matter of rewarding them for their service. They would enjoy the
revenues accruing from a monastery but would also be required to
take due care of the brethren and protect their interests. There was a
role for clerics and laymen alike in the expansion of the Frankish
kingdom and consolidation of Frankish rule. Each had similar
ambitions rewarded in a similar way which resulted in the same
manifestations of power and wealth.
Although the common cause of clerics and laymen in the political
arena is best documented in the Frankish sources, it is likely that very
similar ambitions prevailed elsewhere. It is striking, for instance, how
ecclesiastical and secular concerns were entwined in the Toledan
councils of the Visigothic kingdoms, how emphatic a role is played by
the bishops of Armagh, London, York, and Canterbury in Ireland and
England, how material the contribution of the Italian clergy was in

19 Cassiodorus, Variae, ed. T. Mommsen, MGH, Auctores Antiquissimi 121 (Hanover,

1894) and A. Fridh, Corpus Christianorum Series Latinorum (Turnholt, 1973); English
trans. S. J. B. Barnish, Cassiodorus: Variae, Liverpool Translated Texts for Historians 12
(Liverpool, 1992).
38 I ROSAMOND MCKITTERICK

the consolidation of Frankish rule after the Carolingian conquest of

the Lombard kingdom, and how heavily the Ottonian rulers of Ger­
many relied on their lay and ecclesiastical magnates. Even Offa of
Mercia tried to create his own archbishopric (of Lichfield) within
his kingdom, just as Boris, khan of the Bulgars, negotiated with the
papacy for his own patriarch.20
In most of the early medieval kingdoms, moreover, we can posit
the existence of a group of officials responsible for administration
with notaries working for them. The latter drew up the official
documents expressing the ruler’s decisions and wishes and respond­
ing to petitions. Much of this evidence is in the form of royal charters,
whose format, derived from Roman official documents in itself is
indicative of the strength of the Roman heritage. In the kingdoms of
the Ostrogoths, Vandals, Burgundians, Lombards, and Visigoths,
there are references to, and later copies of, their recourse to written
documents in government and in legal transactions. Original docu­
ments from before the eighth century only survive from the Merov­
ingian kingdoms of the Franks (in direct continuation of the Roman
provincial administration) and the Anglo-Saxons (to whom docu­
mentary practices were reintroduced by the Christian missionaries
from Italy and Gaul in the seventh century). These originals retain
extra information not preserved in the later copies. All kings
depended on a group of officials to carry out administrative func­
tions both at court and elsewhere in the kingdom.
A Frankish royal writing office with archchancellor and notaries
can be documented throughout the eighth, ninth, and tenth centur­
ies. This in its turn was emulated by counts and dukes in such emer­
gent duchies and principalities as Burgundy, Flanders, Lotharingia,
Normandy, Aquitaine, Saxony, Bavaria, Spoleto, and Tuscany in the
tenth and eleventh centuries, quite apart from the independent king­
doms of England, northern Spain, and central and eastern Europe. A
royal writing office undoubtedly existed in England by the tenth cen­
tury, if not much earlier. The Franks also instituted a palace chapel
with chaplain and staff (who may have served a dual function as
notaries). Angilram, bishop of Metz (d. 791) and Archbishop Hilde-
bold of Cologne (d. 818) even had to be granted papal permission to
be absent from their dioceses in order to serve the king at court as

20 See below, p. 229.

 POLITICS 39

chaplains. The degree to which the royal courts of the various barbar­
ian kingdoms, most spectacularly those of the Carolingians, issued
oral and written instructions and texts is very striking and attests to
the high levels of pragmatic literacy in early medieval Europe. It was a
society in which writing and administration were embedded in social
and political practice.
A direct outcome of the major expansion eastwards of the Carol-
ingian rulers was the reorganization of both secular and ecclesiastical
administration beyond the court, and the intimate cooperation
between them at every level. In Francia, the king secured lines of local
communication and administration first of all through the network
of counts acting as agents in the localities. Secondly, there is the
Frankish institution of the missi dominici, probably in the latter part
of the eighth century, reorganized in 802, and whose duties appear to
have merged with those of local princes by the end of the ninth
century. The missi were royal agents acting in pairs, one count and
one bishop, in charge of an area known as a missaticum. Together,
the missi would arbitrate and investigate that affairs were being run
properly and justice preserved. One missus was Theodulf, bishop of
Orleans, who addressed a poem to judges warning them against
bribery and favouring the rich in judgments.21 Paschasius Radbert
describes the confidence placed in the overriding authority of the
Frankish missus, Wala, in Italy by those seeking justice.22
In most other kingdoms similar arrangements to the Frankish
system of counts as royal agents were in place, or were introduced,
though the degree to which written administrative methods were
either appropriate or required varies enormously. In Iceland, for
example, the goÖary the leading landowners of the ‘republic’ dis­
cussed matters of common concern at the thing. In eastern Brittany
the local leaders in the parishes were the machtierns, who presided
at meetings and sometimes initiated legal proceedings in the village
communities. In Lombard Italy, on the other hand, structures were
more formal. Local officials known as gastalds served either in a

21 Theodulf of Orleans, Contra indices, ed. E. Dümmler, MGH, Poetae Latini aevi
Carolini I (Hanover, 1881), pp. 493-517; extracts in English trans. P. Godman, Poetry of
the Carolingian Renaissance (London, 1985), pp. 162-6.
22 Paschasius Radbert, Epitaphium Arsemi, ed. E. Dümmler, Abhandlungen der
königlichen Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Berlin, phil.-hist. Klasse 2 (Berlin, 1900),
pp. 1-98.
40 ROSAMOND MCKITTERICK

city instead of a duke or count or as the administrator of royal

property in a city territory. At the other end of the Mediterranean
in Byzantium, by contrast, there was an elaborate central bureau­
cracy staffed with civil servants and in the provinces units known
as tourmai and banda. These were essentially military in character,
their heads being under the direction of the strategos (commander
of the theme), but some officials reported back to the central
administration, and most of the senior ones seem to have received
their pay from the capital.
No doubt corrupt, inefficient, or lazy officials were among these
local officials and royal agents, but a system should not be judged on
its effectiveness in terms only of those who abused and failed it.23
Essentially the administrative systems of the early medieval king­
doms, with the stress on carrying out the king’s will and securing
order and justice at a local level, appear to have been adaptable to
local conditions as well as susceptible of elaboration by any king
seeking a greater measure of control.
The royal presence was a physical manifestation of the king’s
power. The court was where the king was. In the Irish, Scottish, Eng­
lish, Lombard, Visigothic, Bulgar, or Danish kingdoms, with such
places as Tara and Dublin, Dunkeld, Winchester, London, York, Pavia,
Toledo, Pliska, or Jelling functioning as both residence and capital
(and often as ecclesiastical centres as well), the king’s seat was a
central location of his power, and the location of a central adminis­
tration (if any) as well as a palace complex. Many early medieval
kings, in principle at least, however, were also itinerant. An itinerant
court stayed at urban and rural palaces and hunting lodges. Thus,
Charlemagne and Louis the Pious stayed at Thionville, Aachen,
Frankfurt, Paderborn, and Regensburg, among others. Elaborate
planning for food, fodder, and bedding had to be done. The king and
his entourage were also the guests of bishops and abbots in the great
sees and monasteries of the realm. The Plan of St Gallen provides an
indication of the quarters for distinguished guests, as does the newly
excavated ninth-century monastery of San Vincenzo al Volturno in

23 The more negative emphases of scholars such as F. L. Ganshof, Frankish Institu­

tions under Charlemagne, trans. B. Lyon and M. Lyon (New York, 1970), have been
ameliorated in more recent work: see Innes, State and Society, and J. L. Nelson, ‘Literacy
in Carolingian government’, in R. McKitterick (ed.), The Uses of Literacy in Early
Mediaeval Europe (Cambridge, 1990), pp. 258—96.
 POLITICS 41

central Italy. These royal monasteries were an essential part of the

topography of royal power.
A major means of government and decision making was the
assembly. These were great public meetings of lay and ecclesiastical
magnates, both at the central and at the local level. At them, disputes
were settled, petitions heard, decisions reached, and laws made.
Assemblies were often timed to coincide with the mustering of the
army in the spring before a military campaign. The Visigothic kings in
the seventh century in large part governed through the huge and elab­
orate councils which regularly met in their capital at Toledo.24 Church
councils were venues for the lay elites to meet as well. By the late
seventh century the judicial assembly known as the placitum had
developed in Francia, which would continue until at least 1000 as a
regular venue for disputing, heard by a public community which
included some at least of the local landowners and leading men. This
sort of political practice had strong Roman elements, not least its con­
stant association with the terminology of the publicumypublic power.
The agendas and decisions of these assemblies in the eighth and
ninth centuries are presented in the capitularies, conciliar records,
and single-sheet charters recording legal decisions. These give an
ample indication of the variety of business discussed at them. The
Council of Frankfurt in 794, for example, stated the Frankish rejection
of the theological notion of Adoptionism (that Christ is the adopted
son of God), and of the Byzantine position on religious images, regu­
lated weights and measures, and offered directives on ecclesiastical
discipline and lay religious observance. The general capitulary of 802
stressed many different aspects of royal authority, the punishment of
crimes, and the administration of justice. In the kingdom of Italy in
the tenth and eleventh centuries over 300 records of the hearings of
judicial assemblies witness to the public discussion of legal cases and
disputes, presided over by emperors or their local representatives.25 The
Althing in Iceland c.1000 made its celebrated decision to accept Chris­
tianity. The English royal charters with their listings of leading lay and
ecclesiastical magnates acting as witnesses, indicate that gatherings of

24 See below, p. 137 (Ch. 4).

25 C. J. Wickham, ‘Justice in the kingdom of Italy in the eleventh century’, La Gius­
tizia nelValto Medioevo (secoli IX-XI), Settimane di Studio del Centro Italiano di studi
sull’alto Medioevo (Spoleto, 1997), pp. 179-250.
42 ROSAMOND MCKITTERICK

Figure 4 The Utrecht Psalter: A Carolingian assembly

 POLITICS I 43

the leading men of the kingdom, summoned by the king as a way of

extending political control, were not uncommon. Further, the many
different laws emanating from the various barbarian kingdoms are
the outcome of deliberations of the kings and their magnates.

Law
Many elements of the legal and judicial system elaborated in the
various early medieval kingdoms, and of the institutions and
methods of government introduced or consolidated by the Caroling-
ian rulers, provided a lasting legacy and model in the medieval and
early modern periods. Modern scholars’ emphasis on developments
in the eleventh and twelfth centuries has led to forgetfulness of the
fundamental nature of the early medieval achievement for the sub­
sequent development of Latin Europe in every sphere. The church
was an integral part of that achievement. Not only did its personnel
share in the business of government and administration; its spiritual
ideals were an essential part of the political ideology of the secular
rulers. Religious and intellectual concerns were as much the business
of the secular rulers as they were of the clerics. Later distinctions
between ‘church’ and ‘state’ are of no relevance in the early medieval
period. It is notable that many leading ecclesiastics insisted on the
rule of law and helped to maintain it. Hincmar, archbishop of Rheims
from 840 to 882, for example, stated as follows:

Since it is declared that all must know the laws and conform to their
decisions, no layman, whatever his position, can claim exemption from
their authority. Thus there are laws that kings and ministri rei publicae must
enforce in the administration o f their provinces and there are also capitular­
ies o f Christian kings and o f their predecessors legally promulgated by them
with the general consent o f their fideles and these equally must be observed.
St Augustine says o f these laws ‘It is right for men to debate them while they
are being formulated but once they are agreed upon and accepted judges no
longer have the option to dispute them but only to implement them.26

26 Hincmar of Rheims, De ordine palatii, c. 3, ed. T. Gross and R. Schieffer, MGH,

Fontes iuris germanici antiqui 3 (Hanover, 1980), pp. 46-7; I am grateful to Jinty Nelson
for allowing me to use her translation. An alternative English version, reprinted from
Herlihy, History of Feudalism, p. 213 is available in Dutton, Carolingian Civilization,
p. 488.
44 ROSAMOND MCKITTERICK

Continuity with the Roman world is most apparent in the con­

text of law and the associated matters of legal transaction and the
use of writing for legal record. There was no ‘decline and fall’ of
Roman law, but a gradual process of adaptation. Early medieval law
in the west comprises, first of all, Roman law in the form of the
Theodosian Code. This Code was written in Latin in 438. Various
abridgements were made of it in the early middle ages, the most
widely disseminated of which was the so-called Breviary of Alaric or
Lex Romana Visigothorum. The Corpus iuris civilis of Justinian
(534), also in Latin, was known but not referred to much at all in
the west before the eleventh century, though it was the standard
codification of Roman law in the east and Greek translations and
digests of it began to be made and used for teaching in the law
schools of Byzantium from the seventh century onwards. Secondly,
there is the group of texts known collectively, if somewhat mislead­
ingly, as the Germanic leges of the Burgundians, Visigoths, Alemans,
Bavarians, Lombards, Anglo-Saxons, Franks, Saxons, and Frisians.
These, apart from the Anglo-Saxon laws in English, are also in
Latin and mostly based on Roman law in structure and form. Some
of the content, moreover, arises out of late Roman legal practice or
a development from it. Elements of possibly non-Roman social
practice and new legislation were also incorporated. Most of the
initial codifications of the leges are associated with rulers and their
chief advisers.
Further, there is the ecclesiastical law of the church. Biblical laws
and regulations naturally had a strong influence on subsequent
ecclesiastical legislation. The ecclesiastical provisions agreed at the
major councils of the early church, papal decisions, and Roman
imperial law dealing with ecclesiastical matters of organization and
discipline is collectively referred to as canon law. Various individual
compilations of canon law in relation to local perceptions of what
was needed were made in the early middle ages. Some purport to
function as collections for the Frankish and Visigothic kingdoms, like
the Vetus Gallica of c.700 or the Hispanay c.700, respectively. An
attempt was made to impose uniformity at the end of the eighth
century with a text associated with the pope but promoted by the
Frankish ruler, known as the Dionysio-Hadriana. More compilations
were formed in the tenth and eleventh centuries, the most influential
of which, by Regino of Prüm (d. 915) and Burchard of Worms
 POLITICS 45

(965-1025), played a role, together with the earlier collections, in the

formal codification of canon law in the twelfth century. North of the
Alps from the middle of the eleventh century onwards there is a rich
and lively, if discordant, tradition in opposition to even more
emphatic efforts on the part of the popes to create uniformity and
enforce their authority.
Lastly there is new royal legislation, most notably the laws of the
English kings from the end of the ninth century onwards and the laws
in the form of capitularies produced by the Carolingian rulers in the
late eighth and the ninth century. An abridgement of the Carolingian
capitularies of Charlemagne and Louis the Pious by Ansegisus, pos­
sibly acting in an official capacity, was made in the 820s and widely
disseminated throughout the Carolingian empire.
Discussion of the law and its function in the middle ages has
focused in particular on the role of written law. But the extent to
which the written law acted as a constant source of reference and
guidance for legal decisions in practice, made by judges and with the
advice of groups of men with a judicial function who served in the
courts (such as the rachimburgii of Merovingian Gaul), can only
occasionally be deduced from the charters, dispute settlements
(largely about land), and placita records. Legal norms may have
existed in the memory of each man in the community, but it is more
likely that the preservation of legal decisions in writing led in due
course to the development of a group of specialists in the law, such
as those who have been identified in northern Italy in the tenth
century.
In the late Roman period there had been divergence between law
in action and law in the books. The same was the case in the early
medieval period. There was probably a constant process of adapta­
tion, change, and interpretation of the law in relation to existing and
changing social conditions. There are many Carolingian prescriptions,
requiring judges to judge according to the written law rather than
following their own supposedly arbitrary judgment. This of course
implies that many judges chose not to refer to the law books but may,
nevertheless, have meted out judgment in terms of accepted legal
norms. There are also many extant copies of the barbarian leges,
dating predominantly from the late eighth, the ninth, and the tenth
centuries, suggesting a wide dissemination of the leges in company
with Carolingian capitulary legislation throughout western Europe.
46 I ROSAMOND MCKITTERICK

Many surviving manuscripts indicate that individuals made collec­

tions of law for their own use. But a significant group of Frankish
legal codices reflects the activity of a small group of scribes presided
over by the head of the royal writing office, the cancellarius, and
associated with the royal court. Thus, the initial responsibility for
copying and disseminating the decisions of the king and the
assemblies in the early middle ages was probably assumed by the king
and his writing office. We also find collections in both England and
Francia associated with particular leading ecclesiastics.
The proliferation of copies of the leges and capitularies, of canon
law, and of the Theodosian Code in its full and various abridged
versions would also appear to indicate an understanding of the
authority of the written law. These texts witness to an attempt to
understand that authority in relation to legal procedures and judicial
decisions within a political system whose leaders guaranteed the
working of justice and the law. Roman law, the leges, and Carolin-
gian capitularies all inspired later formulations of law for the
monarchies of western Europe and the growing profession of lawyers
in the eleventh and twelfth centuries. Within the early medieval
kingdoms, moreover, law is neither a defining trait nor a character­
istic of ethnic identity so much as a mark of political allegiance and
social alignment. It is a statement of political rather than of biological
identity.
Legal transactions between individuals and institutions were
recorded in charters. These recorded the settlement of property dis­
putes, sales, exchanges, gifts, rents, and the manumission of slaves.
They attest to procedures prescribed and recorded in writing. In char­
ters, we may also observe the continuation of Roman practices, grad­
ually adapted over time. They are written in Latin with distinctive
formulae in relation to particular transactions (some of which were
put together for the assistance of legal clerks in collections known as
formularies). In legal disputes, therefore, the written law, custom,
charters, and memory, that is, written and oral testimony, are drawn
on. Both are closely interrelated and interdependent.
The charter evidence provides the strongest thread of continuity in
social interaction and legal transactions right through the period
from C.550 into the eleventh and twelfth centuries. Charters mirror
how men and women clung to their rights and established claims to
their land and inheritance. The donations to religious institutions,
 POLITICS 47

moreover, express the pious devotion which served to bind spiritual

and worldly concerns together in a world where the monasteries were
firmly embedded in the local communities. All over Europe the basic
patterns were established in all the early medieval kingdoms in terms
both of the functions of the charters and of the social organization
supporting their production and use in the localities. Subsequently,
the use of charters, along with Latin script, was introduced into
the newly conquered and Christianized areas of Europe such as
Scandinavia and Bohemia.

The resources and practicalities o f

government: finance and the army
It is with the rewards or payment for assisting the ruler in govern­
ment that the greatest difference between the Roman system and that
of the kingdoms of western Europe in the early middle ages gradually
becomes apparent. Although the Visigoths maintained a tax system
and so, until c.6oo, did the Franks, there are no signs that it was more
than a subsidiary aspect of royal power. The important rewards for
service and loyalty were now in land, not money; and above all, titles
like count or duke were useless if they could not be backed up by
private landowning and clienteles of military dependants. Even the
armies of each kingdom were little more than collections of armed
private clienteles of this kind. These clienteles, too, expected to be
rewarded principally in land. It was probably, as a result, more expen­
sive to be a powerful aristocrat in 650 than in 400; and aristocratic
interest came to be directed at least as much towards the creation of
local power-bases as towards state service. Thus was begun the pat­
tern of the politics of land that would dominate in the middle ages up
to 1250 at least, though it should also be stressed that we know far too
little about plunder, gifts, and rewards in kind—treasure, military
gear, livestock, and slaves—apart from land. One gave out land to
gain loyalty, but consequently had ever less to give, and less negotiat­
ing power in the future as a result. Kings and magnates, furthermore,
had the same sorts of resources, and thus played on the same ground.
This could easily favour the considerable decentralization of power.
48 ROSAMOND M CK ITTERICK

Kings had slimmer material resources and became less able directly to
require their subjects to do exactly what they wanted them to do in
much of Europe after 900 or so.
The Roman empire had maintained an unwieldy and elaborate tax
system, based mainly on landed property and its agricultural exploit­
ation. It is estimated that the tax demands may have exceeded half of
the agricultural surplus (after subsistence needs were met) of the
empire. Tax was not the state’s only resource; in late antiquity and
Byzantium the imperial administration may have been self-sufficient
throughout the empire in terms of its estates and its products,
though there is no evidence that this was the case. Yet taxes were
essential to cover public expenditure, the maintenance of roads and
bridges, the deployment of the standing army, and pay for the
soldiers.
Money was the form in which public revenue could be collected
and spent. The stability of the coinage was therefore a major factor in
public finance. After the period of inflation at the end of the third
century and the depreciation in value of the denarius, taxes were
levied in kind and, in the late fifth century, in gold. Tax was doubly
regressive. The poor paid significantly more tax than the rich; the
farming-out of tax collection left a far from negligible portion of the
money gathered in the hands of the curiales (city councillors)
recruited from the ranks of the municipal aristocracies, who acted as
tax gatherers. Each city was required to produce the tax raised from
the surrounding countryside. Thus, tax extortion became the direct
rival of private rents.
The evolution of tax and coinage in the eastern and western
empires diverged markedly in the early middle ages. In the east the
state retained its direct interest in striking good coinage, for the tax in
gold was one of the links in the cycle of exchange (including taxes and
salaries paid by the state) in which commerce played a minimal role.
In the west the new rulers endeavoured to leave the collecting of taxes
and some of the administrative framework of the Roman fiscal sys­
tem in place. Remuneration for public service and the upkeep of the
military elite, however, was increasingly underpinned by the distribu­
tion of land rather than by payments in gold and silver. Coinage,
therefore, became less complex.
The burden of indirect taxes, however, increased during the
whole of the middle ages. The taxation of transport and of sales of
 POLITICS 49

merchandise, for example, was the exclusive prerogative of the king

and his agents until the middle of the ninth century. It formed a
weighty contribution to the royal treasury. Further, immunity was an
essential part of the system of the government’s delegation of certain
tasks to an intermediate group. Immunity placed an individual, his
possessions, and his dependants outside the bounds of interference
from public officials. The obligations of the immunist towards the
king remained complete in principle, but matters to do with taxes,
justice, and raising an army from the population at large tended to be
delegated by the king to a holder of an immunity. The granting of an
immunity was an extraordinary act of self-restraint by the ruler and
his agents.27 Yet paradoxically it was also a demonstration of royal
authority and an affirmation of royal status. Immunities were most
often granted to ecclesiastical institutions. Thus, they also constituted
a secular manipulation of the boundaries of sacred space. In the
practical sphere, it is possible that in the course of the early middle
ages, the mechanisms of immunity completely disrupted the system
of land taxes, for the land tax had disappeared by the early seventh
century. Documented immunities postdate this disappearance but
there may be no causal connection. Services due from an immunist
and the principle of public taxation were two totally separate systems.
Some continuity from late antiquity is evident in the role of the lay
and ecclesiastical magnates as indispensable agents of government.
With the demise of a permanent standing army, for example, it was
no longer the imposition of taxes, but war and military organization
which devolved to the magnates.
From the end of the seventh century, kings relied upon the grow­
ing solidarity of the political elites inspired by military success. In
Francia from the time of Charles Martel (714-741) and even more so
under Pippin III (741-768) and Charlemagne (768-814), military
campaigns and the progressive expansion of territory constituted an
increasingly regular and dominant aspect of Frankish life and a con­
tinued increase of landed wealth. Historians have rightly insisted
upon the increasing strength of the Frankish army, of professional
warriors, armed and usually mounted, whose livelihood was assured
with the granting to them of royal and church estates in benefice.

27 See B. Rosenwein, Negotiating Space: Power, Restraint and Privileges of Immunity

in Early Medieval Europe (Manchester, 1999).
50 I ROSAMOND MCKITTERICK

The remarkable extent of military and public expenditure entailed a

degree of logistical and economic organization without precedent in
western Europe since the fifth century. The sheer efficiency o f the
military and administrative organization is exemplified in the major
campaigns, on two fronts simultaneously, against the Saxons and the
Avars at the end of the eighth century; in the impressive, if ultim­
ately abortive, attempt to connect the Main/Rhine and Danube by a
canal between the Rednitz and Altmühl rivers; and by the obliga­
tions laid on the totality of the dependent manses of the church of
Reims to cooperate in order to provide transport and labour for the
building of the palace at Aachen at the beginning of the ninth
century.
Although they continued to rule through the magnates as inter­
mediaries, the Carolingian rulers sought also to endow the church
with new resources and new tools. The political economy of the
Carolingian period was dominated throughout the eighth century
and the first third of the ninth century by the need to centralize and
place the supply of labour, agricultural implements, and food prod­
ucts at the king’s disposal. Among the most important of the new
resources of the ruler was the new method of management of the
royal and ecclesiastical estates.28
In the absence of the permanent standing army of the Roman
empire, and in contrast to the small standing forces maintained by
Byzantium, army service in the west was organized in principle by the
general levy on all freemen. This was maintained in theory until the
ninth century. Charlemagne introduced at the turn of the eighth
century a system whereby actual service was only required of men in
possession of a certain amount of allodial land. In 808 the amount
was fixed at four manses.29 Other men would combine resources in
order to equip a man at arms, or, no doubt more usually, to pay
substitute taxes to a magnate acting as intermediary. The commonest
form of dues paid to the ruler, alongside military service and other
duties required by the ruler, was the annual gift rendered by the
magnates to the king (annua dona; eulogiae) which was a non-Roman
custom.
The principal medium for the payment of these dues was the
denarius or silver penny. It first made its appearance as a unit of

28 See below, Chapter 3. 29 See below, Chapter 3.

 POLITICS 51

currency in Neustria in about 670 and soon thereafter in Anglo-

Saxon England. It was the same weight as the gold tremissis it
replaced (1.3g or 20 grains of barley) and therefore of considerably
less face value which may well have facilitated commercial exchange
at a local level, though this is much disputed. The Carolingian rulers
reformed the weight to 1.7g or 20 grains of wheat. The monetary
system of western Europe had evolved towards monometallism, at
first based on an increasingly debased gold coinage and in due course
on silver. Coinage issues gradually changed from Roman imperial
coinage and imitations of imperial coinage. Eventually the distinctive
coins of the Visigothic, Lombard, English, and Frankish rulers were
produced, though the degree of political control exerted over the
mints and coinage varied considerably in the different kingdoms. In
Merovingian Gaul, for example, it was primarily a local coinage,
from more or less private mints with small outputs, though there
may have been more overall control of the coinage than is now
apparent. Nevertheless, by the eighth century, royal control of coin­
age is clear. The interregional circulation of coinage in the north­
west of Europe was dominated by Frisian and to a lesser extent,
Anglo-Saxon pennies whose main impetus for production appears to
have been commercial.
Decrees concerning coinage are linked by the Franks with meas­
ures against the abuse of tolls (that is, private individuals appro­
priating them for their own use), the adulteration of weights and
measures, counterfeit coinage, and control of markets. By counterfeit
coinage was meant not so much the striking of imitations from base
metal (for which there is in fact very little extant evidence) as coins
struck in mints not controlled by the king. There were also severe
punishments for refusing to accept good money. Such a rejection
(which may seem very odd to us) possibly hides more complex
elements of resistance to royal control in the population at large.
Judging from the pattern of minting and coin finds, the eastern
part of the Frankish kingdom from the reign of Louis the German
onwards (840-876) enjoyed an essentially non-monetary economy.
There are other differences between the regions east and west of the
Rhine, pointed to by Adriaan Verhulst, such as the recourse to
labour services and a lack of emphasis on rents in money. Neverthe­
less, money clearly circulated regularly and rapidly, stimulated by
commercial activity, especially in the North Sea area. The Franks
52 ROSAMOND M CKITTERICK

were very successful in preventing the circulation of foreign money

within the Frankish realm. Indeed, in the reign of Louis the Pious
western Europe enjoyed what can only be described as a single
European currency, with foreign coin excluded from the Carolingian
empire. Only England and Benevento, of the coin-producing poli­
ties, were outside the system. In England’s case, however, their
money, reformed by King Offa of Mercia in the late eighth century,
was of the same weight of silver. The important trading centre at
Venice produced Louis’s Christiana religio coinage in its mint along­
side similar issues of its own, presumably in order to facilitate
trade.30 Coinage in both England and Francia was used as a means
of affirming royal authority, though the volume of production of
early medieval coinage is still in question.31 Coinage could also be a
way of raising tribute payments quickly though in some cases trib­
ute was also paid partly in wine, livestock, and grain. The tributes
paid to the Vikings, moreover, meant that precious bullion left the
country. From the last third of the ninth century, control of the
monetary system was both diverted to and acquired by the great lay
and ecclesiastical magnates who resorted on a massive scale, as other
rulers had done before them, to the depreciation of the metal con­
tent as well as the weight of the coinage. From about 900, the fate of
money is a fair indication of the different political developments
within the kingdoms of the Christian west. In Germany, for
example, the Saxon rulers disseminated the minting of coinage in
the regions east of the Rhine and it was gradually extended to the
new polities such as Poland, Hungary, and Bohemia, but minting
was organized through local magnates. In France, regional standards
of weight had developed by the end of the tenth century. Anglo-
Saxon England, on the other hand, retained and even increased
strong royal control over the coinage. By the middle of the tenth
century, indeed, England had the most sophisticated, albeit self-
contained, monetary system in the whole of contemporary western
Europe.
Although family treasure does not appear to be an element of

30 S. Coupland, ‘Money and coinage under Louis the Pious’, Francia, 17/1 (1990),
pp. 23-54.
31 See M. Blackburn, ‘Money and coinage’, in R. McKitterick (ed.), The New
Cambridge Medieval History, IL C.700-C.900 (Cambridge, 1995), pp. 538-62.
 POLITICS I 53

contested state power in the Lombard or Visigothic kingdoms, it was

essential in Francia. After the death of Pippin II and his son Grimoald
in 714, for example, Ragamfred the mayor of the palace of Neustria
and Radbod, king of the Frisians, kidnapped Pippin’s widow Plec-
trude together with the Pippinid family treasure. Charles Martel was
eventually able to retrieve the latter in 717. Further, Charlemagne
made full use of the Avar treasure after 796 as a means of making
sumptuous gifts to impress such neighbouring rulers as Offa of
Mercia, and to reward his faithful men at court. Nevertheless, the
distribution and control of offices, such as countships, abbacies,
and bishoprics rather than the royal treasury became the main
foci of the political rivalries and conflicts of the ninth and tenth
centuries.

Political ideology
Much of this chapter has dwelt on the realities of rulership and
government, in so far as these can be reconstructed. But there were
also powerful ideals at work in the practical responses to the exercise
of political power. Even the apparently light-hearted weekly order in
the duty of an Irish king in the Crith Gablach in fact embodies many
of the underlying expectations of political behaviour discussed above
as well as ideals of rulership:

Sunday for drinking ale, for he is no rightful ruler who does not provide ale
for every Sunday
Monday for judgement, for the adjustment o f the tuatha
Tuesday for playing chess
Wednesday for watching deerhounds at the chase
Thursday for the society o f his wife
Friday for horse-racing
Saturday for judging cases.32

32 Crith Gablach, c. 41, ed. D. A. Binchy, Crith Gablach, Mediaeval and Modern Irish
Series 11 (Dublin, 1941), p. 21; English trans. E. MacNeill, ‘Ancient Irish law: The law of
status and franchise’, Proceedings of the Royal Irish Academy, 36 C (1923), pp. 265-316,
at p. 304. The tuatha are the political and jurisdictional units of the kingdom. See
W. Davies, ‘Celtic kingships in the early middle ages’, in A. Duggan (ed.), Kings and
Kingship in Medieval Europe (London, 1993), pp. 101-24.
54 I ROSAMOND M CKITTERICK

In late antiquity the power and presence of the emperor were

implicit. The majesty of the emperor himself was greatly enhanced,
from the time of Constantine onwards, with an insistent monarchical
ideology bolstered by the Christian vision of a hierarchical heaven
ruled by an omnipotent divinity. Elaborate ceremonies celebrated the
arrival ( adventus) and triumphs of the emperor. The exaltation of the
emperor was increasingly enmeshed in a strict protocol for entering
his presence. These were recorded, on the one hand,'in such works as
Eusebius’ Life of Constantine and his Ecclesiastical History (the latter
known in the west in the Latin translation made by Rufinus, d. 411).
Further, the ideologies of political and legal power were articulated in
the Theodosian Code of Roman law, put together in 438 and used in
the west until the eleventh century. Emphatically Christian imperial
and royal ideology enjoyed great influence thereafter. It was given
visual expression in paintings and sculpture and elaborated not only
by the church in liturgical ritual, but by the rulers and their advisers
in the staging of the king’s arrival, presiding over the court, and court
ceremonial.
The image of the king therefore combined highly charged symbol­
ism and association with divine authority with the more pragmatic
and domestic business of ruling men and women, maintaining the
balance of relations with them and with the chief advisers and
officers. The earliest post-Roman royal portraits surviving, apart
from earlier images on coinage from Spain, England, Francia, and
Italy, are manuscript illuminations from the middle of the ninth cen­
tury. There the ruler is represented with symbols of his office and the
hand of God over his head. In depictions of Charles the Bald (840-
877) (Plate 3) and of the Ottonian rulers of Germany (Plate 11), there
are representations of the lay and ecclesiastical magnates of the king­
dom, personifications of the royal virtues—prudence, justice, forti­
tude and temperance—and of the provinces or regions over which
the king ruled.33 Such links with God-given authority and the
responsibility of the Christian ruler to support the Christian religion
become a familiar aspect of medieval ruler portraits: Queen Emma
and King Cnut, royal patrons of New Minster, Winchester in the

33 See H. L. Kessler and P. D. Dutton, The Poetry and Paintings of the First Bible of
Charles the Bald (Ann Arbor, 1997) and H. Mayr-Harting, Ottonian Book Illumination:
An Historical Study (London, 1991).
 POLITICS 55

eleventh century, for example, are depicted in the Liber Vitae of New
Minster (British Library Stowe 944, fo. 6r) presenting a golden cross
to the abbey.34
These portraits reflect, moreover, much that is also expressed in the
inauguration or coronation rituals which began to be incorporated
into the Frankish and Anglo-Saxon liturgies in the course of the
ninth century. In their turn these were formalized and specific rituals
that had their roots in earlier masses for the king, such as the prayers
in the seventh-century Visigothic liturgy for the king going out to
battle. Such prayers and gestures are dramatic expressions of the role
of the king as God’s deputy in securing justice and peace for the
Christian people. Both the Visigoths and the Franks, in emulation of
the Old Testament, anointed their kings with holy oil. In the case of
the Franks the anointing was a ritual devised by the Frankish clergy to
enhance the position of the new Carolingian ruler Pippin III on his
usurpation of the Merovingian dynasty. Anointing new kings as part
of elaborate liturgical rituals in due course became standard Euro­
pean practice.35 Kings further enhanced the wider consciousness of
their status and of that of their families by instituting commemora­
tive prayers on particular family anniversaries to be observed in the
monasteries and churches of their realms.
The ideology of Christian rulership, and occasionally also of the
ideal of the harmony, if not the unity of the Christian empire, was
also adumbrated in more conventional form in treatises, often known
as mirrors of princes. Several from the ninth century survive. They
drew heavily on earlier models of Christian rulership, not least those
of Augustine, and on biblical models. In their turn these treatises
influenced the formulation of political thought thereafter. Yet early
medieval texts, notably the historical writing and legislation of the
period, also reinforce the importance of political fidelity and lord-
ship, or political virtue and mutual obligation between the ruler and
his faithful men. As Janet Nelson has stressed, ‘political thought is
embodied not only in theories but in contemporaries’ ad hoc

34 S. Keynes (ed.), The Liber Vitae of the New Minster and Hyde Abbey Winchester,
Early English Manuscripts in Facsimile 26 (Copenhagen, 1996), plate v.
35 See R. A. Jackson, Ordines Coronationis Franciae: Texts and Ordines for the Coro­
nation of Frankish and French Kings and Queens in the Middle Ages, 1 (Philadelphia,
1995)-
56 ROSAMOND M CKITTERICK

responses to political problems and perceived discrepancies between

ideals and realities.’36
Certainly there are many contrasts and variations in the cultures of
power and manifestations of political control across Europe
throughout the early middle ages. Yet there were also fundamental
similarities in the development from the autocratic system of the late
Roman empire through the early barbarian kingdoms to conceptions
of the realm as a territorial and sociological entity, the ministerium of
the Christian ruler, and the sharing of power and responsibility, to a
greater or lesser degree, between the aristocracy (lay and ecclesiastical)
and the king.

36 Janet L. Nelson, ‘Kingship and empire in the Carolingian world’, in R. McKitterick

(ed.)> Carolingian Culture: Emulation and Innovation (Cambridge, 1994), p. 65..
Figure 5 Beatus of Liebana, Commentary on the Apocalypse
 2
Society
Chris Wickham

In this chapter two histories, those of landowning aristocracies and

peasantries, respectively, will be counterposed. This is not because
the two classes were entirely distinct (less, in some areas, than in any
period of history from 200 bc to the present), but because if one
does not keep them apart, peasant societies risk exclusion altogether
as a result of their poor documentation, even though they made up
perhaps 95 per cent of the population. In the framework of that basic
opposition, I shall discuss three groups of European societies separ­
ately: the post-Roman societies of the west; the still-Roman society
of the east; and the non-Roman societies of the north. It is hard not
to be schematic in a discussion of the social history of 600 years, but
this separation will, I hope, allow at least some equilibrium between
the recognition of often huge local or regional differences in early
medieval Europe and the establishment of comprehensible general
trends.
The concentration on aristocrats and peasants involves some
omissions. I shall concentrate on lay society and, as far as possible,
on secular aspects of social action; ecclesiastics and religious
activity will be discussed in Chapter 4. Similarly, artisans and
merchants will be dealt with, as economic forces above all, in
Chapter 3, for they were relatively few in number after the end of
the Roman empire, and did not form a particularly well-defined
social category (or categories) on their own. Artisanal work is
well attested in early medieval archaeology, especially that of metal­
workers and potters. Artisans, however, usually worked part-time,
and in social terms can be assimilated to the peasantry or, in the case
of a few elite occupations such as goldsmiths and moneyers, to the
6o CHRIS W ICKHAM

aristocracy.1 Even in societies where urbanism survived, such as

northern Italy, agriculture was the economic base of nearly the whole
of society; this chapter aims to reflect that fact.

Roman aristocracies
Our starting-point must be the late Roman world, which was still
prosperous and stable in 400. Late Roman aristocrats were roughly
divisible into four overlapping categories. Firstly, there are the senator­
ial families, who could be hugely rich, as with Probus, who in the
early 420s paid 1,200 pounds of gold just for his praetorian games, a
ritual marking the beginning of his formal political career, ot with
Pinianus and Melania, a young couple who adopted ascetic Christian­
ity in the first decade of the fifth century and sold off estates in Italy,
Sicily, North Africa, Spain, and even Britain, as well as huge quantities
of clothes and jewellery.2 Secondly, there is the government elite of the
empire. Many of these were from senatorial families, and many more
became so. They were largely focused on the capitals, Ravenna (after
401) for the west and Constantinople for the east, though there were
still plenty in older centres too: Rome, Antioch, and elsewhere. Thirdly,
there were the families of the city councillors ( curiales) of the many
hundreds of cities of the empire, the urban aristocracy who had put
up the second-century temples and other public buildings which still
so often survive, and who were, from the fourth century onwards,
enthusiastically endowing churches, the buildings of the new state
religion, Christianity. This local aristocratic stratum felt itself under

1 A good survey of the range of crafts and artisans can be found for England in C. J.
Arnold, An Archaeology of the Early Anglo-Saxon Kingdoms, 2nd edn. (London, 1997),
pp. 67-100. For western Europe as a whole, see R. Doehaerd, The Early Middle Ages in
the West (Amsterdam, 1978), pp. 159-69, a convenient brief survey based mostly on
written sources. Merchants could be rich and influential, but were even more socially
marginal, as outsiders, often foreigners, potential (indeed, sometimes actual) spies: for
a list of references, ibid., pp. 169-82, and more in detail, D. Claude’s articles in Unter­
suchungen zu Handel und Verkehr der vor- und frühgeschichtlichen Zeit in Mittel- und
Nordeuropa (Göttingen, 1985), vols. 2 and 3, pp. 9-99.
2 Olympiodorus, frag. 41. 2, ed. and trans, in R. C. Blockley, The Fragmentary Classi­
cising Historians of the Late Roman Empire, 2 (Liverpool, 1983), pp. 204-7; Vie de Sainte
Mélanie, cc. 11, 19-20, ed. and trans. D. Gorce (Paris, 1962), pp. 146-9, 162-71. Probus
was regarded by Olympiodorus as of less than average wealth.
 S O C IE T Y I 6l

threat by 400, as its traditional tax-collecting role was undermined

by functionaries of the more centralized late Roman state, but its
collective wealth was not much diminished. Overall, curiales formed
the main group of landowners under the Roman empire, and their
lands, which tended (unlike those of senators) to be restricted to the
territories of single cities, were more likely to survive the radical
decentralization that accompanied the break-up of the empire in the
west. Fourthly, there was the army, a partially separate hierarchy,
whose leaders were nonetheless major players in the political scene.
Many of these were of senatorial origin, but there was always space at
the top of the military hierarchy for able men of lesser families, par­
ticularly from frontier areas and indeed, increasingly, from Germanic
communities beyond the frontier. Such new men were not only
ignorant of Virgil but their Latin (or, in the east, Greek) was often
itself considered faulty; for these reasons, they were regularly the
target of the social and cultural snobbery of the civilian elites (includ­
ing the writers of all our sources), but they were not the less Roman
for that, and not a few of them became emperors.
Several points need to be made about these different aristocratic
groups, taken as a whole. First is the fact that the majority of the
members of this class, including the richest and highest-status of
them, were civilian, not military, figures: the Roman imperial aris­
tocracy was one of the very few in the history of the pre-industrial
world (the only major one outside China) not to be dominated by
military prowess. Its cultural markers were not valour, horsemanship,
hunting, but, rather, education and comfort. Roman civilian aristo­
crats had to know Virgil by heart (in the east, Homer), and to be able
to turn out a passable lyric or oration themselves; they also valued
good-quality houses, full of marble, mosaic floors, frescoed walls, and
underfloor central heating: respectively, the source of the literary and
the archaeological remains that have awed subsequent generations
right up to the present day. They also valued expensive and flashy
food and clothing. In this they were not atypical of subsequent aris­
tocracies, even if a Roman senator would soon have tired of the
obsessive roast meat diet of his western medieval noble descendants.
Secondly, there was a close association between aristocratic status
and imperial office-holding. Even members of the richest senatorial
families were fully legitimated only by holding a series of offices, either
in the old ceremonial capital, Rome (as with Probus’ praetorship) or
62 CHRIS W ICKHAM

in the administration. Not that all family members needed to be

officials, or indeed could be, for there were not enough offices to go
around. Even when they rejected them, as for example if they opted
for ascetic Christianity, they nonetheless kept ‘their own rank’, as
Gregory of Tours said about an early fifth-century senatorial saint,
Paulinus of Nola.3 But it would not have been possible for a family to
remain of full senatorial status if, for example, it had rejected all office
and retired to its lands; and for the curial stratum such a choice was
actually illegal. One alternative was certainly to join the church:
bishops were usually from either senatorial or curialis families. As
time went on, the ecclesiastical hierarchy became'a parallel one, ever
more attractive to curial families in that it was tax-exempt. But the
episcopate was closely tied into imperial values as long as the empire
lasted; bishops and curiales cooperated in governing the cities o f the
fifth century.
A third point is, precisely, this urban focus for the aristocracy. Only
the military hierarchy was partially immune from having to operate
on an urban stage in its public activity. Roman cities were full of
public arenas for political action: the forum, the ceremonial buildings
around it, the baths for less formal meetings, and by now the
cathedral. This was often on the forum, thus further reinforcing the
importance of the town centre, although equally often carefully situ­
ated in a corner of the town walls, as an alternative ceremonial focus.
‘Civilized’ behaviour—knowing Virgil, etc.—meant, precisely, city­
dwelling behaviour. Not that one never went into the countryside. In
the late empire, in particular, every major western family had at least
one lavishly furnished rural estate, or ‘villa’ as we call them, in which
aristocrats routinely spent the summer months. Large numbers of
these have been found by archaeologists. But this sort of life was not
considered as an alternative to the city; it was called otium, ‘rest’ (with
its opposite the effectively urban-based negotium, ‘business’). The
Gaulish senator Sidonius Apollinaris (c.431-485) put it well in his
extensive letter-collection of the 460s and 470s: one went to lavishly
appointed estates like his own Avitacum in the Auvergne, with its
portico overlooking a lake and its private bath-house, to talk to one’s

3 Gregory of Tours, Liber in gloria confessorum, c. 108, ed. B. Krusch, MGH, Scriptores
rerum merovingicarum 1.2 (Hanover, 1885), pp. 817-18; trans. R. van Dam, Gregory of
Tours: Glory of the Confessors (Liverpool, 1988), pp. 108-11.
 S O C IE T Y 63

guests, in the summertime, but in the autumn one was due back in
town (in his case, Clermont), if one was not to be despised as a
peasant. Sidonius does not mention Avitacum’s agrarian functions,
even though it must have had them, for they would have been the
basis of his own wealth; an open interest in wealth-creation was con­
sidered déclassé. ‘If you cultivate an estate in moderation, you own it;
if you do it too much, it owns you,’ he wrote to Syagrius, a friend
whom he suspected of too little interest in urban life. This could have
been said by any traditionalist Roman aristocrat. Such an equation
between city and culture/civilization was inherited by the city-based
episcopate, who by the late fifth century were among its staunchest
defenders. Sidonius, indeed, at the end of a successful public career,
became bishop of Clermont in 469, and helped defend it against
Visigothic armies in 471-475. His friend Mamertus, bishop of Vienne,
in the same period developed the public church rituals known as
Rogations, essentially processions in the city, described in striking
language by Sidonius in another letter, to fortify the citizen body after
a series of disasters.4
One must not, nonetheless, take Sidonius too much at face value.
He is a good example of this urban lifestyle and imagery, not only
because he expresses it well, but also because he wrote at a moment of
change. Sidonius chose to write as part of an endless tradition of
poetry-loving, toga-clad, bath-frequenting civilian aristocrats. But
not everyone followed his example. Syagrius, for one, did not. We do
not know how typical his rejection of the city was, but it was probably
not uncommon. Nor, however, did Sidonius’ brother-in-law Ecdicius,
who was military-minded enough to be prepared to defend Clermont
with a private army. Nor indeed did Ecdicius’ father Avitus (who
actually became emperor in 455-456, thus launching Sidonius’ public
career): Avitus was capable in his youth of riding after a Hunnic
horseman in Roman army-service who had casually killed his slave,
and killing the Hun in single combat, a highly martial image, as
Sidonius himself records in a praise poem. When the Visigoths took
over southern Gaul in the 470s, the aristocracies began to have to
choose new roles. Some of their members put on the robes of the

4 Sidonius Apollinaris, Epistolae, 2. 2 ,1. 6, 8. 8, 7. 1, ed. and trans. W. B. Anderson,

Sidonius: Poems and Letters, 2 vols. (Cambridge, Mass., 1936), vol. 1, pp. 416-35, 362-7;
vol. 2, pp. 336-41, 286-93.
64 CHRIS W ICKHAM

church, as bishops or aspirant bishops, as did Sidonius and Mamertus;

some put on armour, as generals in the armies of the new Romano-
Germanic kingdoms; some, like Sidonius’ own son, did both.5 There
was, however, decreasing space for a specifically civilian lay aristocracy,
except for a few people in the immediate administration of kings.
Sidonius, for all his confident traditionalism, was in the last generation
of its splendour. By the sixth century, many things had changed.

Early medieval western elites

Let us continue with the aristocracy of the western Roman provinces
into the post-Roman world, the period 500-750, to see how different
they were from the Roman tradition. We can find the same sort of
patterns in Frankish Gaul, Visigothic Spain, or, a little later, Lombard
Italy from 568/569 onwards, and I shall take my examples from all
three regions. In each case, a major marker of the secular aristocracy
was by now military activity, which indeed by the seventh century
was often a requirement for bishops as well. Even central government
administrators could be given a belt ( balteus or cingulum) by kings as
a sign of military service (though in the Roman world cingulum and
militia had already meant civilian public service in the abstract). It
could not be concluded, however, that this sort of formal investiture
‘created’ military and aristocratic status, as dubbing to knighthood
did in north-western Europe in the twelfth century. In fact, this
period is perhaps the least explicit in western history for exactly what
made up aristocratic status, the status of being nobilis, as aristocrats
were sometimes called. Wealth (in land) was one element, certainly;
military office-holding another; descent a third; closeness to the king
(see Chapter 1) a fourth; an array of typical aristocratic behaviour
patterns a fifth. We need to keep these separate, at least in our minds,
if we are to understand aristocratic society in the early medieval west.
Although in practice they have to be described together, they were
considerably less inseparable than they would be in later periods.

5 Sidonius Apollinaris, Carmen 7, lines 246-94, Poems and Letters voi. 1, pp. 138-41;
for Sidonius’ son Apollinaris, Gregory of Tours, Decem libri historiarum, 2. 37, 3. 2, ed.
B. Krusch, MGH, Scriptores rerum merovingicarum 1.1 (Hanover, 1885), pp. 88 and 98;
trans. L. Thorpe, Gregory of Tours: The History of the Franks (Harmondsworth, 1974),
pp. 154 and 162-3.
 SO C IE T Y 65

It may be most helpful to begin with descent. Who was of clearly

high status in the west in, say, the seventh century? One clear answer
is former Roman aristocratic families, the group called ‘senatorial’
families by Gregory of Tours in the 570S-580S, although the senate as
an institution was by now confined to Rome itself, and in terminal
decline even there. We can trace their descent well into the seventh
century in Gaul in some cases, as with Avitus’ and Sidonius’ family in
Clermont, although less well in Spain and Italy, for the evidence is less
good there.6 These families maintained their status in part because of
their continued landed wealth, but in great part because of their
ancestry: they could command respect. It is interesting, however, that
they were also better defined as a descent group than were the new
Germanic aristocracies who came in with the conquest. In Italy,
Lombard named male-line blood-aristocratic families (genera) are
not documented after the 640s, and the concept may have rapidly
fallen into disuse as they ran out of male heirs; only in Bavaria do
such families, there called genealogiae, last into the eighth century. In
Francia, by contrast, the earliest law code, the Pactus legis Salicae of
C.500-510, only refers to free Franks, and makes no reference to aris­
tocratic status of any kind.7 In the Frankish lands, indeed, it has as a
result often been argued that the early medieval aristocracy was a new
service aristocracy, owing their wealth and position exclusively to
Clovis and his sons. This is unlikely, for they are pretty firmly rooted,
probably by 500-520 if we consider the dates of the rich founding
graves of Merovingian-period cemeteries, and by 550 at the very
latest. Yet the argument at least shows how hard it would be to claim
that there was any explicitly characterized aristocracy of blood in
Francia, at least until the major sixth-century families themselves put
down roots. But these had slightly different family structures, as we
shall see in a moment.
Landowning was, on the other hand, a constant. In eighth-century
Italy, wealth and nobilitas were in effect synonyms, as Paul the Deacon

6 For Clermont, see I. N. Wood, ‘The ecclesiastical politics of Merovingian

Clermont’, in P. Wormald (ed.), Ideal and Reality in Frankish and Anglo-Saxon Society
(Oxford, 1983), pp. 34-57.
7 Edictus Rothari, Prologue, ed. F. Beyerle, Leges Langobardorum 643-866 (Witzen-
hausen, 1947), pp. 2-4; trans. K. F. Drew, The Lombard Laws (Philadelphia, 1973), pp.
39—40; Lex Baiwariorum, 3.1, ed. E. von Schwind, MGH, Leges nationum germanicarum
5.2 (Hanover, 1926), pp. 313-15; trans. T. J. Rivers, Laws of the Alamans and Bavarians
(Philadelphia, 1977), p. 129.
66 CHRIS W ICKHAM

tells us.8 In Francia, the equivalence was less explicit, but was doubt­
less regarded as equally normal. Whether Germanic aristocrats seized
land directly, or were assigned it by kings as part of a formal land-
settlement, or gained it through office-holding or later royal largesse,
they certainly possessed it, in every successor state. Some of these
possessions were huge, too, by any criteria except those of the richest
fifth-century senators. Wademir, a landowner living in or near Paris,
who made his will in 690, had thirty-three estates, scattered across the
whole Paris area, down to Angers on the Loire, and even as far as
Cahors in central Aquitaine. Bertram bishop of Le Mans in his will of
616 listed even more, some hundred estates scattéred across a dozen
dioceses. It has been plausibly argued that Bertram was of partially
Roman descent, as well as maybe related to two Merovingian queens;
it is as significant, however, that he was a close follower of King
Chlotar II, and gained much of this land in the aftermath of that
king’s rapid conquest of all the other Frankish kingdoms in 613.9 By
now, ethnic descent was less important than Königsnähe; but both
were transmuted into landed wealth, and thus the possibility of
independent local power.
If one compares Francia with the Visigothic and Lombard king­
doms, one conclusion seems clear: Frankish aristocrats were the rich­
est. Wademir and Bertram are part of a group of hugely wealthy
aristocrats, based between the Loire and the Rhine, who have no
known parallels elsewhere. In the eighth-century documentation for
Lombard Italy, landowners rarely held more than half a dozen estates
each, even when they were royal associates: even middling Frankish
aristocrats may have outclassed them. The situation is less clear in
Spain, but our fragmentary evidence hints at a similar small scale
for all but the greatest noble families. This would allow for an
accumulation of wealth and a range of exchange activity in Francia
that could not be matched elsewhere after 650 or so, as we shall see
in Chapter 3. It also made life more difficult for Merovingian kings,
who had to face the most serious faction-fighting of any Germanic

8 Paul the Deacon, ed. E. Dümmler, MGH, Poetae aevi carolini I (Hanover, 1881),
p. 48.
9 Wademir, in H. Atsma and J. Vezin (eds.), Chartae Latinae Antiquiores XIII (Olten
and Lausanne, 1981), n. 571, pp. 94-9, with facsimile; for Bertram, see the text and the
hypotheses about family origins in M. Weidemann, Das Testament des Bischofs Bertram
von Le Mans vom 27 März 616 (Mainz, 1986).
 S O C IE T Y I 67

kingdom. Riding that tiger was hard, and it is not surprising that the
Merovingian kingship was the one to suffer the most serious political
crisis, in the mid- to late seventh century. Royal resources remained
sufficiently great in Francia, however, for the Carolingians to bounce
back from 718 onwards, and to establish themselves as the most
powerful dynasty in the west. Indeed, once they had asserted their
authority over the factions, and once they had confiscated the lands
of losing opponents, they could benefit from the wealth and local
power of their aristocracies as well.
These Frankish, Italian, and Spanish aristocracies were above all
military. They aimed for positions in royal government that were
above all defined in military terms, as dukes and counts, that is to say
provincial and local army-leaders and judges. They attached them­
selves to each other, and to kings, in clienteles tied together by oaths
of loyalty that had a strong military element. Their image of proper
behaviour allowed for a great deal of violence: not only bravery in
war but also revenge-killing was considered entirely honourable,
even by kings and churchmen. Gregory of Tours chronicled some
more unpleasant sadism in his aristocratic neighbours, which he did
criticize; he remarked rather sourly that aristocrats in general were
only interested in honour, plunder, money, and court cases.10 But
these latter characteristics were more often tolerated than criticized
by our commentators, including on other days Gregory himself. They
were normal. So was aristocratic display. Elites wore a great deal of
wealth on their person, for effect: gold and gems on fine leather and
silk clothing was common among aristocrats of both sexes, for
example. When St Eligius of Noyon (d. 660) was the court goldsmith
for the Frankish king Dagobert in the 630s, he was so holy that he
gave his gemmed silk clothes, his gold bracelet, and even his belt of
office to the poor and to redeem captives. But he was not too holy to
wear them at all, and when he gave them away the king gave him new

10 Revenge as normal: for example, Gregory, Decern libri historiarum, 9. 19, ed.
Krusch, pp. 432-4; trans. Thorpe, Gregory of Tours, pp. 501-2; Vita Landiberti 11-17, ed.
B. Krusch, MGH, Scriptores rerum merovingicarum 6 (Hanover, 1913), pp. 364-70; Roth-
ari, Edictum, 74, ed. Beyerle, p. 26; Paul the Deacon, Historia Langobardorum, 4. 51, ed.
G. Waitz, MGH, Scriptores rerum germanicarum 48 (Hanover, 1879), pp. 174-6; trans.
W. D. Foulke, Paul the Deacon: History of the Lombards (Philadelphia, 1907), pp.
205-8. Gregory on aristocrats: Decem libri historiarum, 5. 3, ed. Krusch, pp. 196-8;
trans. Thorpe, Gregory of Tours, pp. 255-8; Liber Vitae Patrum 6.1, ed. B. Krusch,
MGH, Scriptores rerum merovingicarum 1.2 (Hanover, 1884), p. 680.
68 CHRIS W ICKHAM

ones. This clothing rhetoric was respected even by peasants, one

should note: when the Visigothic king Leovigild gave an estate to a
real ascetic, Nanctus, two of the estate-workers killed him because he
was dressed in rags with his hair unkempt: such clothing was
unworthy of a dominus.n Eating and drinking to excess was normal,
too. Indeed, participating in royal banquets—being a conviva regis—
was a particularly important aspect of Königsnähe.
Clothing and eating were not solely attributes of military identity,
but it may be because of military traditions that they did not seem to
have been matched by good housing. With the decline of cities as
political foci at the end of the empire, urban living was no longer
essential for aristocracies, and where towns were not strongly rooted,
as in northern and central Gaul or inland Spain, elites came largely to
live in the countryside. Only in Italy did cities clearly keep their
former role as living quarters for the aristocracy. But nothing has ever
yet been found by archaeologists for early medieval Francia or Italy
to match the great rural villas of late Rome, which had gone by 600
everywhere—by 450 in northern Gaul. In Spain, too, only one prob­
ably seventh-century example is known, at Pia de Nadal outside
Valencia.1112 Nor do literary sources tell us much about aristocratic
residences, even casually, though they tell us often enough about the
wonders of church architecture. Lay aristocrats seem to have spent
their wealth on personal adornment, food, and—above all—buying
loyalty from armed followers with money and land, rather than on
the permanent buildings favoured by Roman civilian aristocrats or by
early medieval churchmen.
The picture just presented has very little parallel to that of the
civilian aristocracy of the Roman empire, except in the importance of
landed wealth. Yet many of the ancestors of the military aristocrats of
the seventh century will certainly have been Roman. Indeed, in places
like Aquitaine, where few Germans settled for long, most or all of

11 Vita Eligii 1. 10-12, ed. B. Krusch, MGH, Scriptores rerum merovingicarum 4

(Hanover, 1902), pp. 676-80. Vitas sanctorum patrum Emeritensium, 3. 10-15, ed. A.
Maya Sanchez, Corpus Christianorum 116 (Turnhout, 1992), pp. 21-4; trans. A. T. Fear,
Lives of the Visigothic Fathers (Liverpool, 1997), p. 57.
12 E. Juan and I. Pastor, ‘Los visigodos en Valencia. Pia de Nadal: una villa aulica?’,
Boletm de arqueologia medieval 3 (1989), pp. 137-79. Some earlier villas did continue
into the seventh century in Spain, however; the best studied is Vilauba in northern
Catalonia, for which see R. F. J. Jones et al., ‘The late Roman villa o f Vilauba and its
context’, Antiquaries Journal, 62 (1982), pp. 245-82, at pp. 271-2.
 SO C IE T Y 69

them were Roman in origin. But even Aquitainian aristocrats are not
visibly different from those elsewhere, as texts such as the eighth-
century Vita Pardulfi show.13 Why was this picture so different? Above
all it was because the form of the state had changed. The material
basis for aristocratic activity, in any pre-industrial society, is land; but
its institutional forms and cultural identity are always related to the
wider structures of political power. The Roman empire was a very
strong political system, funded by tax-raising; not only titles, status,
and privilege but also money were available as a result of state service.
Being a part of this system, and playing by its rules, was profitable,
and, above all, stable: possession of a given title meant what it said,
as the basis for secure position, and for the patronage powers that
derived from it. Only in the final decades of the empire did less
formal elements of local power, such as private armies, become more
than occasionally necessary for aristocrats. None of this was true in
the post-Roman world. As we saw in Chapter 1, the tax system was in
sharp decline in the sixth century, and landowning became the basis
of both royal and aristocratic wealth and power; all elements of polit­
ical position were only worth anything if they were backed up by the
control of land. Politics became more decentralized as a result, for
local power became more and more important; it also became more
direct, because if one could not impress one’s immediate armed
entourage, one had no chance of impressing anyone else. Again, kings
and aristocrats were here in the same boat, and tended to behave in
the same ways.
The other thing that changed was, of course, that the states of the
post-Roman world, and the legitimacy they sought, had come to be
seen as Germanic. Such legitimations were not necessarily old; recent
research shows that collective identities among Germanic peoples
were very fluid indeed before their armies took over Roman prov­
inces. The ‘ethnogenesis’ of hitherto mixed groups, united only by
their leaders, into theoretically homogeneous communities of Franks
or Lombards was actually a result of that conquest, a little like the way
warm toffee crystallizes into fixed shapes when it is submerged in
cold water. Such a crystallization process was effective, however; as
long as a kingdom lasted, its king and its court would be Frankish,

13 Vita Pardulfi, cc. 9,17, ed. W. Levison, MGH, Scriptores rerum merovingicarum 7
(Hanover, 1919-20), pp. 29-30 and 35.
70 CHRIS W ICKHAM

Visigothic, Lombard, Burgundian, Alaman, Bavarian. Such kings

were also, at least nominally, the rulers of a people in arms, who
included the peasantry. They ruled by assembly, as a result: through
the great public meetings, both at the central and the local level, often
called placita, at which disputes were settled and laws were made,
which were described in Chapter 1. This sort of political practice had
strong Roman elements, but the imagery attached to it was ethnic. To
participate in secular politics, one came increasingly, at least by the
seventh century, to have to be seen to be a Frank, Visigoth, or what­
ever was locally appropriate. Naming practices changed to match.
Gregory of Tours’s great-uncle was one of the first Roman senators to
be associated with Frankish government service; he was called by the
Germanic name Gundulf.14 By the seventh century Roman names in
Francia were decidedly fewer; by the eighth, in a second process of
ethnogenesis, all the inhabitants of the lands north of the Loire were
called, and seem to have considered themselves to be, Franks. The
same thing happened in Italy and Spain. With these changes, a wider
aristocratic identity changed as well: all secular aristocrats became
local lords with a military training, whatever else they also were.
Aristocratic families were widely-based: family attachment was
through female as well as male lines, as late Roman family structures
had been before them. A good deal of attention was paid to mar­
riages, as the key means of extending clan identity sideways, and this
in turn means that the location of women was of some importance to
families. This did not in itself bring much female autonomy, but it is
probably in this context that another social role developed for aristo­
cratic women, at least in Francia, namely, the control of nunneries.
These could become semi-autonomous religious foci for quite wide
family groups, as were Nivelles in north-west Francia and Fare-
moutiers east of Paris for the two major Frankish clan groupings of
the seventh century. Membership of the Frankish royal families, both
the Merovingians and the Carolingians, was by contrast restricted to
the male line, but the wives and mothers of kings were often from the
aristocracy. Here, too, such women could gain a considerable political
role, for themselves and through them for their families, particularly

14 Gregory, Decern libri historiarum, 6. ii, ed. Krusch, p. 281; trans. Thorpe, Gregory of
Tours, p. 342; Vita Arnulfi, c. 3, ed. B. Krusch, MGH, Scriptores rerum merovingicarum 2
(Hanover, 1888), p. 433.
 SO C IE TY 71

in time of royal minorities, when mothers were generally queens-

regent. When, in the tenth century, male-line family structures
became a feature of the aristocracy as well, this sort of genealogical
centrality produced a notable group of powerful mothers, in every
part of Latin Europe. We should not mistake this set of influential
women for a proof of female independence and autonomy: queenly
power was often contested, and all the evidence we have for female
autonomy shows it to have been both fragile and circumscribed. The
public space was seen as male above all; female self-assertion in it was
regularly criticized. Gregory of Tours lived at the time of two power­
ful queens-regent, Brunhild and Fredegund: he reserves much of
his venom for Fredegund, who was his enemy. But even more signifi­
cant is his relative silence about Brunhild, his patron; female public
activity was too problematic for him to be able to praise it. Women,
however influential, were supposed to operate in private, inside the
household. But they did get into the public arena on at least some
occasions.
The local power-bases of aristocracies were, as we have seen, cru­
cial. They were also highly diverse. No two areas of Europe were alike
in their social structures, and this meant that local power had to be
differently constructed in each. Between Nivelles and Liège, for
example, hardly anyone is known to have held land in the seventh
and eighth century who was not part of, or dependent on, the network
of families we call the Pippinids, the ancestors of the Carolingians.
Local power was here straightforward and uncontested. By contrast,
around a major royal power-centre such as Paris in the same period,
we find a variety of large-scale landowners jostling for power in the
same space: major aristocratic families, rich suburban monasteries
(Saint-Denis and Saint-Germain-des-Prés), and the king himself.
Here, power was more competitive, and more mediated: both
through the foundation of private monasteries, and through aristo­
crats simply seeking to make their presence felt in the royal palaces
that clustered north of the city. Perhaps more common than either of
these two patterns, however, was a still more fragmented one. Around
Lucca, the best-documented city in eighth-century Italy, documents
show us a variety of aristocrats, urban-dwelling in this case, with very
scattered landowning, intercut not only by other aristocratic land but
also by the lands of the peasantry. No local lord could establish
uncontested power in this sort of environment. Rather, he would use
72 I CHRIS W ICKHAM

his lands to build up clienteles and thus support and influence. His
aim would be to come to the attention of the king and become his
personal follower, with the possibility of gaining more wealth as a
result, or else becoming duke or indeed bishop of the city. This con­
stant competitive game at the local level, with half a dozen major
players, could absorb aristocrats for generations. It was also of course
much less dangerous to royal power than were local power-points like
the Liège area, at least unless the aristocratic factions of different
localities joined together in wider groupings.
I have taken most of the above examples from the pre-Carolingian
period, but it needs to be said as a conclusion to this section that the
Carolingians changed few of these patterns. What the four gener­
ations of unitary Carolingian power between 718 and 840 did was to
focus aristocratic attention firmly on the mayor of the palace/king/
emperor and his court as the only serious venue for large-scale polit­
ical action. This was all the more attractive because Frankish expan­
sion into Aquitaine, Catalonia, Saxony, Bavaria, and (above all) Italy
provided unmatched patronage opportunities for the Carolingian
family, with a host of new counties, duchies, and royal lands to be
given out. Once it became clear how profitable this could be, by the
mid-eighth century, factional violence dropped back considerably,
and did not return until the 830s, when the empire had ceased to
expand. By then, the rules and the ideology of politics had changed
considerably, as can be seen in other chapters; but aristocratic society
and values remained much the same. Two changes are worth signal­
ling: first, in the framework of a powerful and aggressive state, large
landowners increased their wealth considerably, often at the expense
of their poorer neighbours; second, as a result of this, aristocrats had
many more personal dependants, and the rituals of dependence
became rather more developed, notably those associated with sworn
loyalty, oaths of vassalage as they were sometimes called in ninth-
century Francia and Italy. I shall return to the implications of these
developments later.
 S O C IE T Y I 73

Byzantium and the Arabs

The Roman empire Tell’ in the west in the fifth century, but not in
the east. Most of the eastern empire lay outside Europe, for it
consisted of the whole of the eastern Mediterranean, but its capital
Constantinople was and is a European city, and indeed, after the
early sixth century, was unquestionably the largest city in Europe
for the rest of the early middle ages. In the sixth century it dropped
its residual Latin-speaking tradition, and westerners as a result
usually called it the empire ‘of the Greeks’; less accurately, we call
it Byzantium. Throughout the fifth and sixth centuries, the picture
I have drawn of Roman aristocracies was still valid for the east,
with only a little modification (senatorial families, for example,
were less rich); cities, too, remained active and prosperous social
centres.
The crisis for the Byzantine empire came in the seventh century.
One of the clearest casualties was, once again, the Roman tradition of
civilian aristocratic society. Tax revenues had been cut to a quarter,
but a large army was more necessary than ever; by the eighth century,
we can see it on the Anatolian plateau. A new military elite grew
up, based on the frontier region, which by the ninth century had
developed its own culture: partly Greco-Roman in origin, partly
Armenian, but above all proudly devoted to the frontier warfare of
the period, and to the sort of military prowess that would have been
very recognizable to a ninth-century Frank, as in the frontier epic
Digenes Akritis, which may in parts have a ninth- or tenth-century
base.15 This military aristocracy also eclipsed most of the civilian
strata. The senatorial and curial aristocracies more or less disap­
peared; urban life (outside Constantinople, Thessaloniki, and a hand­
ful of other centres) was by now weak, and its leaders must have gone
for the most part either to the army or to the capital. Even in Thes­
saloniki, seventh-century city officials seem to have become restricted
to the bishop and the local imperial representative, the eparch. In
the Miracles of St Demetrius, a seventh-century text devoted to the
city’s patron, high-born civilian notables do appear, but they are by

15 Digenes Akritis, ed. and trans. E. Jeffreys (Cambridge, 1998).

74 CHRIS W ICKHAM

contrast much more vaguely characterized.16 A real network of civil­

ian elites was confined to Constantinople, and to the still substantial
palace bureaucracy there. There came, in fact, to be a sharp political
and (still more) cultural division between the bureaucrats of the
capital, still imbued with a traditional Greek culture, both pagan and
Christian, and the army men of the provinces; they were still at
loggerheads when the Turks invaded Byzantine territory in the 1060s.
There are obvious similarities to the west in thisT>icture, as well as
fundamental differences. In the east as in the west, faced with
decentralization, endemic military insecurity, and a new form of the
state, civilian aristocratic structures were squeezed out. As they
declined, so did much of the traditional identity of their members.
Roman naming practices disappeared very quickly. If in Francia or
Italy former Roman aristocrats were by 700 called Waldelen or Lan-
prand instead of Claudius or Florentinus, in Byzantium they came to
be called John or Peter, generic names in the Christian tradition. It is
actually harder to trace aristocratic family continuity across the
seventh century in the east than in the west, and ancestry clearly
mattered very little to the new Byzantine elites, particularly the mili­
tary ones. Continuities in landowning presumably mattered rather
more, though we do not have documents for this period, so we can­
not check. A landed military elite dominated by 700 in both east and
west, with little link to the past, whatever its genealogical origins, and
with similar values; in both, it became ever more firmly rooted with
time. It must be recognized that the structure of Byzantium’s terri­
torial armies, with their precisely delimited geographical remits, was
quite unlike the armed aristocratic clienteles of the west. This was the
result of a very different economic basis for the state, and had in turn
different political consequences, as we saw in the Introduction. But
even in that context, some analogous patterns of social development
can be seen. The stabilization of the aristocracy had, for example,
similar consequences in both east and west. The Carolingians legis­
lated in the ninth century to try to safeguard the lands of the free
peasantry, at risk from the military aristocracy. So, in the tenth cen­
tury, did Byzantine emperors. They were both equally unsuccessful;
aristocratic hegemony at local level was in practice unassailable. By

16 Miracula sancti Demetrii, ed. P. Lemerle, Les plus anciens recueils des miracles de
Saint Démétrius (Paris, 1979-81).
 S O C IE T Y I 75

900 military families in the east had acquired surnames and a

dynastic identity, too, which had its parallels in turn in the west
a century later.
The Arab empire lies for the most part outside the remit of a
book on Europe. Actually, in the ex-Byzantine lands of the Arab
world such as Syria and Egypt, some Roman social patterns survived
rather better than they did in the Byzantine empire itself, notably a
city-dwelling tradition and a local civilian aristocracy, even if this
aristocracy had far less status than the military elites of the Arabs
themselves. The Arabs continued to tax, too, even if their fiscal
structures slowly diverged from Roman traditions. When the Arabs
conquered most of Spain, in 711, they re-established some of these
patterns there. The Visigoths had taxed, but their army was certainly
landed. Under the Arabs, taxation was swiftly re-established as the
basis of the state, which gained a measure of stability under the
Umayyad dynasty, from 756 onwards. Exactly what Arab Spain was
really like is not easy to see, unfortunately, because its documents are
almost wholly lost; the societies of the tiny Christian polities clinging
to the northern mountains are actually better known. What we know
about Arab Spain recalls Byzantium rather than the Visigoths, how­
ever. There seems to have been the same sort of balance between a
largely civilian, bureaucratic culture in the capital, Cordoba (another
large city, though smaller than Constantinople), dedicated to tax­
raising, and a more militarized frontier aristocracy in the relatively
barren central plateau, some of which had dimly remembered ethnic
Visigothic origins, though these were overlaid with Berber, Arabic,
and, increasingly, Islamic culture. This opposition persisted even
during the tenth-century imposition of central government over the
peripheries, and would break out again dramatically in the eleventh-
century civil wars, after which Arab Spanish unity disintegrated.

England and Norway

What linked aristocratic social development in the western and east­
ern provinces of the former Roman empire was thus the militariza­
tion of practice and ideology; what differentiated the two was the
survival of taxation in the east (and its réintroduction in Arab Spain),
76 CHRIS W ICKHAM

and the resultant maintenance of a powerful centre of gravity in the

political capitals, Constantinople and Cordoba, and, outside Europe,
Damascus and Baghdad. The politics of land thus had relatively little
role in Byzantine or Arab society. Aristocrats got as much land as
they could in each, as in the west; but this process was much less
dangerous to rulers.
The societies to the north of the Frankish world shared some of
these similarities, while maintaining numerous differences from the
Romano-Germanic societies of the west until the ninth century and
often later. It is necessary to stress at the outset that these societies
were even more heterogeneous than those discussed up to now, for
they had largely independent origins. The Celtic societies of Ireland
and Scotland diverged in many significant ways from the ‘Romano-
Celtic’ societies of Wales or Brittany; Anglo-Saxon England
developed in clearly different ways from Saxony, Denmark, or north­
ern Scandinavia, whence its rulers had come; the Slav lands were
different again, with Poland and Bohemia developing as states in the
tenth century, and some of their western neighbours, for example
the Liutizi, consciously rejecting statehood. They did have common
features, notably clearly defined warrior elites devoted to small-
scale fighting and the gift-exchange of treasure, and substantial free
peasantries, but any attempt to generalize across all of them risks
banality. I shall here, therefore, discuss only two of these societies,
England and Norway.
Anglo-Saxon England shows the clearest development, thanks to a
convergence of narrative sources, documents, and archaeology. Its
conversion to Christianity in the seventh century furthermore
opened it up to influence from Francia; as noted in Chapter 1, it has
claims to being the most successful Carolingian-style polity in Europe
by the tenth century. It had to come a long way, however. Three
centuries earlier, it would be hard to argue that the Anglo-Saxon
kingdoms had much political coherence at all, and a century earlier
than that even social classes are barely visible. The Anglo-Saxons took
over Roman agricultural territories, but if there is one Roman prov­
ince with a complete social and political break between the empire
and the Germanic polities it is the Anglo-Saxon, that is English, sec­
tions of Britain. The sixth-century Anglo-Saxon communities seem
to have operated on a tiny scale, with dozens of autonomous units
scattered across the island. Cemetery archaeology and, increasingly,
 SO C IE T Y 77

settlement archaeology allow one to argue with a fair degree of con­

viction that, although there were certainly relatively rich people in the
English lands at the start of the sixth century, only at the end of that
century do they stand out as a separate economic group, whose status
and wealth must have derived from exploiting others. It is in the same
period that the county-sized kingdoms, Kent or Sussex or East Anglia,
seem to have crystallized; and in the seventh century slightly larger
polities, Wessex or Mercia or Northumbria begin to appear as the
product of conquest. Even these were still very small indeed and, for
that matter, poor by continental standards.17
Seventh-century Anglo-Saxon England was thus pretty small-scale.
But it did have an aristocracy. In the first laws we have, from Æthel-
berht of Kent around 605, they were legally recognized in a way that
Frankish aristocrats still were not; and in eighth-century accounts of
the same period—notably that of Bede, written in the 720s—that
aristocracy is highly warlike, kept in royal households only by grants
of land, gifts of treasure and by generous feasting, and capable of
moving from one king to a more successful one with great ease. It is
interesting that this well-defined and self-conscious aristocracy—
identifiable even by its style of speaking, as Bede tells us in a story
about a noble called Imma who tried to escape in disguise from a lost
battle in 678 but was recognized—was at the same time so restricted
in material terms that archaeologists can still only with difficulty
distinguish it from the more prosperous end of the peasantry.18 It may
be that the status of an aristocrat was fenced off by essentially ritual,
rather than economic, distinctions from the free peasants or ceorls
who were his neighbours. It may just be, however, that the seventh
century was a period of very rapid social change, and that Bede’s
account tells us more about eighth-century aristocratic identity than
that of the seventh. Either way, it is at least clear that what one might
refer to as an aristocratic calling became steadily more explicitly
defined. In the seventh century, even landownership is barely docu­
mented; kings, notables, churches, on the one side, and peasants, on

17 These assertions summarize much recent archaeological work: see the syntheses
in S. R. Bassett (ed.), The Origins of Anglo-Saxon Kingdoms (Leicester, 1989); C. J. Scull,
‘Archaeology, early Anglo-Saxon society and the origins of Anglo-Saxon kingdoms’,
Anglo-Saxon Studies in Archaeology and History, 6 (1993), pp. 65-82.
18 Bede, Historia ecclesiastica, 4. 22, ed. and trans. B. Colgrave and R. A. B. Mynors,
Bede's Ecclesiastical History of the English People (Oxford, 1969), pp. 402-3.
78 CHRIS W ICKHAM

the other, had competing rights to take surplus from tracts of land,
without the latter being for the most part in any clear sense tenants of
the former. By the end of the eighth century, this was changing, and
land tenure on a Roman, or Frankish, model became increasingly
normal. The free peasantry still had a political role in English com­
munities, however, as participants in court assemblies, and as liable to
military service and construction work for kings. It was this public
service that Offa could draw from when he built his dyke against the
Welsh in the late eighth century, and that Alfred could draw from
when he built fortified towns and fought off the Vikings in the late
ninth. By then, aristocrats could certainly be dominant—and
domineering—in England, but they had not cancelled the public role
of the free.
The image of the aristocratic retinue feasting with the king is one
we have seen in Francia; in England, too, it carried with it obligations
of mutual support and loyalty. This was not because both societies
were Germanic; it can be found in Wales and Ireland as well. The
image of the warrior bound to fight for his lord by feasting obliga­
tions was general in the early middle ages: The Gododdin, a Welsh
poem which some believe may contain a core originally composed in
Scotland in the sixth century, may put it best when it says such things
as ‘like a wolf in fury,. . . Gwefrfawr was invaluable in return for wine
from the drinking-horn’, or, more sharply still, ‘The men went to
Catraeth, swiff was their host; pale mead was their feast, and it was
their poison’.19 Feasting could kill you (even if not by the sword, by
the cholesterol, given the meat consumed), but it was part of being a
warrior, and a noble.
Where the societies of northern Europe differed was in the rigidity
of their social structures. England was here at a mid-point; Ireland
was much more rigid, and the Scandinavian societies, as it seems,
rather less. In Scandinavia, it seems that even hierarchies took a long
time to establish themselves, except probably in Denmark. Our
sources tend to be fairly late, but for Norway we have a handful of
tenth-century poems, and twelfth-century laws that have analogies
with the twelfth-century laws in its colony Iceland, which separated
itself off politically in the late ninth and tenth century. We can at least

19 Gododdin, stanzas iv, viii, ed. I. Williams, Canu Aneirin (Cardiff, 1938), trans. K. H.
Jackson, The Gododdin (Edinburgh, 1969), pp. 117,118-19.
 S O C IE T Y I 79

make hypotheses, therefore, about this latter period. In Norway, it

would be hard to say there was a defined aristocracy at all. Here and
in Iceland, communities of free peasants, rich or poor, looked to
independent and highly ritualized public assemblies or things as
their major political focus. From the late ninth century onwards, juris
(regional rulers) and kings sought to establish hegemony over these
things, but it was a slow and intermittent process, barely complete in
the twelfth century. It is not that such communities were havens of
equality; there were certainly richer men of higher status, called goÖar
in Iceland or hauldar or hersar in Norway, who had the right to lead
or represent their lesser neighbours, whether in the thing or at war.
But this status brought little permanent power over these neighbours,
and not even all that much relative wealth. Norway was a violent
place; all men were quick to anger, and keen to feud. Distrust was
only sensible; as the tenth-century Hâvamâl proverbs said, ‘before
making your way up the hall you should observe and note all the
doorways, for you can never be certain when you will find enemies
present’; or ‘he is a foolish man who thinks that all who smile at him
are his friends; he will discover when he comes into the thing that he
has but few supporters’; or ‘a man ought to be a friend to his friend
and repay gift with gift. People should meet smiles with smiles and
lies with treachery.’20 The Norwegians evidently knew that their
social world was hard to negotiate. But the absence of fixed power
relations meant that it was at least possible, indeed even normal, to
negotiate one’s social and political position, as was impractical in
England after 600 at the latest: not only was one dealing with neigh­
bours who, whether richer or poorer, were in a comparable eco­
nomic bracket, but even status distinctions were relatively fluid,
except for the sharp difference between slavery and freedom. Nor­
wegians fought wars and recognized military leadership—they were
of course active Vikings in the ninth century—and indeed recog­
nized feasting and gift-exchange obligations with jarls and kings, just
as did every society we have looked at. At the local level, too, there
were structural distinctions between the powerful and the weak. But
social skills could overcome them. Norwegians (and still more Ice­
landers, who had no kingship) were in these respects about as far

20 Hâvamâl, stanzas 1, 25, 42, ed. and trans. D. E. M. Clarke, The Hâvamâl, with
Selections from Other Poems of the Edda (Cambridge, 1923), pp. 45, 51 and 55.
8o CHRIS W ICKHAM

away from the civilian Roman world we started with as one could
possibly get.

The peasantry
This brings us on to peasant society, for in northern Scandinavia even
‘aristocrats’ were usually direct cultivators or stockraisers. Peasant
societies in our period, however, cannot be divided up and described
in groups in precisely the way aristocracies can. As noted earlier, they
are far less visible in our sources, so we can simply say less about
them; furthermore, what we can say is generally about very external
matters, such as how kings in their legislation thought they ought to
behave, or what landowners reckoned their rents were. Peasant soci­
eties were also multifarious. Peasants are subsistence cultivators, and
their socio-economic practices therefore vary with every change in
the local ecology, which in Europe is frequently; their social relation­
ships were also closely associated with patterns of landownership,
which were equally, but differently, changeable. I cannot therefore
present a broad set of types of peasantry as I did for aristocracies, for
the problems of typicality are that much greater. I shall offer a set of
very brief empirical sketches of three of the better-documented peas­
ant societies of early medieval Europe, without any pretension to
completeness, before offering some broad-brush generalizations.
Let us begin with the tenants of the monastery of Saint-Germain-
des-Prés in the suburbs of Paris in the early ninth century, recorded
for us in remarkable detail, down to the names of children, in an
estate-register or polyptych from the early years of the ninth century.
The economic aspects of this famous text are discussed further in
Chapter 3; here, the picture of local society is the key question. Saint-
Germain owned a large set of estates to the south and west of Paris,
sometimes making up what seem to be contiguous blocks of land of
considerable size. Most of these estates were certainly royal gifts,
though sometimes aristocrats had given them, and very occasionally
the polyptych refers to peasant properties that had been swallowed
up by them. By 800, however, it is clear that entire villages in what has
become the Paris conurbation, such as Palaiseau and Villeneuve, were
wholly owned by the monastery. Peasant society was thus tenant
 SO C IE T Y 8l

society. The social divisions were those between different types of

tenant, free (ingenuus) and unfree (servus), living on monastic hold­
ings called mansi. The free-unfree divide was the basic division, but it
was partially undermined by the detailed terms of the leases, which
are recorded in the polyptych, with the possibility of unfree tenants
holding ‘free’ mansi and reduced services, or free tenants holding
‘unfree’ mansi, and so on. Furthermore, intermarriage was possible,
which probably brought social advancement to unfree husbands of
free wives, and certainly brought freedom for their children. One
must assume, then, that there was quite a complex pecking-order in
each village, inside a frame of generalized subjection to detailed
monastic control, which extended to instructions about cutting roof-
tiles out of logs, feeding chickens, and weaving cloth.
Saint-Germain’s estates used to be considered typical of western
Europe in this period; this is not now widely believed. As said earlier,
most landowning was far more fragmented than these great village­
sized estates, which indeed only seem common at all in parts of
north-west Francia, and subsequently also in parts of England, par­
ticularly Mercia and Wessex. In the Rhineland, central and southern
France, northern Spain, and Italy we find scattered estates, and, as a
result, villages with a very large variety of landowners. In any given
village, indeed, one could find lands belonging to a larger or smaller
set of absentee owners, farmed by tenants (free or servile), and also
village-based owners, who could themselves vary in wealth and status
from small aristocrats to subsistence cultivators, and who could have
property focused in one village or else scattered across several.
Around Lucca, for example, which certainly fully belonged to this
pattern, and which is well documented for the eighth and ninth cen­
turies, concentrations of surviving land-transactions even allow us to
draw distinctions between villages. Lunata, a village on a main road
5 kilometres east of the city, had a number of prosperous local owners
with several tenants each, of which the best known, Crispinus
(documented 742-764), was a merchant and may have had a city
house as well. This stratum of owners seems to have dominated the
village; but they also were clients of the bishop of Lucca, and gave
land to his churches, hence also ensuring the survival of their char­
ters. Contrast neighbouring Pieve San Paolo, to the south of Lunata
but not on the road, where there seems to have been only one leading
local family in the eighth century, more peasant proprietors, and little
82 CHRIS W ICKHAM

outside landowning before the end of the century. The free owners of
the village sold land to each other, and not to outsiders, thus main­
taining a tight, relatively inward-looking local society. This suddenly
changed in 793 when the main local landowner, Saximund, gave
much of his land, including portions of two private churches—and
the charters of the previous two generations of land dealers—to the
cathedral; the village must have opened up as a result, and probably
became less tight and stable.21
Fragmented landownership patterns of this type give more social
role to the village as a micro-political unit. St Germain could have
divided and redivided its estates as it chose, and maybe even moved
peasants physically to fit. Crispinus and Saximund, however, had to
deal with neighbours, who, however less rich and influential, could
not be commanded in the same way, except in the case of their own
direct dependants. They therefore had to be dealt with politically,
maybe in the framework of public village-level decision making. Not
that Lucchese settlements ever had very powerful village institutions;
even village identities were often uncertain, for settlement patterns
were very fragmented in the area, with no real village nuclei. The city
held a lot of power and authority in its hinterland; its duke or count
dominated local justice, for example. Local political foci were prob­
ably, increasingly, village churches, of which there were many—
Lunata had two by 800, Pieve S. Paolo had three—some private, some
episcopal; their priests were themselves landowners and rural dealers,
attracting pious donations. As a result of such gifts, priestly families
in the ninth century were often the central families in villages.
For clearer patterns of village decision making, we have to look to
regions where there were even fewer substantial local owners, and
maybe more nucleated settlement. One such is eastern Brittany,
which is documented in the ninth-century charters of the monastery
of Redon. These charters depict a society with few outside owners
(until Redon began to expand), and with a relatively restricted stra­
tum of wealthy locals, called machtierns. These men had some local
authority, for example as presidents of courts and assemblies, but
very little power to coerce—certainly nothing like as much as a count.
Village territories (here called plebes) more or less ran themselves:

21 See C. Wickham, ‘Aristocratic power in eighth-century Lombard Italy’, in A. C.

Murray (ed.), After Rome's Fall (Toronto, 1998), pp. 153-70, at p. 168.
 S O C IE TY 83

free villagers (or the richer among them) guaranteed land transac­
tions, acted as sureties in disputes, and indeed judged court cases in
village courts. The existence of the latter (they are called placitum or
malluSy standard Frankish words for judicial assemblies) shows that a
Breton plebs had far more organizational coherence than a village
near Lucca; a plebs was something one could seek to dominate, and
indeed fight over. It is equally notable that these Breton peasantries
did not accumulate land to the same extent that one can find in, for
example, Italy; their competitiveness seems to have been political
rather than economic. This, like the power of their local assemblies,
has closer analogies in the thing societies of Norway than in most of
the rest of Carolingian Europe.22
This is as far as we can go here in setting out differences; these
anyway have to be set against what peasants had in common. First,
they were, as already noted, subsistence cultivators, with a sprinkling
of full-time or part-time artisans: their first concern had to be their
crops. Bad weather marked even surer ruin than wicked lords. Wea­
ther magic was common; Agobard of Lyon in the late 810s wrote a
tract against the widespread belief in storm-makers {tempestarii)y
who could bring or avert rain and hail; and a spell involving St
Christopher survives in an early eighth-century text written on
slate, from the Asturias in northern Spain: ‘let the village where the
monk Auriolus and his brothers and neighbours live, and all its prop­
erties . . . not be harmed on trees, fields, vineyards, and fruit-trees . . .
let the hail turn to rain/23 Secondly, in nearly every part of Europe,
they lived in geographically defined communities, whether nucleated
or dispersed, which meant something to them emotionally or politic­
ally, or, increasingly, in religious terms, as rural churches or monaster­
ies and their attached ritual steadily became more widespread across
the eighth to tenth centuries. Thirdly, they had to deal with lords,
royal, aristocratic, or ecclesiastical, who either owned their land and
took their surplus, or else perhaps owned land nearby and sought to

22 See in general Wendy Davies, Small Worlds: The Village Community in Early
Medieval Brittany (London, 1988).
23 Agobard of Lyons, De grandine et tonitriis, ed. L. van Acker, Agobardi Lugdunensis
opera omnia (Turnhout, 1981), pp. 3-15; partially trans. P. E. Dutton, Carolingian Civil­
ization (Peterborough, Ontario, 1993), pp. 189-91; cf. Vie de Théodore de Sykéon, c. 52,
ed. and trans. A. Festugière (Brussels, 1970), p. 45; partial English trans, by E. Davies
and N. H. Baynes, Three Byzantine Saints (London, 1948), p. 126; I. Velazquez Soriano,
Laspizarras visigodas (Murcia, 1989), no. 104, pp. 312-14.
84 CHRIS W ICKHAM

extend their own properties at the peasants’ expense, often in violent

ways. Peasants could be the clients or followers of lords too: they
could seek to exploit lordly power, not just resist it or evade it. Lords
‘protected’ their weaker neighbours, after all. The word ‘protection’ is
used in our sources, and if its meaning is today sometimes ambigu­
ous, thanks to its association with the Mafia of Italy or the USA, that
ambiguity would have been well understood by any early medieval
lord or peasant too. But the relationship between'lordly oppression
and rapaciousness and peasant resistance was essentially one of con­
flict: and this was so across the whole of early medieval Europe, as in
all the peasant societies of history.
We can be a little more precise in characterizing these continuities.
I want to look, at least briefly, at four aspects of this: peasant hier­
archies, village collectivities, peasant family structures, and peasants
and lords. Peasants were not all equal, as we have already seen, but the
way they were unequal needs to be brought out more. The basic
distinction in every early medieval village society was between free
and unfree. Free men (I shall return to women in a moment) had
public rights, to own, to sell, to participate in courts and decision
making; the unfree did not. The manumission, that is, the freeing, of
the unfree was a common pious act, particularly in the wills of land-
owners, but it was not always easy (the Visigothic church banned
the manumission of servi on church lands, for example). In many
European societies freedmen remained permanently under the legal
patronage of their former owners; manumission was not a way of
evening out social status. Solidarity between the free and the unfree
was hard to achieve as a result, and not infrequently we can find court
records in which a servus claims that he is really free, but his free
neighbours witness against him and he loses. But the distinction was,
all the same, not an absolute one. As we shall see in Chapter 3, free
and unfree tenants did the same sort of services for and paid the same
sort of rents to their landlords, for example; although unfree tenants
were more subject, it was a relative difference only. It is for this reason
that I have avoided translating servus as ‘slave’. Essentially, in village
society there was a more articulated hierarchy than simply that
between free and unfree, stretching from substantial local landowners
with their own tenants, through peasant proprietors, free tenants, and
down to unfree tenants. The division between owners and tenants
was in practice almost as important as that between free and unfree,
 SO C IE T Y 85

although it was more easily bridgeable; many peasants owned some

land plots and rented others as well. In this grey area, status may have
been as flexible and negotiated as in Norway. Where villages differed
was, as we have seen, in where the balance lay between these social
strata: whether there were many owner-cultivators, or any owners at
all, or any unfree tenants.
The free-unfree division undermined village solidarity; but so also
did the behaviour of local elites. In the early middle ages, village
politics was seldom so absorbing that the richest local owners would
dedicate themselves to it alone; they generally looked outwards, and
upwards: to the most accessible aristocrats, and to the public arena.
Free peasants had military responsibilities in all early medieval poli­
ties; in Visigothic Spain, so even did the unfree. Although these were
never called on in full (no early medieval state, even Byzantium, had
the logistics to feed an army of hundreds of thousands of peasants,
who anyway would have had little training or equipment), a peasant
who could afford a sword and a horse and had an aptitude for mili­
tary service could undoubtedly find a chance to perform it, either for
a private lord/patron or for the king/count, or for both. The slow
extension of links of military dependence to the lower levels of the
clienteles of aristocrats in the Carolingian period included many
members of village elites. In the tenth century, not just in the ex-
Carolingian lands but in England and Castile as well, these lesser
milites came to see themselves as a small-scale local aristocracy, and
the division between them and their unmilitary neighbours became
steadily sharper. One of the features of the decades around 1000 in
much of the west was indeed, as we shall see, that this latter division
closed access to the aristocracy and the king for the majority of the
peasantry.
This slow trend was also the underpinning for some of the more
dramatic examples of social mobility of the period, the low-born
plucked from the dust and made counts, like Leudast of Tours in the
570S, or bishops, like Ebbo of Reims in the 820s, or even Byzantine
emperors, like Basil I (867-886). Such ‘upstarts’ were regularly
sneered at by commentators—except Basil, at least, whose dynasty
lasted over a century, thus making criticism unprofitable. Famously,
Ebbo was attacked by the historian Thegan: Louis the Pious ‘made
you free, not noble, which is impossible’. Thegan was Ebbo’s oppon­
ent in the sharp Carolingian factional struggles of the 830s; the latter’s
86 CHRIS W ICKHAM

allies might have been less harsh, for Ebbo was undoubtedly a power­
ful man. But his fragile political position was shown when he was
deprived of episcopal office in 835, the most severely punished of his
faction.24 Such rapid social mobility was always likely to be risky.
It was also, of course, pretty rare. But it was possible because the
peasantry were still part of the public sphere, at least in theory.
I have stressed that villages were not always as yet coherent collec­
tivities: either because they were too internally divided or because,
as near Lucca, village identity was still relatively inchoate. But they
did exist as concepts, and sometimes they had a certain organiza­
tional force. There are signs that early Frankish villages—or groups of
villages—had local courts, run by local judicial experts called rachim-
burgi, who knew an oral version of Salic law, and could be instructed
to ‘speak’ it by litigants. Such courts would clearly have parallels to
the Breton plebs and the Norwegian thingyand versions of them (pos­
sibly less formal) must have existed elsewhere to resolve local-level
disputes. Another law shows that Frankish villages were also clearly
enough constituted for free males to have a right of veto on new
settlers. Although this veto is sufficiently hedged around in the text to
make it clear that one man could not exercise it on his own, the law at
least shows that a migrant could not settle against the will of a sector
of a village. Furthermore, not only in Francia, but in most other
places, even Lombard Italy, villages were ascribed collective responsi­
bilities in law codes, for catching thieves or fugitive servi for example,
which presuppose at least a minimum common identity. In Byzan­
tium, too, the ‘Farmer’s Law’, a mysterious set of enactments which
might come from almost any of the empire’s Greek-speaking terri­
tories and date to almost any period between the sixth and the ninth
century, shows free villagers regulating the common lands of the
village territory, and also underwriting the taxes of fellow-villagers.25
It has to be admitted that, taken as a whole, these activities are not
that surprising, and probably could be found in every society divided

24 Thegan, Gesta Hludowici imperatoris, cc. 44, 56, ed. E. Tremp, MGH, Scriptores
rerum germanicarum 64 (Hanover, 1995), pp. 232-8 and 252; trans. Dutton, Carolingian
Civilization, pp. 151-2 and 155.
25 Pactus legis salicae, cc. 57, 45 (on migrants), ed. K. A. Eckhardt, M GH, Leges
nationum germanicarum, 4.1 (Hanover, 1962), pp. 214-17 and 173-6; trans. K. F. Drew,
The Laws of the Salian Franks (Philadelphia, 1991), pp. 120-1 and 109-10; W. Ashburner
(ed. and trans.), ‘The Farmer’s Law’, Journal of Hellenic Studies, 30 (1910), pp. 85-108
and 32 (1912), pp. 68-95.
 SO C IE T Y 87

into village territories that has ever existed. (The most surprising is
the Frankish law on new settlers, which as a result has a large histori­
ography.) But they at least bring to our attention the dimensions of
local cooperation, and some differences in its intensity. Broadly, vil­
lages were stronger where there was more collective economic
activity—pasturing, woodland use—and weaker where there were
strong outside landowners to dominate local political practice.
Most peasant families were nuclear: that is to say, they consisted of
a married couple and children, not any wider grouping such as
grandparents or brothersVsisters’ families. The fact is very clear in the
polyptychs, but is supported by more scattered evidence elsewhere as
well. Maybe this is just because peasant houses were fairly simple, and
also because people died at a relatively young age: certainly wider
family loyalties were felt, for example in inter-family feuding. But
there was a clear emphasis on the nuclear family unit. Inside this unit,
there was a life cycle, focused on the moment of marriage and a
subsequent period of childraising as the height of social relevance for
any married couple; after that, their children slowly replaced them.
Guy Halsall’s recent archaeological study of the cemeteries of the
territory of Metz in the sixth and seventh centuries shows how the
highest quantity of female gravegoods was associated with women in
their late teens and early twenties, presumably the marriageable age,
although the highpoint for men was both later and longer, roughly in
their twenties and thirties. One could reasonably conclude that
women married around or before the age of 20 and men at around
the age of 30, perhaps after a period of warfare or other public ser­
vice. After that, both men and women were steadily buried with fewer
gravegoods: they appear to have lost relevance, women sooner than
men, but after their forties both of them. Society around Metz gave
no particular public prerogatives to the old.26 This seems a plausible
picture; elsewhere, it will have varied, but maybe only in detail.
It must be added that as soon as one considers the archaeological
evidence for gender differences, which tends to emphasize female
display in the cemeteries of most of western Europe between 500 and
700, one is struck once again by how little this is paralleled in any writ­
ten sources, in which women (particularly non-aristocratic women)

26 G. Halsall, Settlement and Social Organization: The Merovingian Region of Metz

(Cambridge, 1995), pp. 75-109. 254-7.
88 I CHRIS W ICKHAM

hardly appear at all. At most, in land documents, the consent of wives

to the legal actions of husbands is required (as often in Italy), and
even this is not universal. One must conclude that, even more than at
the aristocratic level, women were restricted to the private arena: to
life inside the small and uncomfortable houses of the peasantry.
Women were expected to marry, and to remain under their husbands’
control. Except in Francia and Byzantium, they seem only to have
inherited land from their parents if they had no brothers. Apart from
movables, they got at most a parental dowry. Even this was fairly
small, for brides got most marriage-gifts from their husbands, who
kept effective control of these gifts until their deaths. In Italy, in
particular, women never had any period of legal independence: they
were under the guardianship of their father or brothers, then their
husband, then their sons. Elsewhere, a relative independence was
only available at widowhood. And yet, to repeat, women were an
important shop window for their blood families, as the wealth of
ornaments associated with the graves of pre-eighth-century teenage
women attests. In public, they were physically visible but ideologically
invisible at the same moment.
Peasants also had to live alongside aristocrats, who were either
landlords, lords, patrons, dangerous neighbours, or all of these simul­
taneously. Aristocrats were indeed intrinsically dangerous, as has
already been stressed. As the Greek historian Procopius said of the
Ostrogothic aristocrat Theodahad in the Italy of the early 520s: ‘to
have a neighbour seemed to him a kind of misfortune’;27 Theodahad
was far from unique in this. It is possible nonetheless that, in the west,
the period in the last two millennia in which aristocrats were least
dominant was the period c.500-800; in the Byzantine east, the dates
might be 650-850. Roman aristocracies in the west survived the Ger­
manic conquests, but not necessarily unscathed; Germanic aristocra­
cies took some time to develop. In the east, the seventh-century crisis
similarly undermined aristocratic hegemony. It is not that the rich
did not survive, but they could not necessarily dominate their peasant
neighbours, unless the latter were their immediate dependants. Only
in the eighth century in Francia and Italy, the ninth in England, the
tenth in Castile and Byzantium, later still in Scandinavia, did fully-

27 Prokopios, History of the Wars, 5. 3. 2, ed. and trans. H. B. Dewing (Cambridge,

Mass., 1919), p. 25.
 S O C IE TY 89

fledged aristocratic hegemonies begin to develop again. The evidence

for this development is mostly very poor, it should be admitted. In
Francia and in particular Italy one sign is a set of ninth-century court
cases in which peasants protest to public powers about aristocratic
domineering. In Castile, these tensions appear closer to 1000. In Eng­
land, a sign that aristocrats may have become structurally dominant
is the archaeological evidence for market exchange, which is confined
to East Anglia in the eighth century but takes off elsewhere from the
late ninth. What we lack is much evidence for full-scale peasant
revolts, in other words systematic resistance to these shifts. Saxony
had one, the great Stellinga uprising, in 841-842; the Asturias in
northern Spain had one in about 770. On a smaller scale, a set of
court documents show a valley in the high central Italian Apennines,
the Valle Trita, holding off a monastic landowner for over a century,
between the 770s and the 870s. All three of these cases seem to have
been examples of relatively marginal and coherent, largely peasant,
societies facing an unusually rapid advance in lordship, and, on these
occasions, fighting back. Peasants fighting back are also attested in
Francia, south of Paris, where in 859 a sworn association of peasants
was created to oppose the Vikings; significantly, it was the Frankish
aristocracy who destroyed it—it was too dangerous a precedent.28 But
it has to be said that there could have been more such examples:
ninth-century England is a particularly interesting absentee, for it
must have been undergoing sharp social changes to the detriment of
peasants, given the wealth and prominence of aristocrats that is vis­
ible in our richer tenth-century evidence. The encroachment of the
powerful, when it became serious, was anyway not successfully
resisted, in this epoch. By 1000 aristocratic power was dominant
again everywhere, almost as much as it had been under the Roman
empire.

28 Ninth-century Frankish court cases: see J. L. Nelson, ‘Dispute settlement in Carol-

ingian West Francia’, in W. Davies and P. Fouracre, The Settlement of Disputes in Early
Medieval Europe (Cambridge, 1986), pp. 45-64, at pp. 51-2; for Italy (esp. the Valle
Trita), see C. Wickham, Studi sulla società degli Appennini nell’alto medioevo (Bologna,
1982), pp. 18-28; for the Stellinga, E. J. Goldberg, ‘Popular revolt, dynastic politics and
aristocratic factionalism in the early middle ages’, Speculum, 70 (1995), pp. 467-501; for
the Asturias, A. Barbero and M. Vigil, La formación del feudalismo en la peninsula
ibèrica (Barcelona, 1978), p. 261; for 859, Annales Bertiniani, ed. R. Rau, Quellen zur
karolingischen Reichsgeschichte 2 (Darmstadt, 1972), p. 98; trans. J. L. Nelson, The Annals
of St Bertin (Manchester, 1991), p. 89.
90 I CHRIS W ICKHAM

Peasant societies were less militarized than aristocratic ones, and of

course less rich and powerful. But they lived by some of the same
rules: males in both were quick to take offence, and to react violently;
males and females in both associated binding obligations with the
exchange of gifts; status was associated above all with wealth, legal
independence, and military prowess. There was, furthermore, a con­
tinuum between the poorest free peasant and the richest aristocrat, a
continuum composed of tiny gradations of social status, which could
only with difficulty be climbed, but which placed the whole of free
society under the same sort of legal obligations. This would continue
for some time in Byzantium and in Scandinavia,'in polities of strong
public power or weak aristocracies. It would change in the tenth
century in the Latin west, however, that is, in the post-Carolingian
world and its English and Spanish neighbours and imitators: I shall
end this chapter by describing that process of change.

The year 1000

Aristocratic clienteles were a feature of the whole of the early middle
ages, as indeed before and after. They were based on exchanges of
gifts and favours, both upwards and downwards: lords gave protec­
tion, land, treasure, or feasts, and expected political and military loy­
alty in return. This was normal and praiseworthy. A Frankish king in
the seventh century, for example, provided that if an aristocrat were
sent away by the king to fulfil a royal function, that ‘all his court-
cases, and those of his friends, sworn dependants, or those in his
legitimate sphere of influence’ would be suspended until he returned.
The aristocrat’s role was to support his followers, and they needed
him to be there.29 In the Carolingian period, the rituals surrounding
this dependence became slightly more articulated, as the oath of fidel­
ity became more elaborate, and as it became commoner for lords to
give lands to dependants with more explicit reference to the fact that
they could take the land back if the dependant was disloyal (such
‘conditional tenures’ were sometimes called beneficia, or feuda, fiefs,

29 Marculfi formulae, 1. 23, ed. K. Zeumer, MGH, Formulae merowingici et karolini

aevi (Hanover, 1882-6), p. 57.
 S O C IE TY 91

though the terminology remained vague for a long time). But Mero­
vingian lords had been able to take back such lands before, in practice,
and this operation, a military one, was not rendered any easier later
just because the terminology of gift-giving had changed. More sig­
nificant as a change was that under the Carolingians it became ever
clearer that royal and comital armies were made up of these clienteles
alone (including those of kings and counts themselves). Military ser­
vice and military identity thus became regarded as aspects of aristo­
cratic service, not simply the public obligations of free men; and, as
noted earlier, they came more and more to be seen as a privilege,
marking out milites as different from the non-military members of
society. This pattern began already in the mid-ninth century; by the
late tenth, families of milites could often be seen as lesser aristocrats,
seeking their own local powers over the peasantry. By the early
eleventh century, the structural difference between military aristo­
crats and peasants had become crystallized in the theory of the three
orders: those who pray, those who fight, and those who work; this
theory had ninth-century, if not earlier, roots, but its full elaboration
only began after 1000. It had a long future in front of it: in France, the
separation between these three ‘estates’ would only end in 1789.
Nonetheless, in all periods, the local dominance of aristocrats was
a fact of life, and was one of the main reasons why elites wanted royal
support and patronage. The Carolingian period, indeed, was in much
of the west, as already noted, the period when aristocratic local
hegemony became in practice complete. This power in theory con­
flicted with the local judicial power of the count, but not so much in
practice: even excluding the frequent situation where the local lord
was the count himself, placita were assemblies of aristocrats, and a
peasant who wanted to contest the local domination of his own lord
was not likely to win there. The life of Count Gerald of Aurillac in
southern France (d. 909), who was so virtuous an aristocrat that he
was regarded as a saint, gives us a clear idea of what such unusual
virtue was in the late ninth and early tenth century: it included sexual
abstinence to be sure, but also the refusal to let his men live by
plunder when they were short of food in local wars, the insistence
indeed that they paid the proper price for things as they went along,
and the insistence that all such wars should only be defensive. Gerald’s
placita were also remarkable, not only because he let criminals off
lightly but also that he had them at all, and judged according to law.
92 I CHRIS W ICKHAM

Gerald was further saintly in that in the civil wars of the 890s he
continued to be a vassal of the king, who was nowhere to be seen,
rather than transferring his loyalty to other dukes or counts. Needless
to say, other aristocrats did relatively few of these things. Most signifi­
cant, though, is that, in a time when royal and, on a local level,
comital power still existed, at least in theory, even as saintly a man as
Gerald was in practice beholden to no one, and, both in the placitum
and outside it, did exactly what he thought fit.30
On one level, then, between 850 and 1100, and indeed before and
after, aristocrats dominated without a break. They stayed with kings if
they could and defied them if they had to, hoping to get away with it
(which sometimes they did); at the local level they used their personal
military clienteles to throw their weight around with little fear of
reprisal, except from rival aristocrats. This was equally true of the
ninth century, when kings were powerful, the tenth century, when
local dukes and counts were more important points of reference, and
the eleventh, when all lords had established their own judicial tri­
bunals and in many parts of Europe the placitum either fell into
disuse or simply became the personal tribunal of the count as a her­
editary local lord. In French historiography in particular, either the
collapse of royal power in the tenth century or the collapse of that of
counts in the late tenth and early eleventh has for long been seen
as a watershed in historical development; but viewed from the stand­
point of the aristocratic dominance of local society, it could be argued
that nothing really changed. Such an argument has been quite
strongly put in recent years.31
The arguments for continuity are striking, but they are, all the
same, not wholly conclusive. The elements I have just characterized,
military clienteles and local power, had roots far back in the past,
but in the tenth century, the later tenth century in particular, they
began to mesh in different ways, and elements of discontinuity
began to appear as well. One is the placitum. However much such
assemblies were in practice dominated by aristocratic interests in
the Carolingian period, they did represent a public legal system,

30 Odo of Cluny, De Vita sancti Geraldi Auriliacensis, cc. 1.8 ,11,17 , 20,23,32,33,35; PL
133, cols. 641-3, 646-7, 649-50, 653-4, 655, 656, 660-4; trans. G. Sitwell, St Odo of Cluny
(London, 1958), pp. 99-101,104-5, m - 1 2 ,113-14,115,122-5.
31 See in English, but referring also to the French debates, the discussions in Past and
Present, 142 (1994)» pp. 6-42; 152 (1996), pp. 196-223; 155 (1997), pp. 177-225.
 S O C IE T Y 93

with a kingdom-wide authority, where royal legislation was at least

sometimes recognized and put into practice. It represented legality;
the private measures of lords, though unchecked in practice, were
illegal if they were in conflict with the placitum. In those parts of
eleventh-century Europe where the placitum vanished, these private
measures instead crystallized into fully-fledged tribunals, with their
own territorial remits, in what the French call the seigneurie banale.
This was a real change: what had been illegal now constituted legal­
ity. There was no more give and take between two kinds of local
power, either; the seigneurie was all there was. Similarly, when aris­
tocrats stopped looking to kings or dukes/counts for status and
patronage, and based their position solely on their own local
powers, even if these local powers were essentially unchanged, the
political system had shifted. Here, too, a give and take between
centre and locality had gone, and local power was all there was left.
These shifts simplified political structures very notably, and they
were widespread in western Europe. Between roughly 1000 and 1050
they occurred in most of what is now France, except in the most
coherent counties such as Normandy and Flanders; in the parts of
the German kingdom that now make up the Low Countries; in
northern Italy (where even the developing city states behaved a lot
like collective lordships); in Catalonia. Even in England, where kings
were strong, this was the period where the military aristocracy, by
now clearly distinguished from the peasantry, began to build the
fortified residences that would soon become castles. These are signs
that England might have matched the Continent even without the
Norman Conquest.
If all power became locally based in much of Europe in the elev­
enth century, that power could no longer be informal and de facto.
Even the most chaotic seigneurie banale began to generate its own
rules—on the basis of older local customs, but by now much more
explicitly characterized. Local legalities thus began to be more clearly
defined. So did the parameters of local power, seigneurial territories;
so did its power-centres, which were increasingly focused on castles.
So did social divisions, as military activity ever more clearly defined
the boundaries of the aristocracy, and legitimated the establishment
of seigneurial powers by each military family. All territories became
more clearly characterized, not only seigneurie, but village and parish
as well. These local building-blocks were by the twelfth century
94 CHRIS W ICKHAM

sufficiently clearly characterized for them to be the basis on which

reviving central government would be built. This would be a renewed
public power that, for the first time, owed nothing to the Roman
past.
Figure 6 Palace of Santa Maria de Naranco, Oviedo, built during the reign of
King Ramiro I, 842-850
 3
The economy
Jean-Pierre Devroey

Between 400 and 1000 more than nine men out of ten lived and
worked in the countryside, primarily in the context of a subsistence
agriculture. At least as great a proportion of the total agricultural
production must have been consumed on the spot, by farmers and
their immediate neighbours (craftsmen, priests, magnates). The
nature of the economy and the proportion of rural inhabitants were
not fundamentally different from that of the Roman empire. But
ancient society is perceived by all to have been an urban civilization.
A Roman town concentrated and consumed an important share of the
agricultural surpluses for the benefit of its elites. There is nothing com­
parable with this organization and lifestyle in any of the ‘towns’ of
north-western Europe before the year 1000. Many historians, indeed,
speak in terms o f ‘proto-urbanization’ for this period. In about 1020 it
was inconceivable for bishop Gerard of Cambrai to divide mankind in
any other way than between ‘people who prayed, peasants, and war­
riors’. A century later, the cleric Galbert of Bruges expressed his sense
of belonging to a group when he called thè inhabitants of Bruges ‘our
citizens’. For the historian, the essential question is whether the early
medieval economy is synonymous with ‘rural economy’? What are
the forms of urban civilization before the year 1000?
Apart from the attempt by Marc Bloch in 1939 to give some coher­
ence to the notions of a ‘first’ and a ‘second’ feudal age,1 the majority
of historians have been reluctant to consider the years before and
after 1000 as a whole. Rather, they have considered the medieval
economy and society from the eleventh to the fourteenth century as a
phenomenon sui generis, to be explained by an acceleration of the
1 Marc Bloch, La Société féodale (Paris, 1939); trans. L. Manyon, Feudal Society
(London, 1961).
98 J E A N - P I E R R E D EV RO EY

effect of one or more factors of growth (demographic, technological,

social,. . .)» that they measure in decades rather than centuries. Mis­
understandings of developments both before and after the year 1000
are a consequence of this foreshortening of chronology.

The traditional interpretations

Since the emergence of economic history as a discipline in the nine­
teenth century, its methods and concepts have been deployed to
explain what were perceived as ‘two key moments of western his­
tory’, namely, ‘the end of ancient civilisation’ and ‘the birth of
Europe’. First of all, the question of the true nature of the medieval
economy also involved the denial or pursuit of the idea of medieval
capitalism. Most historians have agreed that the ‘end of antiquity’
coincided with the ‘end of slavery’. This question has been reopened
recently. For Bonnassie and Bois, slavery stricto sensu (with the
assumption that human beings are legal and economic objects) was
maintained until the end of the tenth century, whereafter a few
decades of social upheaval resulted in the ‘feudal revolution’.2 If it is
indeed the case that slavery never completely disappeared from
wealthier households in the middle ages in the west, then slaves can
have played no more than the kind of modest complementary role
in the workforce that can be documented in sixth-century Byzan­
tium. In the west, it is possible that the emergence of the great
classical estates from the seventh century onwards was everywhere
accompanied by the installation of former slaves in hereditary
tenures. With the integration of unfree people in the community of
Christians, which left intact the social and legal discrimination
against them, we have the general traits of what Marc Bloch called the
‘first serfdom’.
There is a rather broad consensus concerning the idea of an early
medieval ‘interlude’ marked by a general ‘ruralization’ of the economy.

2 P. Bonnassie, From Slavery to Feudalism in South-Western Europe (Cambridge,

1991); G. Bois, La Mutation de Van mil (Paris, 1989); trans. J. Birrell from French
original of 1989. The Transformation of the Year One Thousand: The Village ofLournand
from Antiquity to Feudalism (Manchester, 1991). Criticism by A. Verhulst, ‘The decline
of slavery and the economic expansion of the early middle ages’, Past and Present, 133
(1991), pp. 195-203.
 T H E EC O N O M Y 99

Its most characteristic expression is regarded as the Carolingian estate

(perhaps because it is the best documented), with its granary, its tools
and farm equipment, its craftsmen, and specialized workshops. Such
an estate is thought to witness to the domination of a closed and self-
sufficient economy without a real need for money or trade. According
to this view, therefore, the early medieval economy is equivalent to a
domestic economy. It is a non-commercial society.
An alternative interpretation, not necessarily mutually exclusive,
was proposed by Henri Pirenne and might be called the ‘Belgian
paradigm’. For Pirenne, a substantial continuity of culture and civil­
ization was apparent in the west until the end of the sixth century. It
was interrupted by the Arabic conquest of the Mediterranean which
eventually separated the two parts of the old Roman empire, plunged
the west into economic depression and political disorder and
inaugurated a steady shift of the gravity of Europe to the north-west,
both politically with the emergence of the Carolingians and, in
the economic sphere, with the ‘reawakening’ of urban life from the
eleventh century onwards.3
‘Little Belgium’, therefore, was for Pirenne a paradigm of western
history. It was a ‘microcosm’, which was destined to be not only the
‘battlefield of Europe’, but also would offer a forum for the exchange
of ideas between the Latin and Germanic worlds and hatch the
‘ancient democracies of the Low Countries’. These views were in line
with Pirenne’s personality as a ‘historian engagé, son of his time,
nationalistic, liberal, bourgeois, optimistic . . . : who saw history as a
record of progress driven by urbanisation, trade and capitalism’.4
Perhaps because of the dominant role played by the Mediterranean in
Pirenne’s arguments, few historians have emphasized the excessive
concentration of his thesis on the Carolingian world and the meagre
attention devoted to events in the western Mediterranean after the
seventh century.
How can the extraordinary flourishing of economy and urban
society in the twelfth century be explained? What were the starting
points and rhythms of this growth: the seventh century, with the
reawakening of new commercial flows in north-western Europe; the

3 H. Pirenne, Mahomet and Charlemagne (London, 1968); trans. Bernard Miall from
the posthumously published French edition of 1937.
4 A. Verhulst, ‘L’Actualité de Pirenne’, in G. Despy and A. Verhulst (eds.), La Fortune
historiographique des thèses d ’Henri Pirenne (Brussels, 1986), pp. 149-53.
100 I J E A N - P I E R R E DE V R O EY

ninth century and the Carolingian Renaissance; the eleventh century

with the rebirth of towns? Was it a response to external stimulus,
stemming from the rebirth of trade in the tenth and eleventh cen­
turies? Or was it self-generated, sustained by the dynamism of the
countryside, and the production and control of the agricultural
surplus necessary to urban life and to castles by groups of non­
producers? Who helped to create this growth: the great merchant
venturers, the Carolingian kings, or their monks who controlled the
great estates or the peasants who cleared new land?
Current research emphasizes the dynamics of the relationships
between town and countryside from the early middle ages onwards,
and the role of religious and political agents in economic develop­
ment. The accumulation of capital was made possible by the siphon­
ing off of surplus from source to centres of control, that is, from the
countryside to the towns and from the peasant producer to the noble
or bourgeois consumer. The countryside and its economy, in short,
are fundamental for the development of Europe.

Facts and key issues

Thanks to archaeology, phenomena documented by written sources,
such as war and politics, have been integrated into a broader vision of
the relationship between man and his environment. From the third
century onwards, the climate deteriorated steadily, becoming colder
and wetter. The lowest point was probably in the sixth century, with
an average diminution of temperature of i.5°C. The impact of cli­
matic change should be assessed at the regional level, though the lack
of precise information makes this difficult. During the early middle
ages, winters were probably less severe in Asia Minor than in the west,
but generally both the landscape and the climate of the Byzantine
world were harsh. In the west most of the information about the
weather, epidemics, floods, or famine is drawn from dramatic
accounts in the Decern Libri Historiae and the hagiographical writings
of Gregory of Tours. Yet Gregory’s descriptions cannot necessarily be
extrapolated to provide an account of weather patterns in western
Europe as a whole in the sixth century, let alone elsewhere. Physical
anthropology and palaeopathology are also yielding an increasing
 TH E ECONOMY 101

quantity of data. A recent synthesis based on 5,000 tombs in Ger­

many from the sixth and seventh centuries shows that 60 to 75 per
cent of the adults died aged between 36 and 38 years old, and that the
overall health of the population was poor. They suffered from polio­
myelitis, rickets, and other diseases associated with vitamin deficien­
cies. Most of this information, however, is without any precise social
or economic context. Indeed, it is virtually impossible to link any
excavated burial site found in open country with a known settlement.
Recent analysis of the urban sites of Marseilles, dated from the fourth
to the sixth century and Maastricht, dated to the seventh and eighth
centuries, on the other hand, suggests considerable social mobility
and relatively favourable living conditions in an urban milieu, where
one might have expected a stronger indication of problems with the
food supply. With such exiguous evidence, however, generalizations
are simply not possible. In Byzantium, the mobility of the rural popu­
lation was a permanent feature. Cultivable lands could be abandoned
and then later revert to agricultural use once more. Part of the exodus
from the countryside can be attributed to the attraction of towns. But
in part, too, the move to towns and desertion of the land was due to
the excessive burden of the land tax. In the Balkans, the vulnerability
of the peasantry was exploited by the magnates, who seized their
lands, cattle, or slaves and reduced them to a state of dependence.
In 535, Justinian declared this ‘calamity’ to be commensurate with ‘a
barbarian invasion’.5 In other areas, the abandonment of the land was
due to external factors, such as war, crop failure, and plague. The
plague of 541-542 was part of a series of natural calamities: drought
(from 516 to 521 in Palestine), earthquake (in Antioch in 529), locust
invasion (in 516 and 517 around Jerusalem), and just before 541, eight­
een months of insufficient sunshine prevented fruit from ripening.
The epidemic of 541-542 was a bubonic plague of exceptional scale,
probably comparable in its ravages with the Black Death of 1348-1350,
which wiped out a quarter to a third of the population of western
Europe. As in the fourteenth century, moreover, the plague was
succeeded by a golden age of agricultural and industrial wages.
Justinian’s legislation confirms that the craftsmen and the land work­
ers took advantage of the shortage of labour to demand prices and
wages two or three times higher than usual.
5 Iustiniani Novellae, ed. R. Schoell and G. Kroll, Corpus Iuris Civilis 3, 6th edn.
(1954), pp. 1-2.
102 J E A N - P I E R R E D EV RO EY

In the west, it is tempting to explain the contrast between the

economies of the north and south of France in terms of supposed
differences in the duration and intensity of the plague. But there is
little justification for such a sweeping explanation. The ‘elasticity’ of
the bio-geographical milieu confronted with demographic crisis was
probably an essential factor at local level.
During antiquity and the beginning of the middle ages, Asia Minor
had been an area of permanent crop cultivation and domestic animal
breeding. The wars of the tenth century, and destruction that they
wrought made a part of the land unusable for more than itinerant
animal breeding, before the settlement, during the Turkish period, of
new, previously nomadic, peoples. In the fragile areas of terra rossa of
the Mediterranean basin, the extensive abandonment of the cultiva­
tion of semi-arid terrain and the desertion of the land contributed
greatly to the erosion of the soil, which made any reclamation more
difficult and accounts for the appearance of scrubland. In Italy, pollen
analysis in temperate areas records a general advance of forest and of
forms of secondary vegetation. But a new balance was established
between men and the environment which allied sylvo-pastoral uses
with the intensification of agricultural practices in farming plots
close to where people lived, resulting in a more balanced diet.
In northern Gaul and the Rhineland, the encroachment of forest
and heath are attributed to the weakening (which started in the third
century) of the extensive agricultural system of late antiquity and to a
fall in population. The importance of population movements is
reflected in the shifting of the linguistic boundary between
‘Romance’ and ‘German’. In the most densely populated areas, the
continuity in the occupation of the land is very marked. From the
third century onwards, the large ‘colonial’ Roman villae, aimed at the
supply of towns and the army, were abandoned and there was a shift
of the settlements from the plateaux to the valleys. At the same time,
small family farms grew in number and cultivated areas shrank. These
lands were retained for agricultural use, but the peripheral areas and
the poorest or the heaviest were left to lie fallow, often until the
assarting from the waste in the eleventh and twelfth centuries. The
characteristic landscape of Merovingian villages is a settlement com­
posed of scattered little hamlets, with a multitude of little fields sep­
arated by uncultivated lands. The relatively small size of these human
settlements matches those of the excavated burial sites rather well.
 THE ECONOMY 103

From the seventh century onwards, the growth of population

resulted in the expansion of land under cultivation and the creation
of new areas of settlement by both peasants and lords. One should
not, however, overestimate this expansion of arable land, for it was
but the beginning of a very long drawn out process which culminated
in the twelfth and thirteen centuries. After the phase of the scattering
of farms, a regrouping in regions like Rhenania or Burgundy becomes
apparent in the tenth century, accompanied by large-scale abandon­
ment of hamlets. In other places, where animal breeding dominated,
settlements installed in clearings maintained a semi-permanent
character throughout the early middle ages.
The decline of the Roman villae was gradual. New archaeological
methods of excavation have uncovered not only stone buildings but
also constructions in lighter material or wood, which characterize late
Roman rural settlements. In many places, there was a more or less
makeshift of existing structures, with an increasing use of wood con­
struction techniques. The documentation allows us to follow this
development from the third century onwards. By the end of the
fourth century, these new types of building are to be found all over
the north-western empire though they do not appear for another
century in southern Gaul or Italy. In the centre of France, where
corresponding signs of the persistence of the ancient Roman aris­
tocracy have been found, the laying of very late Roman mosaics at the
end of the fifth century and at the beginning of the sixth, suggests a
longer material and social survival of the villa. Part of the wooden
constructions which become more frequent from the fourth century
onwards are an inheritance or an adaptation of Gallo-Roman tech­
niques. On the other hand, post holes, indicating wooden buildings,
seem to reappear in Roman Gaul during the third century after an
absence of three centuries.
A new type of settlement became common in north-western Gaul
from the sixth century onwards. It comprised a cluster of independ­
ent farms, connected by a network of paths, with each farm enclosed
by a palisade or a ditch and surrounded by granaries on poles, huts,
silos, and workshops. This form of settlement coincides with the
appearance of a new word: mansus. Simply denoting ‘house’ in the
sixth century, mansus came to mean the house and its surrounding
enclosure before being applied in the eighth century to the hereditary
farm of a family of tenants.
104 I J E A N - P I E R R E D EV R O EY

The awakening o f the eighth century

From the eighth century onwards, the climate became progressively
warmer to reach an optimum in the eleventh century with 1.5 to 2°C
more than the average (40 into subarctic areas at the time when the
melting of the ice field enabled Scandinavian navigators to reach
America). At the turn of the seventh and eighth century, the study of
human remains seems to indicate everywhere, in the north, as much
as in the south, a significant decrease in malnutrition. Paradoxically,
famines are more frequently mentioned (there are references to sixty-
four famines between the eighth and the eleventh centuries, which
makes an average of one every six or seven years). However, the
interpretation of these data is delicate. Once the distinction has been
made between ‘great hungers’ of cyclic character, that is, the food
shortage which happens in the gap between two harvests, and local
famine, it can be seen that the number of universal famines
diminished in the tenth century to increase again during the eleventh.
Must we then attribute the recurrence of general famine to the
(unexpected) growth of the population and regard it as the hard price
which the peasantry had to pay for expansion to begin?6
Signs of recovery are seen more often from the seventh century
onwards. Demographic growth, therefore, seems to be at work as
much in the north as in the south. Studies of demographic data from
some Carolingian polyptychs of the ninth century in Italy (Farfa, San
Vincenzo al Volturno), in the Provençal south (Saint-Victor of Mar­
seilles), and in their favoured region, namely, between the Seine and
the Rhine (Saint-Germain-des-Prés, Saint-Remi of Rheims) create an
image of a pioneer population, relatively young and mobile, sensitive
to peaks of mortality, but able to respond to them with a swift
increase in the birth rate. Crisis and food shortage did not have any
lasting effect on the long-term trend. According to the polyptychs, the
population was able to double in a time span of 50 to 150 years.7 Swift

6 P. Bonnassie, ‘La Croissance agricole du haut moyen âge dans la Gaule du Midi et
le nord-est de la péninsule’, in La Croissance agricole du haut moyen âgey Flaran 10
(Auch, 1990), pp. 13—35.
6 J.-P. Devroey, ‘Courant et réseaux d’échange dans l’économie franque entre Loire
et Rhin’, in Mercati e Mercanti nell’alto medioevo: l’area euroasiatica e l’area
 T H E EC O N O M Y 105

and widespread increase probably did not take place before the
demographic surge of the eleventh century. But a growth in the
number of people in the agricultural areas where the inhabitants had
been established for the longest period of time had begun at the end
of the eighth century. A density of population of 20 to 30 inhabitants
per square kilometre was possibly reached in the Paris area or on the
estates of the abbey of Saint-Bertin as early as in the middle of the
ninth century. In the Abruzzese mountains, whose agricultural
potential certainly did not equal that of the île de France, Wickham
has proposed the figure of 18 inhabitants per square kilometre in the
Val Trita. The practice of allocating plots to tenants, and marked
peasant mobility made possible both the local intensification of agri­
culture recorded in ancient cultivated areas and the development of
new areas, though the scale is not comparable with that reached by
assarting in the eleventh century. Thus, until the end of the first
millennium, the landscapes of the north-west of Europe were sharply
divided between areas densely populated for a long period of time
and areas more sparsely populated and used perhaps only on a semi­
permanent basis. One has, however, to be cautious of the bias intro­
duced by the origins, ecclesiastical or royal, of most of the sources. In
Auvergne, the local nobility established its landed wealth, on the one
hand, with properties received in commendam from the magnates or
by the usurpation of richer lands and, on the other hand, by the
colonization of rougher terrain, sometimes virtually deserted. This
part of their patrimony does not show up in the sources before the
tenth century, when these families started to found religious settle­
ments or were drawn into the great movement of endowment which
accompanied the expansion of Cluny.

The late antique city

The Roman state was based on a network of two thousand cities
supported by taxes on agricultural production. Each city would nor­
mally contain a forum, a theatre, and an amphitheatre, baths, and,

mediterranea, Settimane di studio del Centro Italiano di studi sull’alto medioevo 40

(Spoleto, 1993), pp. 327-89 and P. Toubert, ‘The Carolingian momentum’, in A.
Borguière (ed.), A History of the Family (Cambridge, Mass., 1996, from French original
of 1986).
io 6 J E A N - P I E R R E D EV RO EY

from the fourth century onwards, a cathedral. The city was also the
principal place of residence of the governing elite who were also
responsible for the collection of taxes. Around two capitals, Rome
and Constantinople, the cities constituted the network of a world
economy—or more precisely of a world state centred on the Mediter­
ranean. This state was able simultaneously to gather and.to distribute
basic foodstuffs, to feed the urban masses, and to provision the fron­
tier garrisons. The permanent army consisted of àbout 600,000 to
650,000 men. The range of fossilized seeds discovered in the silos of
the Rheinland military sites testifies to the extent of the trading net­
works within the Roman world of the fifth century: the troops of the
Rhine limes (and their horses) consumed einkorn, Polish wheat,
durum, spelt, wheat, barley, rye, oats, millet, and rice (this last, a clear
import!). Local villae, on the other hand, produced only two or three
varieties of cereal. Rome was able to use for its service a system for the
distribution of foodstuffs at world-state level. This system was based
on tax and on the income of huge imperial estates. The pancake or
the porridge of the legionary was a true product of the synthesis
of the Roman world.

Justinian and Charlemagne

Since the death of Pirenne, the question of the end of ancient civiliza­
tion has mostly been considered in the chronological and geo­
graphical areas that he had privileged, namely Merovingian Gaul.
Recent archaeological excavations have made neighbouring Italy,
divided after the reconquest of Justinian between the eastern empire
and the succeeding Germanic states, a fundamental area for the
analysis of the end of the system of production and distribution in
the Mediterranean world.8
Urban decline is an important theme of historiography. It is
assumed that one-third of the 372 ancient cities of peninsular Italy,
enumerated by Pliny in his Natural Historyy decayed. In the areas
reconquered by the Byzantines, the survival of cities nearly reaches

8 The following remarks are mostly based on E. Zanini, Le Italie bizantine:

Territorio, insediamenti ed economia nella provincia bizantina dTtalia (VI—V ili secolo)
(San Spirito, 1998).
 T H E EC O N O M Y 107

100 per cent and examples of serious decline are rather rare. Why was
there this respite compared with the rest of the western empire? It can
be explained by the persistence in the Byzantine empire of the com­
munications network of road, river, and sea, of which the ancient
centres constituted the structural hubs. Of course, the Italian urban
landscape was affected by general phenomena such as the Christiani­
zation of space and public monuments and the abandonment of
suburban areas. But the cities of Byzantine Italy differ from other
Italian cities in three ways. First, the city imposed itself definitely as
an essential centre of the defence system of the Byzantine territories.
Secondly, it was ‘maintained’ thanks to the revitalization of the insti­
tution in charge of the upkeep of the buildings and of urban public
services. Lastly, urban space there avoided for a while at least the
breakdown of urban structures and ruralization which are character­
istic of the fate of ancient cities elsewhere.
Rome provides a good example of the difficulties of determining
the exact process of change. Around 400, the city had probably half a
million inhabitants. It had probably less than one-tenth of this in the
seventh century. Some have seen in Rome’s transformation the birth
of a polynuclear city, comprising a small nexus of grouped settle­
ments, separated by non-built-up areas.9 It seems that a real town
centre more extensive than the river bank area may have survived.10
Rome remained a major centre of consumption and trade in Italy.
The imperial annona, with its free distribution of cereals was possibly
maintained until the end of the sixth century. In the seventh and
eighth centuries, the city drew its food supply from the public, papal,
and ecclesiastical patrimony in the Latium countryside and the lati­
fundia of Sicily. The ceramic finds of the Crypta Balbi chart the
fluctuations of commercial exchanges between Rome and the rest of
the Byzantine empire. Until around 650, North Africa was prominent.
In the last third of the seventh century, when Byzantium definitively
lost its African possessions, ceramics and amphorae from the Aegean
and from the east become predominant. From the mid-eighth cen­
tury, new local pottery dominates. It was probably stylistically influ­
enced by the glazed ware of Constantinople, but it is certainly a local
production. This change coincides with the crisis in the religious,

9 R. Krautheimer, Rome: Profile of a City, 312-1308 (Princeton, 1980, 2nd edn. 2000).
10 Zanini, Le Italie bizantine.
io8 J E A N - P I E R R E D EV R O EY

political, and economic relationship between the papacy and the

Byzantine imperial administration. Nevertheless, the Crypta Balbi
evidence suggests a still very active trade but one oriented towards
the elite and luxury goods. On the other hand, international trade
apparently did not extend into rural areas. This does not necessarily
indicate a dichotomy between cosmopolitan papal and Byzantine
Italy, on the one hand, and Lombard Italy, on the other, especially if the
different regions be taken into account. In the south'of. Italy, the great
majority o f episcopal sees did not survive the Byzantine retreat. Out of
one hundred bishoprics in the duchies of Spoleto and Benevento,
hardly ten survived in 700, but all these dioceses were certainly very
small, centred on little towns, and were mostly in hill country. They
would in any case barely have counted as villages in northern Italy.
Archaeology has multiplied the examples of urban crisis in northern
Italy, with discoveries of areas which had returned to agricultural use,
the abandonment o f road networks, and wooded buildings in the
heart of ancient Roman public spaces. However, landowners never
abandoned the city, as they appear to have done in north-western
Europe. Southern Gaul remained urban; so did much of Spain. The
Lombard kings established their permanent capital at Pavia, and their
dukes certainly resided in cities, with all that that implied in terms of
population. A city like Lucca in Tuscany kept most of its Roman plan
and perhaps the same density of occupation. Fifty-seven new places of
worship are mentioned between 700 and 900. One-third of the
churches and half of the houses mentioned in the sources before 1000
were already situated outside the Roman town walls, like the duke’s
palace. By the eighth century the inhabitants included merchants,
luxury craftsmen, goldsmiths, members of the professions, cauldron
makers, doctors, tailors, builders, and minters. Some indeed were land-
owners. The cathedral and urban church estates as well as those of
the secular rulers were generally managed from the city, so that the
land controlled by urban inhabitants and institutions must already—
or still—have formed a good proportion of the entire Lucchesia. Lucca
was clearly socially and economically dominant in its territory by any
criterion, in ways that had not substantially changed from the Roman
world, and would not greatly change henceforth.11

11 C. Wickham, The Mountains and the City: The Tuscan Appennines in the Early
Middle Ages (Oxford, 1988).
 T H E EC O N O M Y IO9

The reconquest of Justinian temporarily restored Byzantine Italy’s

place in the Mediterranean economy. Italy was again part of the
distribution and trade network, characterized by exchanges of local
raw materials (as is proven by the continuity in production of
containers in the vicinity of towns like Milan and Ravenna) and of
foodstuffs and manufactured goods in North Africa and in the Syrian-
Palestinian area. During the sixth century, statistics on shipwrecks
found in the Mediterranean illustrate the continuity of commercial
activity in the central Mediterranean (Sicily and Malta), where the
finds datable to the fifth century represent slightly more than half the
number of finds from the fourth century, in contrast to the western
Mediterranean where the finds for the fifth, sixth, and seventh centur­
ies are extremely scarce. While the ceramic (and monetary) profile of
Byzantine and Lombard Italy are totally different and suggest the
existence of virtually impenetrable barriers between these two rival
states, the overall profile of the ceramic finds is comparable in Genoa
and Marseilles. The Byzantine distribution network reached the ports
of the western Mediterranean, Gaul, and Spain through Liguria. Like
the political alliances and the intense religious exchange between the
Franks and Constantinople in the sixth and seventh centuries, the
prosperity and sudden interruption of the supply of African and
eastern wares to Gallic markets in the middle of the seventh century
could be explained by the end of Byzantine control over Liguria
rather than by a general crisis of exchange all over the Mediterranean
world. From 650 onwards, trade in the Adriatic attracted eastern
wares and the salt of Comacchio, in an exchange that Venice managed
to dominate and expand as early as the beginning of the ninth
century.
In Gaul, the centre of political gravity and the exchange networks
were definitely oriented towards the north-west. It would not be until
the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries that another great sea, the
North Sea, would become the focus of a new world economy, with
the internationalization of the grain trade. The ‘regionalization’ of
the Roman economy had been underway since the crisis of the third
century and was a fundamental component of medieval Europe.
110 I T E A N - P I E R R E D EV RO EY

The western city

In the west, many cities lack a continuous history. They broke up into
nexuses o f small settlements, separated by ruins and spaces converted
to use as market gardens and vineyards. They were populated by a
few hundred or few thousand inhabitants. An important political and
religious centre like Tours seems to have been reduced to two small
religious complexes during the Merovingian period. One is beside the
cathedral, in the ruined area within the Roman town walls; the other
is outside the walls, around the abbey which housed the relics o f Saint
Martin. Even Aachen, the centre o f Charlemagne's empire, was not
impressive by the standards o f Roman cities such as Ravenna, Milan,
Arles, or Trier, by those o f the contemporary Byzantine oriental
towns or even by those of medieval Rome and Naples. In the Frankish
world, power was not exhibited in the city, but at the spring assembly
(see Chapter 1) (and to a lesser extent the palace) where the magnates
gathered, to confirm bonds o f fidelity and exchange gifts and tribute
offerings. Neither the assembly nor the palace corresponds to the
notion of a permanent capital or even, from the sixth century
onwards, to a location in a town. It was radically different for the
Lombard or Visigothic kings, who had capital cities with a court and
permanent administration at Pavia and Toledo.
After 400, Christianity was a city-based religion, with communities
grouped around bishops who were leaders o f their civitas (see Chap­
ter 4). The western civitas (that is, the city and its surrounding dis­
trict) remained essentially a place o f worship until the end o f the
tenth century. It is in this sense that one can speak o f continuity in
the ancient urban network, including the cities o f north-western
Europe. Indeed, the excavations o f the last decade have uncovered
remains of Roman buildings which had been built there many years
previously. This is primarily a functional continuity, which expresses
itself in a striking way in the permanence o f religious geography.
Between 400 and 600, it was the presence or absence o f a bishop
which determined the survival or death o f a Roman city. Secondary
settlements also survived during the early middle ages, they con­
tinued to have a social, political, administrative, and religious
function in the heart o f a small region.
 T H E ECONOMY | 111

The overall architectural picture of the early medieval city remains

fairly sombre: dismantled town walls, public infrastructures progres­
sively abandoned, plundered buildings, increasing use of wood in the
building of houses. The one area which is an exception to this is the
intense activity of church building: forty in Merovingian Metz,
twenty-nine in Paris, eighteen in Lyons, and twelve in Bordeaux.
From the seventh century onwards, construction work began for the
most part to be concentrated on the abbeys which were being
founded in the countryside. The Frankish kings preferred to live in
rural palaces nearby rather than in the ancient cities themselves. At a
lower level, the lay and ecclesiastical magnates favoured a variety of
residences, and occupied a network of centres of power in palaces and
castella and on rural estates, in abbeys, and at ancient vici.
Another exchange system was born during the same period, at the
boundaries of the Frankish world. At the end of the seventh century,
the abbeys of north-western Gaul had stopped organizing caravans to
fetch olive oil and other Mediterranean products brought from
Fos and Marseilles. Between the Loire and the Rhine, the estuaries of
the great rivers became points of entry for travellers, diplomats, mer­
chants, pilgrims, and missionaries from across the Irish sea, the Chan­
nel, and the North Sea. Few Franks used these routes. Anglo-Saxon
and Frisian sailors activated trade and created new harbour settle­
ments.12 Two of these emporia are especially important for seventh-
century Francia, namely, Quentovic (on the Canche, in Neustria) and
Dorestad (on the former course of the Rhine, south of Utrecht, on
the border between Austrasia and Frisia). On the other side of the sea,
Lundenwich, next to the site of Roman London, Hamwic, on the site of
the future Southampton, and Ipswich in East Anglia were established.
These emporia or ‘wiles’ were centres of international trade. Others,
such as Dublin, Birka, Hedeby, or Kiev, witness to the trade stimu­
lated by the Danes, Norwegians, and Swedes. It is not clear whether
these ‘wiks’ were spontaneous creations or royal foundations. Never­
theless, the kings took advantage of their existence, by making them
compulsory entry points for the merchants, where customs dues were
collected and the exchange and recasting of foreign currencies took
place. Next to the harbour was an industrial area,' where people, as in
other inner urban sites worked with bone, horn, leather, and metals.

12 S. Lebecq, Marchands et navigateurs frisons au haut moyen âge (Lille, 1983).

112 J E A N - P I E R R E D EV R O EY

There was also an agricultural or market gardening zone. The dis­

persal of finds (except for the production of pottery which is very
concentrated) hints at domestic production. The role of artisans in
the rural economy is often insufficiently acknowledged: woodwork, the
extraction and processing of iron ore, the manufacture of weapons
and tools are all mentioned in the polyptychs (the detailed descrip­
tions of estates drawn up from the ninth century onwards). Textile
production merits special consideration. Flax and hemp are demand­
ing and labour-intensive crops, and were produced chiefly by peasant
farmers. Cloth was in part produced by collective workshops (gyne-
cea)y where specialist female workers or tenants’ wives gathered to
spin, weave, and make clothes. Nonetheless, the bulk of textile pro­
duction was within the family, as is shown by the distribution of finds
of archaeological artefacts linked with textile activity.13
The concentration of commercial activities in the new wiks or in
annual fairs contrasts very strongly with the situation in Italy and
southern Gaul where the role of ‘ports of trade’ was played by cities
such as Comacchio, Venice, Naples, or Marseilles. In the Frankish
kingdom the decline of the wiks had begun by the 820s and 830s,
before the first Viking incursions. From 850 onwards, it is possible,
though this may be a false impression created by gaps in the evidence,
that sites on either side of the North Sea were destroyed or aban­
doned. In Dorestad’s case, for example, the estuary silted up. At the
beginning of the tenth century there was what may be a resumption
of commercial activities in settlements of Roman origin or a move to
new sites (Lundenwich to London, Quentovic to Montreuil-sur-Mer,
Dorestad to Tiel and Utrecht). There may have been a hiatus in the
trade of north-western Europe between c.870 and c.920, but with the
continued flourishing of other centres such as Dublin, York, Birka,
Novgorod, and Kiev, this is unlikely.
The ‘realization’ of Frankish elites (from the seventh century
onwards and not, as it has been said for too long, from 500) has as
consequences a real dispersal of places of power to which southern
Europe can be clearly opposed, where there are convincing signs of
the persistence of an elite and an urban lifestyle. This can explain the
earlier appearance (or the permanence) in Italy of a ‘domination’ of

13 J.-P. Devroey, ‘On men and women in early medieval serfdom’, Past and Present
(2000).
 T H E EC O N O M Y 113

towns in the countryside and the rise of a community of interest and

of forms of organization of collective life amongst urban population
in Milan, Pisa, or Lucca at the end of the ninth and in the tenth
century. In the north-west there is indeed some functional continuity
in the ancient urban network. But the breaking up has been total
between the seventh and the ninth century in the economical func­
tion of the city, the mode of residence of consumption of the elite
and the concentration of agricultural surpluses. One has to wait until
the eleventh century to witness the offspring of a new urban civiliza­
tion in the west.

The Roman villa

The evolution of the countryside must be considered in the long
term. In Provence from the first century a d , there was a concentration
of property in units of various sizes and a progressive specialization
in the production of oil and wine and in sheep rearing. In two gener­
ations between the middle of the third and the beginning of the
fourth century, these activities ceased or were greatly reduced in scale.
The production of wine amphorae diminished in the third century
and stopped in the fourth. It was in the fourth century that great
northern vineyards came into their own. Generally, agricultural pro­
duction became more regional at the expense of exporting activities.
While the presshouses and wine storehouses of Provençal villae
were progressively abandoned, classical social and cultural values per­
sisted. Profits were now diverted towards the building of churches,
and great rural fortunes still existed among those property owners
who had overcome the crisis and embellished their villae with new
buildings and rich mosaics. The villae seem to have changed during
the fourth century from acting as the centres of production and
processing of agricultural products to serving the function of collec­
tion centres of rents and taxes in kind. In speaking of the great landed
estates between c.400 and c.iooo, historians use the term ‘great estate’
(French, grand domaine) which goes back to the Latin latifundium. In
German, the word Grundherrschaft is applied to the whole of the
medieval period. In French, one hesitates to speak of seigneurie before
the tenth or the eleventh century. Villa (the ancestor of our ‘village’),
114 J E A N - P I E R R E D EV RO EY

which designated the dwelling of the master in classical Latin, was

used from the sixth century onwards to designate territories whose
size may range from one hundred to several thousand hectares. In the
sixth and seventh centuries there were still those who owned very
considerable areas of land, especially in Francia (see Chapter 2), but
these are more rent(i)ers than entrepreneurs. ‘He who, before,
ploughed the land with one hundred ploughs, now longs in vain for a
pair of oxen’: Remembering the ‘good old times’ before the Vandal
invasions, Prosper of Aquitaine speaks not of the disappearance of
great estates, but of the farming by the owner. Everywhere, direct
exploitation was replaced by rent. The same property was sometimes
called villa (master’s house) and sometimes vicus (rural settlement).
This apparent confusion evokes the mechanism of the patronate
which brings villages of free peasants to place themselves under the
protection and the ‘fiscal umbrella’ of potentes (powerful men). Thus,
a village is progressively incorporated to an estate. At the beginning of
the third century the owner of a large Provençal estate derived most
of his income from the sale of the produce of his olive trees and grape
vines. In order to increase his fortune, he could try, as indeed he did,
to enlarge his property at the expense of smaller or less dynamic
neighbours. From the fourth century onwards, to be a great land-
owner was no longer to exploit a farm after the manner of Columella,
the famous first century a d agronomer, but rather to be the patron of
a network of dependants and protégés, of sharecroppers and tenants.
Henceforward, to increase one’s wealth meant to dominate (be the
dominus . . . ) , and to force one’s neighbour to sell or surrender his
property rights to become a dependant or tenant. The growing con­
fusion in the vocabulary of agricultural contracts between ‘rent’ and
‘tax’ illustrates well a change of activity of the great landowner from
gentleman farmer to patron of a territory in which immunity has
granted him the mediation of all the requests of the state. The mag­
nates no longer count their fortune in thousands of iugera of land,
but in villae and in hundreds of colonicae or mansi. It was no longer a
matter of cultivating the land but of extracting a rent from the group
of men of which one had become, metaphorically, the paterfamilias,
the senior. The taxation in kind taken by the master of the villa does
not seem to have exceeded one-tenth of the income of the peasant
farms during the Merovingian period, which is substantially less than
the former land tax.
 T H E EC O N O M Y 115

Rural transformations, 400-1000

New archaeological techniques have identified encroachment of the
forest, clearing of vegetation, and qualitative variations of the land­
scape. A prime example of new understanding is that drawn from the
study of animal bones. In Gaul, the Roman conquest favoured the
dominance of large cattle at the expense of the indigenous species,
smaller by 20 to 30 centimetres. The same trend affected other
domestic species. From the fifth century onwards, the species of large
animals, whether cattle, sheep, swine, or even poultry, disappear and
were replaced everywhere, until the end of the middle ages, by the
smaller breeds of the pre-classical period. The decrease in the size of
horses is much less marked. This is enough to rule out the idea that
animal husbandry no longer had the capacity to manage selection
techniques. One may surmise that the decrease in the size of the other
animals is an indication of the predominance of smallholdings
throughout the middle ages. The place of the horse in medieval
society probably explains the care which was taken to select animals
of sufficient size for travel and combat. Horses were bred and reared
by specialist horse breeders. The horse’s harnessing to the plough,
with the shoulder collar, and its more general use as a farm animal
were widespread in north-western Europe only from the twelfth
century onwards.
There was also a slow but profound change in the importance and
the geographical distribution of cultivated cereals.14 Around 400 in
the west two or three indigenous species (barley, spelt, wheat) pre­
dominated. The diffusion of rye and oats, mainly reserved for animal
feedstuffs in antiquity, was slow at first, accelerated from the seventh
century onwards, and expanded dramatically in the tenth century. Up
to the ninth century spelt predominated in the north-west of the
Frankish kingdoms. In the tenth century, spelt gave way to wheat and
barley. Rye and oats, because they are so much hardier, played an
important role in the growth of cereal culture in north-western
Europe. Suited to poorer soils and to harsher climates, planting
oats could prepare ground, winning to agriculture neglected or

14 J.-R Devroey, Études sur le grand domaine carolingien (Aldershot, 1993).

ii6 J E A N - P I E R R E D EV RO EY

temporarily cultivated land and allowing a second possibility of

harvest between the biennial alternation of winter wheat and fallow.
The history of food in Italy, evidenced by clauses in rent contracts,
suggests a much richer and more varied diet. In addition to cultivated
products, the farmer gathered other food from the wild such as fruits,
fish, and game. In the curtes of Santa Giulia di Brescia in northern
Italy at the beginning of the tenth century, for example, the range of
cultivated cereals was much wider and dominatêd by rye (39%),
wheat (20%), and millet (16%). For historians like Duby or White,
antiquity and the early middle ages were characterized by techno­
logical stagnation and a rudimentary economy; the eleventh century
brought a series of innovations—triennial crop rotation, the plough,
and especially the shoulder collar—that released the constraints on
modes of production and inaugurated a period of uninterrupted
growth until the Black Death.15 Delatouche was one of the first to
break with this idea of a medieval ‘agricultural revolution’. He argued
that pre-industrial societies all practised a millennia-old traditional
form of agriculture, with its crop yields, plants, and animals, which
lasted until the nineteenth century when there really was an agri­
cultural revolution. Tools or agricultural techniques like the plough
with a mould board to turn heavy clods of earth or triennial crop
rotation were already known and locally used in antiquity. Ancient
horse harness was no more and no less efficient than the famous
horse collar of the eleventh century. There was never any real rup­
ture in technological knowledge between antiquity and the middle
ages.16
What really changed between 400 and 1000 are the levels of distri­
bution and the economic and social relationships within which these
tools were used. Let us discard first of all the idea of the absolute
‘superiority’ of the heavy plough (with mould board) in relation to
the swing plough, for the use of the one or the other depended on soil
type and the local climate. The Mediterranean soils of terra rossa on a
limestone bedrock are suited to extensive cereal culture and to dry

15 G. Duby, Rural Economy and Country Life in the Medieval West, trans. C. Postan
(Los Angeles, 1968, from French edn. of 1966); L. White, Jr, Medieval Technology and
Social Change (Oxford, 1962).
16 R. Delatouche, ‘Regards sur l’agriculture aux temps carolingiens’, Journal des
Savants (1977), pp. 73-100. See also G. Comet, Le Paysan et son outil: Essai d ’histoire
technique des céréales (France V III-XV siècles) (Rome, 1992).
 T H E EC O N O M Y 117

arboriculture. These conditions imposed a system of low productiv­

ity, based upon biennial crop rotation and the work of the swing
plough, which ventilates the soil without provoking excessive evapor­
ation and the rising to the surface of mineral salts that would be the
result of deeper ploughing. In the medieval countryside, the fertility
of the soil and diversity of agrarian life was the direct outcome of
man and his labour. In 893, in the harsher conditions of the Ardennes,
the culturae of the villae of Tavigny or of Villance grew only oats. At
the same time, the two mills of the village ground maslin (a mixture
of wheat and rye) and extracted malt. The peasants paid rent in rye
and spread dung to fertilize their lord’s fields. The distinction
between intensive and extensive agriculture is therefore between
family holdings and the extensive cereal culture of the great estates.

The evolution o f the great estates

Compared with the estate of the Carolingian period, the Merovingian
villa was far smaller, with less arable land and less cleared for tillage.
The tenures were generally less numerous and their association with
the estate was very loose. The main income came from the cultivation
of the lord’s land and the taxes paid by tributary peasants. During the
seventh century the elements of the ‘great classical estate’ began to
appear, with its twofold organization, under which the demesne land
(farmed directly by the landlord), enlarged and redistributed, is
developed through the services imposed on the manses. A study of
the vocabulary applied to rural institutions highlights the appearance
of new terms and new realities. The appearance of a new term,
mansus and its semantic evolution take on special significance.
Hypotheses concerning the origin of the mansus—a holding created
to normalize the situation of servi casati; a royal institution—have yet
to be confirmed. On the other hand, it is well established that the
mansus created, from the seventh century onwards, a very strong link
between the dwelling, its inhabitants, and the farmlands, forming a
farming unit within the framework of the manor. The tenants
enjoyed extensive rights to the forest and wasteland and could trans­
mit the possession of their tenure to their children. In exchange they
were liable to taxes and services fixed by the customs of the estate.
ii8 J E A N - P I E R R E D EV R O EY

The riga or piece-work appeared around the year 600 as a system

of small strips of land on the estate which were the responsibility of
different manses, from the first ploughing to the bringing in o f the
harvest. The strip shape of these plots suggests that they were
ploughed with a heavy plough with a fixed mould board. They were
probably cultivated from year to year by the same family, which facili­
tated the supervision of the labour. In the tenth and eleventh centur­
ies, many of these plots became the possession of the farmer who
cultivated them in exchange for a minimal rent.
During the seventh century, the relationship between the lord and
his peasants has been expressed in the edicts of the Merovingian
rulers, preserved in the Lex Baiwariorum and the Lex Alamannorum.
These laws present, from a theoretical point of view, two types of
tenures or manses associated respectively with freedom (albeit from
late antiquity, a colonus no longer enjoyed full freedom of movement)
and servitude. Typically, a Tree manse’ (mansus ingenuus) was sub­
jected to a certain number of ‘public’ taxes, linked with military
service, mixed with ‘private’ taxes, in kind (agricultural and animal
products; wood or wooden utensils, metal work, or textiles; manu­
factured goods) and/or in money and labour services. The last named
would mostly entail the cultivation of the lord’s demesne land, local
cartages, and long-distance transportation (angaria). To the riga were
added corvées of ploughing (opera corrogata) accomplished several
times a year by the tenants with the ox team from the manse on the
large fields (culturae) of the estate. The overall tax in kind may have
represented between 10 and 15 per cent of the income of the farm. The
efficiency of this system and its success in drawing out new resources
for the master and the tenant is illustrated by the fact that Charle­
magne was able to insist upon compulsory payment of the tithe (a
supplementary charge of 10 per cent on all the revenues of the land
and of animal breeding) to the benefit of the parish churches.17
The typical charges of the servile manse (mansus servilis) added to
some taxes in kind the obligation to provide the master with a certain
number of work days, usually three, per week. West of the Rhine,
an increasing number of servile manses also had to do ploughing

17 Capitulary ofHerstal, 779, c. 7, ed. A Boretius, MGH, Capitularia regum francorum

I (Hanover, 1883), no. 20, p. 48; trans. P. D. King, Charlemagne: Translated Sources
(Kendal, 1987), p. 203.
 TH E ECONOMY | II9

corvées, and the service of three days of work per week was often
required from free manses, which had been exempted from it hith­
erto. The difference between free and servile tenures remained more
marked east of the Rhine.18
A legal decision of Charlemagne during the summer of 800, made
at the request of peasants from the Le Mans region, shows the exist­
ence of a very strong link (stronger than the legal status of the
dependant) between the productivity of the work on the tenure and
its duration.19 The service accomplished by the tenant with his
plough, freed him from the obligation to offer two other days of
manual work per week to his lord. The king forbade lords to demand
more than the rules required with respect to opera. The description of
the burdens of the manse, at the time of the redaction of the polyp-
tychs, thus created a legal relationship between the landlord and his
tenants through granting heritable tenure of a farm saddled with a
specific set of levies and services.
During the ninth century, there was no longer a correspondence
between the status of the tenant and that of his tenure. A free man
settled on a servile manse owed ‘servile’ work. A serf occupying a free
manse fulfilled the same obligations as a free tenant. From an eco­
nomic point of view, there was thus a strict equality (absent in theory
from social and legal relationships) between free and non-free people
within the manse. For resident serfs, the allocation of tenure meant
the chance to create a home and to transmit tenure to their children.
This constituted a radical step forward. Even the non-resident serfs
benefited from a better status in the context of the great ecclesiastical
estate. A charter of St Gallen of 817 shows ancillae (women
attached to the estate) dividing their week between three days of work
for their master and three others for themselves.20 On the estates of
Saint-Remi of Rheims, there was on average a ratio of one free man to
one serf among the dependants. Around 850, freedmen and serfs
amounted to less than a quarter of the total population.
The evolution of a servile population and of work services tell the

18 A. Verhulst, Rural and Urban Aspects of Early Medieval Northwest Europe

(Aldershot, 1992).
19 Capitulum in pago cenomannico datum, ed. Boretius, MGH, Capitularia regum
francorum I, no. 31, pp. 81-2.
20 H. Wartmann (ed.), Urkundenbuch der Abtei St Gallen I (joo-840) (Zürich, 1863),
no. 228, p. 220.
120 I J E A N - P I E R R E D EV RO EY

same story, namely, the quest by a lord for a specialized and well-
equipped workforce for the development of the estate and a relative
indifference to manual labour. There was a ready supply of brute
strength on which an estate manager could draw at will and at the
peak times of the agricultural year, such as haymaking, harvest, and
the grape-picking season. Corvées of ploughing and long-distance
cartage were the most durable elements of the manorial system and
were the services most wanted by the lord. Charlemagne’s decision of
800 is exemplified in the lands of the abbey of Saint-Germain-des-
Prés located south of the Seine. It is the basis for a ‘virtuous circle’ by
which a tenant who possessed draught animals was busy only one day
per week, in exchange for the work that his plough team carried out
on the arable lands of the estate. Ploughing with a team of from four
to eight oxen is a striking feature both of the Carolingian countryside
of the north-west of Francia and of the manor in England from the
tenth century onwards.
The installation of the ‘classic manorial system’ between the sev­
enth and the ninth centuries between the Loire and the Rhine, testi­
fies to the will of the Frankish sovereign and of the magnates (lay and
ecclesiastical) in that region to produce cereals on a grand scale with­
out resorting to slave labour. The creation of hereditary manses, the
reception of tenant farmers, and the supply of cattle to be raised and
maintained all testify to the will of the lord to secure the services of a
group of men, specialized farmers, farm labourers, or cowherds, who
could handle the plough. Similarly, the wives and daughters of these
men reared families and were responsible for textile production.
Whether this system was ‘efficient’ is largely irrelevant, for it was so
widespread and lasted for a century at least in the central part of the
Frankish world. It is much more important to seek to understand
why it was set up; for what it was used; why it was not set up else­
where, particularly in the south. The scarcity of written sources leaves
the southern societies of the ninth century in obscurity. But much
can be drawn from comparisons with the situation elsewhere.
 T H E EC O N O M Y | 121

Rural society and the state

In Byzantium, tenant smallholdings quickly became the most wide­
spread mode of cultivation, with the decrease in the number of large
estates and a near total eclipse of farming by the owners until the elev­
enth century. The needs of the state were fulfilled through a direct
relationship with the peasantry (see Chapter 1). Provided that he paid
his dues and taxes, the Byzantine peasant was accountable to no one.21
The state tolerated this situation, for it enabled it to recruit the army and
raise taxes directly from the peasantry, without intermediaries. The re-
emergence of the great estates at the turn of the eighth and ninth centur­
ies, and resumption of the role of the magnates as middlemen for the
collection of taxes did not alter the essentially ‘rentier’ nature of the
relationship between masters and peasants in Byzantium.
Another aspect of peasant obligations recorded in the Frankish
polyptychs was the transport of goods. In the ninth century, net­
works, based on corvées of transportation, around and to domanial
centres, can be documented in the heartland of Francia and northern
Italy. The surpluses of the estates were collected and, according to the
needs of the great secular and ecclesiastical landowners redistributed,
to central places, namely abbeys, palaces, or ports of trade, like Quen-
tovic. A portion of this produce was put to commercial use. Some of
it also contributed to the services in kind due to the state, such as the
supply of soldiers or the provisioning of the army. Up to the tenth
century in Italy, this network for the transport of agricultural prod­
ucts was linked to urban centres, supplied from the warehouses of the
great ecclesiastical landowners in Pavia, Milan, Mantua, Parma, Pia­
cenza, and others. The domanial agents who travelled these routes
were gradually supplanted by professional free merchants, notably
those from Venice. Exchange based on the domain thus gradually
merged into new and larger commercial networks.22

21 M. Kaplan, Les Hommes et la terre à Byzance du VIe au X Ie siècle (Paris, 1992).

22 P. Toubert, ‘II sistema curtense: La produzione e lo scambio interno in Italia nei
secoli V ili, IX et X ’, Storia d'Italia. Annali 6: Economia naturale, economia monetaria
(Turin, 1983), pp. 3-63 and A. Verhulst, ‘Marchés, marchands et commerce au haut
moyen âge dans l’historiographie récente’, in Mercate e Mercanti (Spoleto, 1993),
pp. 23-43.
122 J E A N - P I E R R E D EV R O EY

Charlemagne’s Capitulare de villis (c.8oo) was the expression of

the king’s desire to exploit the production of the fisc lands (royal
estates) and great ecclesiastical estates for the support of the adminis­
tration and his military campaigns.23 The geography of the polyp-
tychs and the great classical estates is thus a ‘political geography’. All
this system of direct production of cereals, of transportation and con­
centration of the surpluses was set up at the core of the kingdom, as
well as in the newly conquered regions such as Lombardy and Saxony.
The king resided for the most part in the different palaces of the
heartlands where his own lands and followers were concentrated.
There he raised the army and there too he took the great abbeys
under royal protection. These abbeys participated threefold in the
functiones publicae, namely, military service, gifts, and prayers for the
royal family.
In central Francia in the ninth century, moreover, the Frankish
king did not hesitate to remove benefices from church lands to give
them to his vassi, or to force the church to maintain mounted soldiers
at its own expense. These milites lived on the income of the taxes of
the manses which had been assigned to them. A letter of Lupus of
Ferrières, in 840, paints a vivid picture of the misfortunes of milites of
the abbey, who, overwhelmed by the cost of ceaseless campaigns, had
spent all the rent paid by the peasants.24 The mansus was also used as
a means of measuring the contribution of free people and of nobles
when raising exceptional taxes, like the tributes paid to the Vikings
in the second half of the ninth century, or the size and nature of the
military contingent: a foot soldier for four manses, a mounted soldier
for twelve. A system in which dependants paid rent in money and
kind to the aristocracy probably applied to most southern areas of the
Carolingian empire as well. South of the Loire, for example, where
bipartite villae, corvées, and polyptychs are practically unknown, the
king was a remote element of the rural world and the big property
owners are the military and ecclesiastical elites. In areas such as Brit­
tany, Iceland, Catalonia, or central Germany, however, rural societies

23 Capitulare de villis, ed. Boretius, MGH, Capitularia regum francorum l, no. 32,
pp. 82-91; trans. H. Loyn and J. Percival, The Reign of Charlemagne (London, 1975),
no. 15, pp. 64-73.
24 Lupus of Ferrières, Ep. 16, ed. L. Levillain, Loup de Ferrières: Correspondance
(Paris, 1964), pp. 94-7; trans. G. W. Regenos, The Letters of Lupus of Ferrières (The
Hague, 1970), no. 16, p. 32.
 T H E EC O N O M Y 123

were prosperous and independent, controlled mainly by the logic of

subsistence economy. Such social groups excluded neither slavery
(within the context of work on the family property), nor the existence
of some social stratification, but their essential axis lay in the pre­
ponderance of a peasantry, which controlled its own lands, with more
or less autonomy and in rather loose hierarchies of dependence. The
leading men were rooted in the village community.25

The problem o f rural growth

One cannot therefore link the rural growth of the early middle ages to
any specific form—great estate, small property and peasant
autonomy—of social organization for agricultural production. The
reduction of public and private obligations, which had fallen most
heavily on the peasantry, created greater prosperity which was a pre­
requisite for a demographic growth and a general increase in the
volume of the production. This initially resulted, in the west at least,
in an extension of land under cultivation. In Byzantium, soil and
weather conditions were not so conducive to expansion.
The ‘progress’ recorded in the countryside is not sudden or ‘revo­
lutionary’, but is the slow increase produced by an intensification of
agricultural practices. The diffusion of new techniques went hand in
hand with institutional and social innovations. The condition of the
non-free segment of the population was definitively differentiated
from slavery, when their master provided them with an inheritable
tenure and allowed them to set up their own families and households.
With the clearance of land, free landlords could establish new mansesy
while free peasants chose to bring their lands to a magnate in
exchange for tenure, in order to escape the responsibilities of the free
man, namely, taxes and military service, and to benefit from the
immunity and the protection of their new master. All these trans­
formations made the peasant and his family, with his expertise, his
animals, and his agricultural tools, the essential actor of rural life.

25 Bonnassie, ‘La Croissance agricole du moyen âge’ and C. J. Wickham, ‘Problems

of comparing rural societies in early medieval western Europe’, Transactions of the
Royal Historical Society, 6th series, 2 (1992), pp. 221-46.
124 I J E A N - P I E R R E D EV R O EY

The year 1000 and beyond

There are few historians who have not adopted the caesura of the
tenth century as an end or beginning of a period. But the most
serious difficulty to overcome is of a heuristic nature. The excavations
of rural sites of the eleventh century are rare and offer few points of
comparison with the previous period, where the remains of aban­
doned settlements abound. As for the written sources, quite apart
from their scarcity, they often differ in nature and interpretation is
difficult. Many institutions in the eleventh century, moreover, made
particular decisions about what they wished to be remembered about
the past, and selected from their historical records and archives
accordingly.26 Other types of sources simply cease to be produced as
the systems they described were superseded. The polyptychs are a
case in point. For sources as detailed as the Carolingian polyptychs
concerning the rights and obligations of peasants, it is not until the
twelfth century with the charters of rural franchises, regulations, and
custumals that we again have sources offering comparable detail. It is
thus essential to take a long view in investigating medieval institu­
tions. Take the example of the fate o f the corvée of ploughing and
labour services recorded in the late polyptychs of the end of the tenth
and early eleventh century. The rough work, long insisted upon, is
now hardly mentioned. On the other hand, the former owners of the
great estates had devised an effective and durable system of corvées to
ensure the ploughing of the arable lands of the estates. In Romerée, in
the south of present-day Belgium, about the year 1000, the corvée was
still required in its ‘Carolingian’ form, namely, nine days of harnessed
ploughing; two shared-corvées of a bonnier (approximately two hec­
tares), but only twenty-four days of manual labour, concentrated
during the most intense period of the agrarian cycle, namely, the
haymaking and the grain harvest. In Thiais, at the beginning of the
thirteenth century, the descendants of the tenants of the manses listed
in the polyptych of Saint-Germain-des-Prés, continued to perform
nine days of ploughing. Instead of three days of work per week,

26 P. Geary, Phantoms of Remembrance: Memory and Oblivion at the End of the First
Millennium (Princeton, 1996).
 T H E EC O N O M Y 125

manual work was reduced to one day for mowing. Between the
Sambre and the Meuse in the twelfth century, the former tenants of
the manses were a minority among the villagers, with charges and
privileges inherited from the past, the masuirs (old French, from the
Latin mansionarii). The structures of the old manses, gradually sub­
divided, are still identifiable from references to the quarter lands
(manses divided into four) or to old rented corvées allotments. The
mass of the peasantry was obliged to pay a rent which was a propor­
tion of the harvest or of the land under cultivation. This land com­
prised dismembered lands of the old manses or lands won from the
former or by assarting from the waste. At the same time, all were
subjected to new charges, raised per head or for the use of common
facilities, such as the oven or the mill. This means that little remained
of the manorial system where once it had flourished. Thus any con­
cept of growth in the middle ages cannot depend on the model of the
Carolingian villa in order to understand the eleventh century. Never­
theless, the dynamism of the great estate is a crucial indication of
long-term rural and demographic expansion.
In the ninth century, Flanders, the great area of urban development
of north-western Europe, was still an area where the manorial system
was underdeveloped or marginal. Pirenne’s central idea of a birth of
the medieval city in the eleventh century precipitated by the
reawakening of international trade and industrial production must
now be completely revised. For Pirenne, the castrum (fortified settle­
ment) was not only not a city, but had no urban characteristics. Its
population did not produce anything by itself, and, from an eco­
nomic point of view, its role was that of a simple consumer. Yet the
definition of the medieval city should also take account of the
importance of consumption in urban growth in both Flanders and
Italy. The city was a centre of consumption, production, and trade.
Alongside the merchants, it is necessary to make room for the other
components of urban population, namely, the ecclesiastical and lay
elites, the administrators, town garrison, servants, and craftsmen, and
to acknowledge their role as consumers or sellers of farm surpluses.
All things considered, it is a question of applying to the eleventh and
twelfth centuries a wider understanding of what an exchange econ­
omy means, just as the cartages of a Carolingian monastery played a
vital role in early medieval trade. Nor should we forget the activities
of the landlords: in 1095, the count of Hesdin’s men went down the
126 J E A N - P I E R R E D EV RO EY

valley of Cariche to the sea (where Quentovic had been) with corn
and wine and brought back salt and fish!

The long slow rise o f the western

European economies
A glance at the history of the regional economies in the southern
Netherlands between the seventh and twelfth centuries underlines the
importance of long-term developments. The extent of the inter­
regional exchanges between the Frankish, Anglo-Saxon, and Scandi­
navian worlds between the seventh and the ninth century is well
known. From such a perspective it is clear that communication and
exchange, in their multiplicity of forms (trade, migration, plunder,
war, gifts, and tribute) were not stopped by the invasions or short­
term political crises. Flemish merchants frequented the port of Lon­
don shortly after the year 1000. In 1127, the death of the count Charles
the Good was reported in London the next morning. At the end of
the eleventh century, the world of Godric of Finchale, the archetypal
merchant venturer and ‘animated with the spirit of capitalism’, as
Pirenne put it, encompassed the shores of the North Sea, namely,
England, Scotland, Denmark, and Flanders.
Anglo-Flemish marriages show the strength of these cross-Channel
contacts in the ninth and tenth centuries. Count Baldwin I of Flan­
ders eloped with Judith, daughter of King Charles the Bald of the west
Franks, who was by the age of 16 the widow of two kings of Wessex.
Baldwin’s son married Elftrude, the daughter of King Alfred the
Great. There was also intellectual commerce: the English monks
Dunstan and Æthelwold were in contact with Ghent, where Gerard
de Brogne had just revived the abbey of Mont-Blandin. The Danes in
about 1030 and the Normans in 1066 set about establishing states
which straddled the trading circuits of the eighth, ninth, and tenth
centuries. At the beginning of the eighth century, Anglo-Saxon and
Frisian merchants had sailed up the Seine to Paris, carrying the wine
to be sold at the fairs of Saint-Denis. It was with a cargo of wine that
men of Rouen went to the port of London in 1000.
The notion of a continuum is also helpful in considering the his­
torical conditions for a gradual growth of the medieval economy.
 T H E EC O N O M Y 127

Thus, the Frisian ‘crossroad’ (seventh to ninth centuries), Caroling-

ian agricultural growth, the vitality of the English monetary economy
(seventh to twelfth centuries), the diversification of the Flemish rural
economy (tenth to thirteenth centuries), the industrialization and
urban concentration of cloth production (eleventh to twelfth cen­
turies), the creation of broader systems of circulation and new con­
tinental gateways, connecting the north-west to the south such as
the Flemish and Champagne fairs, Ghent, Bruges, and Cologne (late
tenth to thirteenth centuries). The long agricultural growth started in
the eighth century. As explained above, the small family farm also
seems to have been a key element in the intensification of agriculture
by means of the adoption of the draught horse for ploughing, the
diversification of production, a better balance between agriculture
and breeding, and the establishment of new crops and industries.
From the early eleventh century onwards, the exchange of goods and
networks of secular power are increasingly focused on towns. It is still
difficult to gauge the attractiveness of the city for a rural population.
Nevertheless, from the end of the eleventh century, the growth of the
urban population was fast and uninterrupted. The appearance of a
wage-earning class and the masculinization o f the textile workforce
during the eleventh century certainly constituted a crucial element in
this transformation. It contributed to the shaping of the two aspects
of medieval society: the countryside and the real city, conscious of
itself, eager to govern itself, able to retain the elites and to attract the
poor.
Generally, it is necessary to view the medieval city as a social reality,
a human landscape, and to raise the question of the emergence of a
distinctively urban society. Many roads led to the city. The city was a
great city if it were simultaneously the political or administrative,
economic, religious and cultural centre of a large area. Trade, mer­
chants, and industry alone could not make a city great. From the
eleventh century onwards, the city differs from the countryside in the
nature, culture, and dynamism of its elites. These meliores were not
foreigners and adventurers, but a mixture of nobles, knights, lay and
ecclesiastical administrators. Henceforth, agricultural surpluses were
concentrated (whether as goods in warehouses or in the form of
taxes) and consumed in the city. The wealth was used for public and
private buildings, fine clothes, and the patronage of the arts. It kept
tradesmen in business, paid the wages of the craftsmen and servants,
128 J E A N - P I E R R E D EV RO EY

and supported charitable institutions. There the princes lived, the

clerics gathered, and the architects, sculptors, and goldsmiths worked.
Trade was a consequence of urban society, not a cause. The new elites
played a leading role in the birth of ‘the city as city’, with its own
regulations, administration, justice, and the freedom of the citizens.
Cities in northern Europe were self-governing, though they never
became urban republics and acquired independence like the Italian
communes. All inhabitants of the city benefited from the ‘freedom of
the city’. Nevertheless, the meliores were in charge and thus secured
the exclusive control of finance and commerce until the great social
revolts at the beginning of the fourteenth century. The industrializa­
tion of cloth making in the cities explains the precocity and the
importance of the Flemish towns. Their exceptional size stimulated
the demand for foodstuffs and raw materials in the countryside. It
accounts in turn for the intensification and the advance of Flemish
agriculture in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries.
Urban consumption was also crucial for early medieval Italy. There,
the continued residence in town of the social elites and the importance
of urban landowning in the countryside ensured the domination of
the city over the countryside at a very early stage. In the north of Italy,
in cities such as Milan, Lucca, Pisa, and Genoa in the tenth century,
the concentration of commercial and artisanal activities sustained the
emergence of new classes, who soon struggled for power with the
traditional elites of the city, namely, the bishop, counts, or public
representatives, and powerful landowners. Here, as in Flanders and in
the north of France, the outcome of these conflicts in the twelfth and
the thirteenth centuries led to the institution of communes. In north­
ern Italy cities had acted as collectivities, at least informally, from the
late seventh century onwards. In Byzantium, the upsurge of new urban
sites and the probable expansion of older cities from the tenth century
onwards was made possible only by a substantial increase in agri­
cultural production. But, there was one very significant difference
between Byzantine towns and their counterparts in Flanders and
northern Italy. In Byzantium, towns were so dominated by the land­
owning elite that the other groups (merchants, entrepreneurs, and
craftsmen) were never able to gain control of the towns.27

27 A. Harvey, Economic Expansion in the Byzantine Empire, 900-1200 (Cambridge,

1989).
 T H E EC O N O M Y I29

The hypotheses developed in these pages make the case for an

extended process of economic expansion on either side of the year
1000. One should not regard this long development as a synchronous,
progressive, and continuous movement. We still lack detailed studies
of the economy of particular regions. An economic perspective alone
is not enough for a balanced picture of the cities and the countryside.
To understand the birth of the ‘urban landscape’ in terms of both
space and time necessitates an integrated approach, attentive to social
and cultural factors and to the production and the consumption of
material goods.28

28 The remarks on the evolution of Flanders after year 1000 are mostly drawn from
J.-P. Devroey, ‘ ’Twixt Meuse and Scheldt: Town and country in the medieval economy
of the southern Netherlands from the sixth to the twelfth century’, in P. Vandenbroek
(ed.), The Fascinating Faces of Flanders: Through Art and Society (Lisbon, 1998 and
Antwerp, 1999), pp. 48-76.
Figure 7 Franks Casket
 4
Religion
Mayke de Jong

‘Real Christianity’
Early medieval Christianity has a bad odour in modern histori­
ography. Wedged in between the golden age of the Church Fathers
and that of the Gregorian reform, early medieval varieties of Christi­
anity have long been considered as a deviation from the ‘real thing’:
Christianity became a religion at the service of secular powers, in
which public ritual prevailed over personal belief. This modern dis­
paragement of early medieval Christianity focuses upon a salient
feature of the period we are dealing with here: the integration of
religious and secular authority, and the importance attached to the
public cult of God in the context of the well-being of kingdoms and
empires. Hence, exploring the nature of Christianity as a public
religion, upon which the salvation of kings, kingdoms, and peoples
depended, will be the central aim of this chapter.
When Bishop Jonas of Orleans (d. 840) evoked a golden age of the
‘ancient fathers’, he attempted to underscore the huge decline of
proper penitiential rituals in his own dreadful day and age. Jonas had
a pristine early Christianity in mind, an authoritative source of wis­
dom to draw upon in view of reforming religious and social practice
in his own society. Yet the texts that in Jonas’s view embodied ancient
Roman ritual were in fact the product of a more recent liturgical
creativity in the early medieval kingdoms of the west; the appeal to
old and therefore venerable tradition consolidated the results of
innovation.
The notion of an original and therefore ‘real’ Christianity belongs
to a long and still unbroken tradition that perceives Christian values
132 MAYKE DE JONG

as essentially timeless and superseding change. This unchanging sub­

stance of Christianity is embodied in canonical texts—not only in
Scripture, but also in the writings of the Fathers. Throughout the
centuries, this ‘sacred page’ (sacra pagina) has served as a model for
the present. The one permanent feature of Christianity is the fact that
change was—and still is—conceived of in terms of a return to an
authoritative past. Modern historians of Christianity therefore tend
to experience a powerful sense of continuity, as well as the temptation
to become engaged, in their turn, in a centuries-old debate about
which version of Christianity might be more ‘reaF than others. But
from a historian’s point of view, this question is irrelevant. It is the
self-definitions of Christians in the past and their shifting parameters
that should be investigated, as well as patterns of change obscured by
a rhetoric of continuity.

New Christendoms
In 312, before going into the battle at the Milvian bridge near Rome,
‘about noon, when the day was already beginning to decline, he
[Constantine] saw with his own eyes the trophy of a cross of light in
the heavens, above the sun, and bearing the inscription, w in [t h e
b a t t l e ] b y t h i s . At this sight he himself was struck with amazement,

and his whole army also, which followed him on this expedition, and
witnessed the miracle.’ This is a story of the Emperor Constantine’s
conversion on the eve of a battle that was to give him the imperial
crown, as told by Bishop Eusebius of Caesarea: a sudden revelation,
comparable with Saint Paul’s experience on the road to Damascus
(Acts 9: 1-9), persuaded the emperor to commit himself to the God
who brought victory. In subsequent centuries, Eusebius’ narrative
was to become the model par excellence for a ruler’s conversion; to
turn from paganism to Christianity was to become a ‘New Constan­
tine’, and also, to gain entry into the seductive world of the economic
and cultural riches within the confines of Romanitas. At first glance,
Eusebius’ depiction of Constantine’s conversion seems funda­
mentally different from subsequent early medieval representations of
barbarian kings opting for Christianity. Whereas Constantine’s con­
version was supposedly an individual experience, the barbarian
 RELIGION 133

rulers’ decision in favour of the new God was usually depicted as a

collective one, requiring consultation with the leading men. Yet
Eusebius furnished a revealing detail: before going into battle, Con­
stantine’s entire army witnessed the sign in heaven. Eusebius’s
model—an emperor and his army witnessing a divine revelation—
became the cornerstone of early medieval standard narratives of royal
conversion. These had some recurrent features: an already Christian
queen urging her husband to convert; hesitation on the part of a king
weighing ancient loyalties to the ancestral gods against the superior
powers of the Christian God; the promise to convert if the new God
would give a clear sign of these powers, usually victory in a battle; and
then, the baptism of the ruler followed by his warriors. The ideal
conversion of a barbarian king was both a collective and an entirely
voluntary act, leaving the honour and freedom of the ruler and his
people unimpaired. In his Ten Books of History, Bishop Gregory of
Tours (d. 594) inserted the Franks into a biblical and Roman past. He
portrayed the conversion of King Clovis (d. 511) as a prolonged pro­
cess of joint decision making, at the court and in the army. A victori­
ous battle clinched the matter for the king, and he was followed to the
baptismal font by more than 3,000 of his warriors. The Ecclesiastical
History of the English People written by the Northumbrian monk Bede
(d. 735) propagated this model of rational conversion to an even
greater extent. Bede’s triumphant tale of the Christianization of the
English begins in 597, featuring Æthelberht of Kent, the first English
king to take the plunge. But Bede’s tale of the conversion of Edwin of
Northumbria, towards the very end of a string of conversions of
English kings, is as good an example as any of the ideal this author
had in mind when he reflected on the past of the English people,
bound together by a process of Christianization. The king and his
‘wise men’ debated the merits of the new and unfamiliar faith at great
length in the royal hall. Coifi, the chief pagan priest, admitted that his
gods had insufficiently rewarded him, and volunteered to lead the
destruction of his own shrines. King Edwin was baptized in York on
Easter Day 627, ‘with all the nobility of his kingdom and a large
number of humbler folk’.1
Conversion of the type favoured by Bede and other narrators of

1 Bede, Historia ecclesiastica gentis anglorum, II, c. 14, ed. and trans. B. Colgrave and
R. A. B. Mynors, Bede's Ecclesiastical History of the English People (Oxford, 1969),
pp. 186-9.
134 MAYKE DE JONG

barbarian history entailed the emergence of a new Christian people

(gens). Political identity was largely defined by religious boundaries.
This was no barbarian peculiarity, for a similar quest for religious
unity—at least in the domain of the public cult—had gained
momentum in the Christian Roman empire of the late fourth cen­
tury. Hence, barbarian kings and their peoples converted once they
had entered the Roman orbit. When the Visigoths settled within
imperial territory in 376, they were allowed in on condition that the
entire people would adopt the faith of the empire. Accidentally, the
Visigoths embraced the then dominant doctrine stressing the human
nature of Christ, which would subsequently be condemned as the
heresy called Arianism. The Visigoths played a key role in the conver­
sion of other Germanic peoples, so Arianism initially became the
religion of the ruling elite in a number of post-Roman kingdoms,
while the indigenous population—and their powerful bishops—
adhered to ‘Catholic’ Christianity. This religious divide temporarily
frustrated the aim of creating one Christian people, but not for long.
The Burgundians abandoned Arianism in 516, the Visigoths in 589;
only the Lombards in Italy wavered between Arianism and Catholi­
cism until the mid-seventh century. Thanks to Bishop Gregory of
Tours, King Clovis has the reputation of having converted immedi­
ately from primeval paganism to Catholicism, but recent research has
revealed that this ruler had also explored the merits of the Arian
competition.2 To Gregory, Arianism represented all that was vile
and insidious, a heresy posing a potential threat to the newfound
Christian unity of the Franks.
England had also been part of the Roman empire, but here Roman
culture had been less firmly implanted than in Gaul or Spain. Had the
Anglo-Saxon peoples that settled in England after the mid-fifth
century encountered anything like the well-organized church of
the Romanized Continent, with its powerful bishops who were also
leaders of their communities, they might well have followed the
usual pattern of accepting Christianity upon entering former Roman
territory. Instead, Anglo-Saxon rulers initially remained pagan. This
is not to say that Christianity was completely eradicated in England,
for communities of British Christians still existed in the 590s, and

2 Danuta Shanzer, ‘Dating the baptism of Clovis: The bishop of Vienne vs the
bishop of Tours’, Early Medieval Europe, 7 (1998), pp. 29-57.
 RELIGION 135

King Ethelbert of Kent had married a Frankish princess, Bertha, who

brought her Christian entourage with her, including a bishop. Chris­
tians in Kent presumably requested missionary assistance from
Rome; we do not know for certain from which circles this call for
help came, for Bede’s portrayal of the victorious growth of English
Christendom left no room for a varied religious landscape.
The conversion of England became the personal project of Pope
Gregory the Great; he responded to the call for help, and in 597 sent
his missionary Augustine to Kent. To Æthelberht, the Pope wrote that
he should be ‘like Constantine [who] transcended in renown the
reputation of former princes’; Gregory compared Ethelbert’s Chris­
tian wife Bertha with Helena, Constantine’s mother. This was no less
than an invitation to Ethelbert to adopt a Roman past, and to look
upon Constantine as a predecessor in whose power and renown
he might now share. In Ireland—never part of the empire—
Christianization also meant the forging of a closer link with the
Roman world. Already in 431 Palladius, a member of the Gallo-
Roman aristocracy, was sent to Ireland to minister as a bishop ‘to the
Irish believing in Christ’. Palladius’ mission has been overshadowed
by Patrick, Ireland’s celebrated missionary. For all his fame, very little
is known of Patrick and his activities in Ireland. In the eighth century,
the church of Armagh harnessed the saint to its bid for primacy, and
legends began to flourish. According to Patrick’s own Confession, this
British Christian was carried off as a slave to Ireland; after having
escaped, he returned to Ireland to preach the faith, inspired by a
vision. This may have happened around c.450, but no contemporary
source confirms this traditionally accepted date.
The monastic nature of the Irish Christianity, with abbots ruling
the church, has often been contrasted with the ‘episcopal’ organiza­
tion of the continental churches. These differences have been exag­
gerated, however, and moreover, it was not a matter of an authentic
Irish church created out of nothing by Patrick. By c.700 Ireland
indeed knew large monastic federations led by abbots wielding great
religious and secular authority, but this was the result of a gradual
process also occurring in England and on the Continent: there as
well monastic life had become integrated in the structures of religious
and political power. Monasticism originated in the late third century
in Egypt as a movement of lay men and women who radically
renounced ‘the world’, which included secular as well as ecclesiastical
136 MAYKE DE JONG

power. By the early seventh century, however, monks and nuns

enjoyed the patronage of the great and good, inhabiting a network of
sacred communities upon which ‘the world’ relied for prayer. This is
the history of monasticism in a nutshell. Tension between abbots and
bishops is part of it, but so is episcopal support of the monastic
movement. In areas without a strong episcopal organization based on
the Roman civitas—the basic civil administrative unit—monastic
communities provided an alternative type of ecclesiastical organiza­
tion, serving as important religious centres supported by royal and
aristocratic power. This was the case in northern Gaul and England,
and even more so in Ireland, but this was a matter of degree, rather
than a fundamental deviation from a general pattern.
But there were also real differences. Irish Christianity was more
open to native traditions, which were not rejected as ‘pagan’ but
incorporated into the new religion. Furthermore, a rigorously ascetic
Irish monasticism cherished the ideal of ‘pilgrimage’ (peregrinatio);
to follow Christ meant a radical break with the security of the monas­
tic confines at home. Irish monks were to wander the face of the
earth throughout the early middle ages, offering their services as
scholars and missionaries to rulers across the sea. One of the most
famous wandering Irishmen was Columbanus, who came to the
Frankish realm in 590 and founded the monastery of Fuxeuil on
land belonging to the royal fisc, with royal support. He was in the
vanguard of a drove of Irish peregrini flocking to the continental
courts between the late sixth and ninth century—missionaries, but
also scholars attracted by the patronage of Carolingian rulers. Of
course the Irish also ‘peregrinated’ to their neighbours in England,
for this was the first port of call. Hence, the English kingdoms were
converted by two Christian traditions that had grown apart, having
developed different liturgical customs over time, especially with
regard to the date when Easter was to be celebrated. In Whitby in
664, at a meeting chaired by King Oswy of Northumbria, matters
came to a head. The king opened by ‘observing that all who served
the One God should observe one rule of life, and since they all
hoped for one kingdom in heaven, they should not differ in celebrat­
ing the sacraments of heaven’.3 This is Bede’s celebrated account,

3 Bede, Historia ecclesiastica, III, c. 25, ed. and trans. Colgrave and Mynors, Bede,
pp. 294-309.
 RELIGION I 137

and the outcome of the meeting is well known: Roman tradition

prevailed.
Yet this famous story should not be taken as an indication of the
existence of a ‘universal Roman Church’ in control of an expanding
early medieval Christianitas. The new Christian realms might invoke
Roman authority, but these polities primarily defined themselves by
drawing strict liturgical boundaries coinciding with their respective
‘peoples’ {gentes). The quest for a truly uniform Christian cult was a
crucial element that defined the identity of a king and the leading
men of his gens, who were accountable to God for their ‘people’. This
is why King Oswy chaired and arbitrated the discussions in Whitby,
just as continental rulers habitually convoked and presided over
ecclesiastical councils. Such gatherings usually brought together the
bishops of a particular kingdom.
There was nothing particularly barbarian about this arrangement;
after all, the Emperor Constantine had presided over the ecumenical
council of Nicaea (325), the foundation of Catholic orthodoxy. In the
post-Roman west, Constantine and Nicaea remained influential pre­
cedents for the conduct of kings during such eminently public and
highly ritualized conciliar meetings. Church councils both expressed
and enforced the unity of the polity. This was particularly true of
Visigothic Spain after King Reccared’s conversion from Arianism to
Catholicism in 589. From then on, the fight against insidious heretics
and other outsiders was one of the means of strengthening the cohe­
sion of a kingdom full of strife; so was the unity of the cult. As the
king and his bishops expressed it at the fourth council of Toledo in
633, ‘let there be no more diverse ecclesiastical custom among us, who
are contained within one faith and one realm; for this is also what the
ancient canons have decided: that one and the same province should
keep to the same custom of singing the Psalms and celebrating the
Office and Mass’.4 One faith and one realm, these were the key words.
The argument that clinched the debate, both in Whitby and in
Toledo, was the ‘Roman-ness’ and universality of an authoritative
tradition. Yet this very notion of universality became an important
element in the self-definition of Christian polities claiming the
‘ancient canons’ as their exclusive heritage.

4 Fourth Council of Toledo, c. 2, ed. G. Martinez Diez and F. Rodriguez, La Colecdon

canònica hispana 5. Concilios Hispanos: segunda parte, Monumenta Hispaniae Sacra,
Serie Canònica 5 (Madrid, 1992), pp. 183-4.
138 MAYKE DE JON G

How ‘universal’ was papal Rome by c.700? Since the days of Pope
Leo I (440-461), the bishops of Rome had claimed to be the direct
successors of Saint Peter and the leaders of a universal church. This
crux of papal identity was still cherished in Rome in the seventh
century, in spite of the fact that from the late sixth century onwards
the Roman clerical hierarchy increasingly became the province of
Roman aristocrats. Gregory the Great had a universal and expansive
Christianity on his mind, but his active support of the conversion of
the English has become so famous that it is easy to forget how
exceptional such papal commitment was. Gregory’s successors left
the missionary initiative to the kings and churchmen from the north
who cherished an ideal of Rome as a source of authentic Christianity,
as the constant stream of pilgrims from northern Europe to Italy’s
sacred places testifies. The papacy depended for its continued exist­
ence on its memories of past glory, and its identity as the successors
of St Peter, but even more on the ‘Rome in the mind’ of northern
men like Bede, Willibrord, and Boniface. Would papal authority as we
know it have survived without these great expectations in England,
and without successive emperors pacifying Rome and protecting the
papacy, in order to preserve a source of authentic Christianity
uncontaminated by in-fighting and scandal? Before Charlemagne was
crowned emperor in Rome in 800, he had to rush to the aid of Pope
Leo III, who had been captured and tortured by Roman aristocrats.
Subsequent emperors, be they Carolingian or Ottonian, worked hard
to keep the vital font of authority as pure as it could possibly be.
When Otto I became emperor in 962, it was after having reimposed
order on papal Rome; purifying Rome had become the hallmark of
the true emperor.
In 800, a confident new Christian empire emerged, emphatically
endorsed by papal authority. Yet initially the Carolingian polity had
conceived of itself as a competitive New Israel of the Franks, with as
strong a sense of its superiority as other competing Christian polities.
By the 820s, this notion of the ‘New Israel’ was superseded by a
conception more suitable to what had become a huge Christian
empire encompassing many peoples: the ecclesia gentium. This con­
cept was the Carolingian version of Saint Paul’s ‘Church of the
Peoples’, a church that was no longer restricted to the lews who
had been the first followers of Christ, but invited all the gentiles
who wished to join, and share in the hope of salvation. The political
 RELIGION I I 39

ideology of this vast Carolingian empir zi ecclesia still retained much

of its flavour of a ‘New Israel’, held together by the mortar of
religious and cultic unity. Whereas the church of late antiquity had
been a part of the Roman empire, without being entirely identical
with the structures of political power, in Carolingian ideology this
relation was reversed. The empire itself derived its coherence from
the fact that it was an ecclesia gentium, a world defined by correct
Christianity, as opposed to false versions thereof.
Charlemagne’s long and bloody campaigns against Saxony in the
770s and 780s represented the ugly face of conversion. Baptism was
forced upon all Saxons; any public pagan practice merited a death
penalty. This type of Christianization was reminiscent of late Roman
imperial might throwing its weight behind Christianity, but it was
at odds with the ideal of voluntary and honourable royal conver­
sion with which Carolingian ecclesiastical leadership was familiar.
Charlemagne’s most influential counsel in the years of the Saxon
campaigns, Alcuin of York, surely knew Bede’s History by heart;
against this background, the forcible conversion of Saxony was a
shocking deviation from the authoritative models of the past, and
Alcuin did not hesitate to make his criticism heard in high quarters.
Yet this violence was also the ultimate consequence of a more general
principle to which Alcuin subscribed as well: a ‘correct’ Christian
cult was the crucial ingredient of the identity and cohesion of early
medieval polities. If salvation in the wake of expansion met with
resistance, it was imposed by force.
Behind all this loomed the demanding God of the Pentateuch, the
stern and unrelenting judge of kings and the peoples in their charge.
In the post-Roman kingdoms, the Old Testament served as a source
of ‘old law’ upon which new kingdoms might be built. Of course the
New Testament held pride of place, for it had superseded the Old, and
the church had now supplanted the synagogue—all were agreed on
that. But when all was said and done, the New Testament yielded
precious little in the way of ‘good old law’. Wherever strong new
polities emerged, it was with constant reference to an authoritative
Old Testament past. A vengeful God demanding unswerving loyalty
from the people of Israel and its kings: this was the image that was
foremost in the minds of early medieval rulers. In the Admonitio
generalis (789) Charlemagne compared himself with the biblical King
Josiah finding and implementing the Book of Law; this is only the
140 MAYKE DE JON G

most famous instance of a ruler harnessing the Old Testament to the

identity of a recently established polity. Christian rulers of the early
middle ages were aided and advised by bishops and abbots, but this
did not detract from their eminently royal role: to supervise the cor­
rectness of the Christian cult, just as their Old Testament predeces­
sors had been responsible for good worship in the Old Israel. Old
Testament legal precepts infused early medieval law. In 603, the strict
and legalistic observance of the Lord’s Day in Rome' had provoked
Gregory the Great’s displeasure; he accused his flock of ‘judaizing’,
and explained to them that real Christianity was not a matter of such
rigorous formality. Three centuries later, a detailed and formal obser­
vance of Sunday had become part of Charlemagne’s legislation, along
with tithes and a whole host of other legal precepts inspired by the
Old Testament. In 797 Charlemagne clearly stated his views on the
division of God-given tasks (ministeria) between the Pope and
himself: the latter was to raise his pure and priestly hands in prayer
to God, like Moses, while Charlemagne got on with the task of
defending Christianity, ensuring the safety of those who prayed.
At first glance, this reads as a typically western statement affirming
the dualism of church and state, as opposed to a Byzantine tradition
of ‘caesaropapism’—that is, emperors laying down the religious law
to all, and supposedly keeping trembling bishops in their place. It is
gradually becoming clear, however, that the differences between east
and west have been exaggerated.5 Carolingian bishops were not
averse to casting themselves in the role of a contemporary Nathan,
that is, as prophets chastising their more or less penitent David, but
their eastern colleagues were equally capable of claiming the moral
high ground in confrontations with the emperor. And the Byzantine
emperors were not the only ones to make religious policy their busi­
ness; their western colleagues also viewed themselves as the guardians
of the correct cult, and therefore as the moral leaders of their
people—bishops included. The royal and episcopal offices were not
identical; each had their own ‘ministry’, a God-given task. Yet as the
Emperor Louis the Pious explained in 825, all the different ‘minis­
tries’ within the empir el ecclesia were derived from the supreme
imperial ministerium.

5 Gilbert Dagron, Empereur et prêtre: Étude sur le ‘césaropapisme byzantin (Paris,

1996).
 RELIGION 141

In the political strife of the 830s, a group of Frankish bishops

challenged this view, calling themselves the Vicars of Christ’, and
claiming superiority for the episcopal ministry on the grounds that
only bishops were capable o f‘binding’ (imposing a public penance on)
and absolving sinners; the keys to Heaven were in their hands. This
was a minority point of view, however; the majority of the Caroling-
ian ecclesiastical leadership accepted that the ruler bore the ultimate
responsibility to God for the sins of the people of whom he was in
charge. If kings neglected the duty of ‘correcting’ their subjects, God
would punish the people by sending plagues, pestilence, crop failures,
and military defeat. Whenever such disasters occurred, the first ques­
tion asked at the court in Aachen (and elsewhere) was: ‘What have we
done to offend God?’, to be followed by the second one: ‘How can
we atone for our sins and avert God’s wrath?’ The answer was, by
doing penance, either collectively—by fasting, prayer, and litanies—
or individually, in aid of the ‘stability of the realm’. Already during
Charlemagne’s reign, public atonement gained ground as a vitally
important safeguard to the survival of polity; under his son Louis, it
became the predominant frame of reference for political action.
Similar patterns can be found in the eastern empire. The humiliat­
ing loss of Syria, Palestine and Egypt to Muslim conquerers from
the 630s onwards, an onslaught that was only halted by the Emperor
Leo III in 717, caused a profound ideological turmoil. An embattled
eastern Roman empire also perceiving itself as a New Israel asked the
fundamental question. How have we sinned? Why has God punished
us so severely, deserting his Chosen People? One possible answer was:
because we have fallen into idolatry, confusing the worship of the one
God with that of images. Between 730 and 843, the so-called Icono­
clast controversy transformed the eastern Roman empire. The icono­
clasts (‘icon-smashers’) held that the worship of images of Christ, the
Virgin Mary, or the saints violated the Second Commandment: ‘Thou
shalt not make unto thee any graven image, or any likeness of any­
thing that is in the heaven above . . . Thou shalt not bow down to
them, for I the Lord thy God am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity
of the fathers upon the children . . . ’ (Ex. 20: 4-5). Within the east­
ern empire, this was a minority stance. Images were omnipresent in
the churches of the east, as a focus of intense popular devotion: this
was the most conspicuous difference between the Christian east and
the encroaching Islam. Yet the minority point of view held sway at the
142 I MAYKE DE JONG

court in Constantinople; the conviction that idolatry had indeed

been the sin so grievously punished by God as to send the Arabs led
to Emperor Leo’s celebrated decree against image worship (726). The
devotion of the Sacred Cross became the only accepted alternative: ‘in
this sign’ Constantine had gained his victory, and so had the Emperor
Leo in 717 when he halted the advancing Arab armies. The view of the
court—which owed a lot to people who read their Old Testament
better than most—deeply offended rural popular devotion, and
especially monastic piety. To the icon-worshipping party, God had
been offended precisely because of insufficient veneration for the
traditional sacred images.
In the course of more than 150 years of Iconoclast controversy,
loyalties predictably varied, at the court and elsewhere, and the con­
text of the debate changed profoundly. By the mid-ninth century a
Byzantium emerged with the worship of icons firmly in place as an
enduring and crucial element of its identity, a very different world
compared with the eastern Roman state of 650. The heated dissension
over image worship in broad strata of society was a typically eastern
phenomenon; the western response to the debate about images
remained restricted to a few court intellectuals and their emperor,
Charlemagne, who took a lively interest in the matter.
Yet these differences are less important than a profound similarity.
In both east and west the struggle over ‘real Christianity’ transformed
the Roman Christian empire into the very different religious and
political landscape of the early middle ages. The new polities were
‘post-Roman’, in the sense that the Christian Roman past remained
an authoritative source of authentic Christianity; after all, this had
been the Age of the Fathers. But it was an even older and more sacred
past that shaped the early medieval world, in west and east, namely,
the biblical past of the Old Testament, and the notion of the Chosen
People guided by its ruler to salvation.

Elusive others: Jews, heretics, and pagans

The identities of the post-Roman New Israels were defined in contrast
to negative ‘others’: Jews, heretics, schismatics, and, of course, pagans.
The dangers posed by these ‘enemies of the Christian people’ were
 RELIGION 143

mostly in the eye of the beholder: these were useful enemies,

strengthening a sense of coherence and unity. When it came to
identifying and classifying ‘others’, early medieval authors derived
their categories of thought primarily from Scripture. The real heir to
the Roman empire, in terms of political strength, economic wealth,
and geographic expanse, was the Ummayad Caliphate of Damascus,
and its Abbasid successor in Baghdad. Yet little was known of Islam
in the west, except the incongruous notion that these pagans—a
strictly monotheistic faith—worshipped ‘idols’. Likewise, the Jews
were perceived within a biblical frame of reference that often
remained a theoretical perspective. In the early medieval west, Jewish
communities were minute islands in a big Christian sea. There were
some sporadic attempts at converting Jews harshly in Merovingian
Gaul, and a more consistent policy in the Visigothic kingdom to
prevent Jewish converts to Christianity from returning to their
original faith. It is difficult to assess whether the laws issued in Toledo
actually led to a fierce and programmatic persecution, but there is
no doubt that the Visigothic Christian polity increasingly came to
depend on an ideology revolving around the dangers of a Jewish
contamination of a Gothic and Christian purity. Still, the real
effects of this strident anti-Judaism are not known, and the Visigothic
legislation remained an exception in the early middle ages; the
Carolingian emperors consistently and actively protected Jewish
merchants in royal service.
In the north, where Jewish communities were even less numerous,
Jews were an enemy primarily known from Scripture. Above all, the
Jews were the ‘prior people’ of the Old Testament; those who had
forfeited their right to be God’s Chosen People by not recognizing
Christ as the Messiah. This notion of the New Israel taking over from
the Old was at the heart of early medieval biblical commentary; the
model was provided by the Fathers, but their early medieval succes­
sors elaborated on this theme to their heart’s delight. This held true
of Bede in his Northumbrian monastery, way up north, who had
never encountered a Jew in his life. But other Old Testament scholars
such as Hraban Maur (d. 856), the abbot of Fulda and arch­
bishop of Mainz, turned to Jewish experts in order to discuss the
finer points of ‘historical’ exegesis, that is, the elucidation of Old
Testament history and geography. The domain of spiritual exegesis,
which brought out the true meaning of all these facts, was strictly a
144 MAYKE DE JON G

Christian affair. Hraban and his fellow biblical commentators were

fully engaged in appropriating Old Testament history and translating
it into an allegorical Christian truth, an operation to which the pres­
ence or absence of ‘real’ Jews was immaterial. The ‘truth of the Jews’
was something from which Christians should distance themselves,
because it was literal-minded and erroneous; on the other hand, the
Old Testament past with its models and heroes was the new past
adopted by the New Christendoms.
In real life, heretics were even thinner on the ground than Jews.
One of the curious features of the early medieval west is the absence
of the popular heresies so characteristic of the'second half of the
western middle ages, as well as the typical focus of popular heresy:
the self-styled holy men roaming the countryside so familiar in the
eastern Roman empire and Byzantium; in the east, heresy was a
matter of vociferous public discussion. Only rarely did such
uncontrolled religious charisma leave a trace in the written sources
of the west. In the 740s a certain Aldebert gained a large following,
including bishops, in the region of Soissons; the man claimed to
possess a Letter from Heaven and had a saint’s Life written for
himself, contrary to all accepted principles of saintly humility. His
adamant adversary was Boniface (d. 754), the English missionary
who became a prime agent of ecclesiastical reform within the
Frankish polity. At Boniface’s behest, Aldebert was condemned at a
synod in Rome (745), and turned into a heretic of truly heroic
proportions in a way that far exceeded his actual importance.6 But
Aldebert and others of his ilk were useful enemies, embodying a
negative image of sanctity that helped to define the proper channels
of the sacred.
Real heretics, equally rare, tended to come from learned circles. As
far as can be determined, the waves they caused remained limited to
the learned echelons of society. By the late eighth century, these
included the court. At the Council of Frankfurt (794) Charlemagne
presided over discussions about adoptionism, a doctrine that claimed
that Christ was God’s adopted son. A chorus of Frankish and Italian
bishops appealed to Charlemagne, who listened to contentious

6 Nicole Zeddies, ‘Bonifatius und zwei nützliche Rebellen: Die Häretiker Aldebert
und Clemens’, in M. T. Fögen (ed.), Ordnung und Aufruhr: Historische und juristische
Studien zur Rebellion lus Commune, Sonderhefte 70 (Frankfurt am Main, 1995),
pp. 217-63.
 RELIGION 145

theological debates, as Constantine had. This was a clear sign of new

imperial authority about to manifest itself, but nonetheless, adop-
tionism did not spread beyond the happy few who had mastered
the intricacies of the Trinity. The same held true for the heresy of
the learned monk Gottschalk in the 850s. His strict Augustinian
reading of predestination frightened bishops, who worried that the
faithful might become utterly fatalistic if they learned that they were
predestined to salvation or damnation, regardless of their efforts
during life on earth. Gottschalk’s ideas were hotly debated in
monasteries and at the court of Charles the Bald, but there is no
sign that the views of this Saxon monk of aristocratic birth held a
wide appeal. His sympathizers and opponents were other cogno­
scenti: learned monks, bishops, courtiers, and kings. Yet ‘heretics
and schismatics’ assumed momentous importance in Carolingian
biblical commentary; they served as a powerful metaphor for any
disruptive force that might pose a threat to the politico-religious
order.
The third possible guise of ‘the other’ was paganism. The
insurmountable divide between Christians and pagans was part and
parcel of the self-definition of the new Christendoms in the west,
whose career as so many New Israels had begun with kings aban­
doning their pagan gods. But the Christian authors who depicted
paganism did not do so as ethnographers, but as men trying to
explain the falsehoods of the ‘old religion’ to the Christian elites for
whom they wrote. They built paganism into something comprehen­
sible to their Christian audiences, complete with temples where
idols were worshipped under the aegis of powerful priests. Bede’s
portrait of the pagan priest Coifi was influenced by Christian ideas
about proper priestly conduct. When Coifi set off to destroy his
own temples, he mounted the king’s stallion, bearing arms. As Bede
commented, all this had been forbidden to Coifi when he was still a
pagan priest, a thought that would easily occur to a monk familiar
with Christian notions of the incompatibility between shedding
blood and serving at the altar.7 Another example of such theoretical
notions of paganism is the letter Bishop Daniel of Winchester sent
to his pupil Boniface in 723-724, when the latter was a missionary

7 Bede, Historia ecclesiastica, II, 13, ed. and trans. Colgrave and Mynors, Bede,
pp. 184-5.
146 MAYKE DE JON G

in Thuringia. Daniel explained how one should argue with the

heathens in order to convince them of the truth. Daniel’s advice
was not to argue back, but to let the pagans fall into the trap they
set for themselves by boasting of the genealogy of their gods. Then
difficult questions should be asked: do you really think that gods
who are born and not eternal are powerful? When were these gods
born? Why have they given up procreation? Who reigned before
them? What about eternity and creation? Why do the Christians
inhabit the warm and fruitful areas producing wine and oil,
whereas the pagans have been left with the cold regions of the
north?8
This essentially Christian and learned image of pristine paganism
can hardly have been a real support to Daniel’s pupil in the mission­
ary field. What kind of pagans did Boniface encounter in Hesse and
Thuringia, where he was active when Daniel wrote his letter of
advice? ‘Real paganism’ only emerges in Willibald’s Life of Boniface,
where the saint is depicted as triumphantly felling the sacred oak in
Geismar.9 Yet the felling of sacred trees had a long literary pedigree
going back to Sulpicius Severus’ Life of Saint Martin (c.397), one of
the most influential hagiographical texts of the early middle ages.
Boniface’s collection of letters yields a very different picture. He
devoted most of his energy to stamping out the deviant varieties of
Christianity that had flourished in the wake of earlier missionary
campaigns. Significantly, Boniface’s most explicit attack on ‘real
paganism’ concerns Rome and the celebration of the Lupercalia,
about whose festivities for the new year Boniface had heard upsetting
rumours.10 Otherwise, his many queries to assorted popes and
English colleagues dealt with ‘errant Christianity’, a more powerful
enemy than the pristine heathens with their orderly pantheon
conjured up by his teacher Daniel.
To a considerable extent, the paganism as represented by Christian
authors was a literary one, a ‘paganism in the mind’. The laws

8 Boniface, Epistolae, no. 23, ed. M. Tangl, Die Briefe des Heiligen Bonifatius und
Lullus, M GH Epistolae Selectae 1 (Berlin, 1916), p. 40; trans. E. Emerton, The Letters of
Saint Boniface, 2nd edn. (New York, 2000), p. 28.
9 Willibald, c. 6, ed. R. Rau, Briefe des Bonifatius: Willibalds Leben des Bonifatius
(Darmstadt, 1968), p. 494; trans. C. H. Talbot, The Anglo-Saxon Missionaries in
Germany (London, 1954), p. 45.
10 Boniface, Epistolae, no. 50, ed. Tangl, pp. 90-1; trans. Emerton, pp. 59-60.
 RELIGION 147

of the Frisians speak of child sacrifice on the beaches of the bleak

north, and of high tide claiming the sacrificial victims. All this was
‘paganism’, but not necessarily in the sense of an organized religion
with an elaborate doctrine about gods and their respective powers.
Pagan cult sites seem to have been connected with sacred trees,
mountains, fountains, valleys, and islands, rather than with particular
deities; pagan practice included auguries, divinations, and sacrifice.
This was the kind of practical religious devotion that might easily be
integrated into any new religion, including Christianity. Conversion
was, first of all, a matter of behaviour and practice, and of refraining
from activities identified as non-Christian. The adoption of a differ­
ent world-view and a set of beliefs would follow in due course, but it
was not what Boniface and his colleagues initially worried about.
Baptismal formulas were drawn up in Old High German, so the new
converts might publicly declare that they abjured ‘Donar, Wodan and
all their pomp’. These definitions of paganism came from missionar­
ies, not from the pagans themselves. A neutral category of secular
culture with its own traditions and festivities no longer existed; social
practice was either Christian or pagan, and the latter included any­
thing that appeared remotely ‘superstitious’. Auguries, amulets,
incantations, and other forms of magic represented the kind of prac­
tical device to which anyone, baptized or not, may have resorted. In
the so-called Corrector, a compendium of illicit practices drawn up
by Bishop Burchard of Worms (d. 1025), one mostly finds magic
practised by people who probably considered themselves to be
Christian. The frequent theft of chrism from churches for magical
purposes is a case in point; surely this was not a clear indicator
of persistent paganism. The early medieval texts supporting the
counter-offensive against errant Christianity are a mine of informa­
tion about the ways in which real Christianity was defined: in
opposition to broad and varied spectra of magico-religious practices
classified as a single category, namely ‘superstition and paganism’, to
be eradicated whenever such phenomena were encountered in real
life.
Archaeology does not yield reliable information about paganism
either. If someone was buried with grave goods, including a cross,
did this make him or her a pagan, because of the presence of grave
goods, or a Christian, because of the cross? Paganism began where
Christianity ended. It was the frontier separating ‘them’ from ‘us’,
14 8 M AYK E DE JONG

within the Christian polities as well as in the vast and dangerous

world outside. This frontier was there to be crossed by the preachers
of the faith, either followed or preceded by the armies that supported
their conquest.

Sacred domains and strategies o f distinction

‘God that made the world and all things therein, seeing that he is
Lord of heaven and earth, dwelleth not in temples made with hands’
(Acts 17: 24). In opposition to a Roman world full of sacred places
and spaces, Christianity was initially a religion without shrines; wher­
ever the faithful gathered for worship, God would be present. This
ideal was to be embraced once more by Protestantism, but it was
alien to late antiquity and the middle ages. Throughout this entire
period, Christianity was very much a religion based on sacred places
and spaces—above all, on the ‘places of the saints’ ( loci sanctorum).
From the early fourth century onwards, a competing Christian
topography emerged within the sacred landscape of classical
antiquity, rapidly supplanting its rival. Pilgrimage integrated the
Holy Land and its sacred sites into this new Christian landscape, but
its real landmarks were the corporeal remains of the martyrs within
the boundaries of the Christian empire. The cult of the martyrs
connected the newly established church to its heroic history of sup­
pression; the martyrs only became the focus of an intensely local and
competitive devotion once the actual persecutions were a thing of
the past. Roman custom dictated that the dead be kept well away
from the living, so the martyrs had been buried outside the precincts
of the city, together with their persecutors. Here they remained, until
‘a tide of relics flowed into the cities’, as Robert Markus expressed it:
martyrs became fellow-citizens.11 By 386, when Bishop Ambrose of
Milan founded a great new church outside the walls of his town,
it was unthinkable that this edifice could be consecrated without
dedicating it to martyrs who would be corporeally present. Ambrose
responded to popular demand, orchestrated or not, and ‘found’ the
remains of the martyrs Gervasius and Protasius. The discovery

11
11 Robert Markus, The End of Ancient Christianity (Cambridge, 1990), p. 148.
 RELIGION I 149

(inventio) of the two martyrs and their triumphant transfer

(translatio) to the new basilica created a momentous ritual event,
enabling the bishop to repair his temporarily strained relations with
the imperial court.
The translation of Gervasius and Protasius was to become a model
of the episcopal control of sanctity, and of the ability of the
powerful—initially bishops and abbots, but in due course also kings
and aristocrats—to turn the remains of the saints into localized
resources of sanctity, and to harness them to the cause of their own
authority and legitimacy. Hagiography was an indispensable instru­
ment in this process. Hundreds of saints’ lives (vitae) were produced
from late antiquity onwards, as well as miracle collections and reports
on the miraculous inventio and translatio of relics. Martyrs did not
entirely disappear, but they were different from their late antique
predecessors; they might be bishops killed in political strife, mission­
aries killed by pagans, or confessors being ‘living dead’. Most of the
early medieval saints were bishops, abbots, and abbesses with an
impeccable social pedigree. As Bishop Isidore of Seville (d. 636)
expressed it: ‘They could have been martyrs, had it been in the time
of the persecutions.’ 12 Hagiographers adapted themselves to the
literary models of their predecessors, and, moreover, to the high
expectations of those who commissioned them to ‘write up’ a par­
ticular saint. Like Ambrose’s Life of his two martyred protagonists,
most hagiography was intended to lead the forces of the sacred into
well-defined channels connected with political power, be it episcopal,
royal, or both. To say that hagiography was mere propaganda for the
saint in question is missing an important point. The question should
be: who controlled a saint’s cult, and could therefore tap into these
sacred resources?
The answer for most of early medieval Europe is: bishops, to begin
with, and then, increasingly, kings, who came to depend on monastic
prayer for the ‘stability of the realm’ and their own welfare. Sanctity
developed into a powerful focus around which political and social
support might be mobilized. In 704, in a charter freeing the monas­
teries in his realm from secular services, the Anglo-Saxon King Ine
said that such communities ‘should be worthy to pour out prayers for

12 Isidore of Seville, Etymologiarum sive originwfl libri XX, 7. xi >ed. W. M. Lindsay

(Oxford, 1911), Lib. v i i . xi. 4, lines 23-4.
15 0 I MAYKE DE JON G

the state and prosperity of our kingdom, and for the forgiveness of
committed sins before the face of the divine m ajesty.. .\ 13 This is just
one example of a more general pattern. Increasingly, early medieval
rulers had a vested interest in safeguarding the purity of the claus­
trum:, for monastic prayer offered ‘satisfaction’ to God for the sins of
the polity, and thus supported the stability of the realm. In the Frank­
ish kingdoms, this cultural revolution started in the seventh century;
it is in this period that those exercising political power—kings as well
as aristocrats—came to depend on the prayer of monastic com­
munities and on the intercession of resident saints. Merovingian
rulers developed a peculiar system to gain accéss to these sacred
resources. They granted ‘immunities’ to their favoured monasteries,
guaranteeing that no royal servant would have access to sacred space;
they also persuaded bishops to grant exemptions of various kinds, by
which the bishop voluntarily gave up his right to interfere with the
internal life in the monastic communities within his jurisdiction. By
granting immunities and exemptions, kings and bishops—often in
unison—created sacred spaces that would be undisturbed and there­
fore all the more effective in their prayer for the powerful that had
guaranteed their liberty. From 751 onwards, the new Carolingian
rulers continued to rely on monastic prayer and property. They also
needed to shield their sacred spaces from contamination and disturb­
ance, but did so in ways different from those o f their predecessors.
The more heavy-handed Carolingian ‘protection’ ( tuitio) of monastic
communities created an even closer alliance between the royal court
and its monastic dependencies.
Within the topography of royal power such sacred spaces were
of crucial importance, so rulers interfered directly in the internal
ordering of life in the cloister, demanding that the prayer supporting
stability to the realm would be conducted along similar lines, and
according to an authoritative model. It was within this context that
the Rule of Benedict of Nursia emerged as the dominant form for
monastic life and prayer—in the Frankish empire from 800 onwards,
but subsequently throughout northern Europe, a predominance that
remained until the mid-eleventh century. Initially, this sixth-century

13 W. de G. Birch, Cartularium Saxonicum: A Collection of Charters Relating to Anglo-

Saxon History (London, 1885), no. 10 8 ,1, p. 157. And see Catherine Cubitt, Anglo-Saxon
Church Councils C.650—C.850 (London and New York, 1995), p. 112.
 RELIGION I 151

Italian text was no more than one of the many directives by which
abbots tried to regulate life within their communities; many of such
‘texts’ were only transmitted orally. Benedict’s Rule gradually gained
authority north of the Alps because Pope Gregory the Great—the
initiator of the Christianization of England—had included a Life of
Benedict in his Dialogues. Benedict became the ‘Roman abbot’,
another example of the canonical authority men in the north looked
for in an Italy full of sacred resources. Well before 774, when the
Carolingian armies incorporated these sacred treasures into the grow­
ing empire, high-status English and Frankish ‘monastic observers’
had travelled south to find and investigate the type of monastic life
they considered to be the ‘real thing’. As in the case of the papacy and
canonical texts sent Frankish rulers, the high expectations of the men
and women from the north went a long way towards upholding the
identity of Italy as the promised land of monastic authenticity.
Within the Frankish empire—including Italy—Benedict’s Rule
became something its author could never have envisaged: the ‘law’ of
a monastic life upon which the stability of the Carolingian realm
depended. But the monasteria of this period were very different from
the small and intimate community for which Benedict wrote. Ninth-
century commentators on the Rule had huge royal abbeys in mind,
full of children to be educated, guests to be received, and estates to be
managed. The claustrum, the secluded inner space only accessible to
members of the community and a few privileged ‘neighbours’,
became the architectural and mental safeguard of an essential meas­
ure of sanctity and peace. Not only monks and nuns were ‘cloistered’,
the same went for canons (clerici canonici), though the latter had
more freedom of movement. Reform councils in Aachen in 816/817
attempted to create a clear divide between monasticism proper
(monks and nuns who followed Benedict’s Rule), on the one hand,
and canons who lived a communal life devoted to prayer and pastoral
work, on the other.
This new strategy of distinction had only a limited success, and
mostly reveals the extent to which these two groups had become
conflated; it also became a source of confusion to historians, who
have perceived the Anglo-Saxon and Celtic ‘minsters’ (monasteria)
in charge of pastoral duties as a deviation from the supposed
norm: a ‘Roman’ ecclesiastical organization based on bishops and
local priests. Yet until the tenth century at least, it was religious
152 MAYKE DE JON G

communities, not the familiar parishes centred upon villages, that

remained the pillars of ecclesiastical organization. Monks and
canons, and anything in between, met the demands of the laity for
votive Masses, and furnished the pastoral care later associated with
parish priests. No wonder such communities became difficult to
distinguish from one another.
The celebration of votive Masses became the primary duty of all
these powerhouses of prayer. The very concept of Mass had changed
drastically. From a communal ritual commemorating Christ’s death
and resurrection, Mass itself became a sacrifice, a gift to God accom­
panied by special prayers indicating the purpose for which this par­
ticular Mass was offered. There were Masses for every eventuality:
good weather, a rich harvest, the fertility of women, safe journeys, the
victory of the royal army, and, above all, for the commemoration and
salvation of the dead. At the council of Attigny (762), a group of
bishops and abbots created a network of mutual prayer linking their
religious communities, promising to read fixed amounts of Masses
and Psalters on behalf of each other’s dead. Soon, this move­
ment blossomed into the great ‘Books of commemoration’ (libri
memoriales) of the ninth century, containing thousands of names of
the dead and the living from religious houses, but also those of the
upper echelons of lay society, with members of the ruling dynasty
heading the list. At first glance it would seem that religious women
were put at a severe disadvantage by this increasing emphasis on
votive Masses, a demand that could only be fulfilled by ordained
monks and canons. To some extent this is true; yet ascetic women
represented a particularly desirable type of virginity, more family-
bound than that of their male counterparts, but also more pure,
because these women were further removed from the corridors of
court and power. Still, major female communities were not entirely
cut off from the political fracas, as appears from the nuns of Remire -
mont pointedly refusing to pray for a king—Lothar II—who had
rejected his legitimate spouse.14 A royal nunnery going on a prayer-
strike must have had some sense of the importance of its Psalters read
for the ruler, even if Masses could only be taken care of by male
priests attached to the community.

14 Stuart Airlie, ‘Private bodies and the body politic in the divorce case of Lothar IL,
Past and Present, 161 (1998), pp. 3-38 at p. 37.
 RELIGION 153

Figure 8 Gelasian Sacramentary, produced probably at Chelles, or Jouarre,

in the first half o f the eighth century
154 I MAYKE DE JON G

This intense prayer activity was fuelled by changing attitudes

towards death and what awaited humankind, once it passed this
final threshold. The Last Judgement and the Resurrection at the end
of times were still perceived as the final reckoning, but this ultimate
judgement had come to be preceded by an earlier one, immediately
after death. Sinners who had not managed to redress the balance of
sin by due penance in their lifetime were expected to have to endure
the torments of an intermediary and purgatorial limbo, from which
only pure prayer could release them. To a large extent, monastic
prayer served the needs of the dead, and of their surviving kinsmen
who gave lavish gifts to religious communities in order to save the
souls of the departed. A visionary literature developed which
charted the geography of the hereafter, but also served as a warning
voice within the corridors of power. By depicting kings and
emperors suffering torments in purgatory, thinly-veiled criticisms
were levelled at rulers who did not live up to the model of Christian
kingship.
On the one hand, there were monks, nuns, canons, and their
female counterparts who prayed with pure hands in ascetic com­
munities; on the other, there were the ordinary priests ministering to
rural communities from which they could hardly be distinguished.
The gulf between the institutionalized and the rural clergy was also a
social one, for most of the inhabitants of the powerful monasteria
came from the upper echelons of society. The majority of these men
and women had entered religious life in childhood, often as a gift ‘to
God in the monastery’ (as the Rule of St Benedict expressed it) by
their parents; this was a social and religious privilege, which also
entailed a substantial donation of land, usually comprising the
child’s inheritance. In theory, status differences within the com­
munity were superseded by an order of seniority and merit, but in
practice, the social hierarchy in the world outside persisted within
the cloister. A vast social distance separated the institutionalized
clergy from their familiay the dependant servants, and peasants who
enabled the members of the community to devote themselves to
their extensive duties of prayer. The same held true for nunneries
and communities of canons. Bishops keeping hunting dogs were a
traditional—and symbolic—bone of contention: these animals were
liable to bite the poor who came to the bishop’s residence, begging
for sustenance.
 RELIGION I I 55

Many ‘ordinary priests’, ministering to rural communities far

removed from the episcopal and monastic centres, must have suffered
as many hardships as the members of their flock. It is not easy to get a
clear picture of this particular group, for the bulk of the written
sources we now depend on were produced in the religious com­
munities sufficiently wealthy to become centres of literacy and learn­
ing; hence, their membership is in the limelight, whereas rural priests
remain largely in the dark. What we do know is that the early medi­
eval rural priesthood was of a bewildering variety that still awaits
further exploration. A well-defined parish structure, with the village
priest at the bottom end of a hierarchical chain of command headed
by the bishop, only fully materialized after c.1000. Earlier attempts by
Carolingian bishops to take the rural priesthood in hand reveal that
such priests came in very different shapes and sizes. They might be
monks in orders, in charge of a small monastic establishment (usually
called a cella) ministering to ‘the people’, under the authority of the
abbot or abbess, or priests who were the rural representatives of
canonical communities led by bishops. Such priests might live in
great isolation, but they were still the rural vanguard of the monas­
teria, rather than part of an established network of parishes. But then
there were also priests in charge of churches established by secular or
ecclesiastical lords on their private lands. These lords, founders of
their own churches, remained in control of their foundation and its
proceeds—the obligatory tithes and the voluntary gifts of the
faithful—using this income as a tool of lordship; sometimes only a
small portion was reserved for the sustenance of the priest himself.
Such priests might very well be freed serfs, recruited from the very
peasantry they baptized and buried; the social distance between their
flock and themselves was minimal, if any existed at all.
Some of the ensuing problems become clear from the so-called
capitula episcoporum, directives issued by Carolingian bishops
attempting to discipline and ‘correct’ the clergy in their diocese, and
also from the surviving manuscript evidence of handbooks for
priests. Two interconnected issues were involved. Rural priests
became the object of correctio, a programme of reform intensified
after Charlemagne’s imperial coronation; significantly, the first epis­
copal directives appeared shortly after 800. The Christian empire
should have a priesthood worthy of its exalted role as God’s ecclesia—
that is, priests who ministered at the altar with ‘pure’ hands, unsoiled
156 I MAYKE DE JON G

by sex and blood; moreover, all priests should be literate and have
adequate books to support them in their duties. First and foremost,
however, bishops were adamant that rural priests should rise above
their flock, becoming part of a clergy with its own privileges and
solidarities, the lowest rank of an ecclesiastical hierarchy headed by
episcopal authority. Hence, priests who were economically dependent
upon lay lords should be brought back within the fold of episcopal
and canonical jurisdiction. Throughout the ninth century, kings and
bishops cooperated in this venture; some of their instructions for
reform cast a bleak light on the predicament o f ‘ordinary’ priests. As a
capitulary issued in 857 by Charles the Bald expressed it: ‘Priests and
their servants are not to be dishonoured, and they are not to be
flogged, and they are not to be thrown out of their church without the
agreement of their bishop.’ 15 But there were also priests who did well
for themselves, developing into local power brokers who caused their
bishops a lot of headaches. Archbishop Hincmar of Rheims (840-
882) had to contend with a priest who, after having attracted mali­
cious gossip from his flock on account of his illicit sexual relations,
got involved in a drunken brawl, wounding a fellow-villager; when
Hincmar suspended the culprit, pending his deposition at a provin­
cial synod, the man disappeared to Rome, returning triumphantly
with a papal letter calling Hincmar to task for supposed uncanonical
procedures.
Sexual purity was the cutting edge of the strategies of distinction
elevating the rural priesthood above the laity around them. In Hinc-
mar’s day and age, the ideal of priestly celibacy already had a long
history, which gives the impression that for centuries, ecclesiastical
leaders fought a battle lost at the outset. If in the mid-eleventh cen­
tury ‘Gregorian’ reform still needed to fight clerical marriage, priests
in preceding ages must surely have misbehaved collectively. This lin­
ear view of the history of celibacy should be discarded. Predictably,
zeal for reform fluctuated, but the incredible persistence of the ideal
of clerical celibacy, up to the present day, is more significant. Similar
arguments in favour of celibacy were employed in very different
situations. In 384/385 Pope Siricius explained to Bishop Himerius of
Tarragona that, unlike their Old Testament predecessors who only

15 Allocutio missi cuiusdam Divionensis (857), c. 1, A. Boretius and V. Krause (eds.),

M GH Capitularia II (Hanover, 1897), no. 267, p. 292.
 RELIGION 157

sacrificed intermittently, Christian priests should be celibate, for their

obligation to celebrate the Eucharist on a daily basis prevented them
from purifying themselves properly before touching the body and
blood of Christ. Pope Siricius had bishops in mind, married men
who had entered episcopal office after a secular career; to live chastely
under the scrutiny of their inquisitive household, with their wife—
the episcopa—secluded at the other end of the episcopal palace,
would endow such secular men with an instant authority and cha­
risma. This model of the married bishop vowing himself to celibacy
without dissolving his marriage persisted well into the sixth century.
Theodulf of Orléans (d. 802) repeated Pope Siricius’ basic argument,
but he envisaged a different clerical landscape, in which the monas­
teria had become the real bastions of celibacy and purity; here, all
priests, deacons, and subdeacons who might be ‘in touch’ with the
sacred altar precincts could be expected to have clean hands. By the
early ninth century, Augustine’s fear of the emergence of a first class
of Christians, ascetics lording it over the ordinary faithful, had come
true, even at the level of the clergy. With regard to celibacy, the west
followed a trajectory different from that of Byzantium. In the east,
the upper ecclesiastical echelons—patriarchs in particular—were
recruited from monasteries and therefore were celibate, but ordinary
priests were allowed to marry.
The divergent attitudes in east and west are intriguing, and make
one wonder about the varying demands and expectations of those
who remain most in the darkness of the sources: the laity. In our
period, this was not the clearly defined category it would become after
C.1050, when clerici claimed the monopoly of the sacred and its written
tradition, and increasingly denied the laity direct access to these
resources. From the beginning, it was baptism that made someone a
member of Christendom. Baptism remained a public affair, though
the intricate rituals surrounding adults converting to the faith—
veritable and prolonged ‘rites of passage’ —were increasingly sup­
planted by infant baptism. In its wake, another enduring institution
entered upon the scene: spiritual parenthood. Godparents became the
ones to pronounce the baptismal vows for the infants they were to
receive from the font, assuming responsibility for the welfare and
religious education of their godchildren. Godparenthood also created
and supported powerful networks of social and political solidarity
that were as important as the much better studied ‘feudal’ relations.
i 58 MAYKE DE JON G

Predictably, it is within the very upper echelons of society, and

mostly in the loquacious ninth century, that we can get an idea of
what religious life for ‘the laity’ may have entailed. This was a laity
mesmerized by the claustrum and its promise of quiet, sanctity, and
salvation. Kings, queens, and powerful aristocrats ‘withdrew’ to mon­
asteries, either at moments of political embarrassment, or on the eve
of death. To die in a monastic habit was surely a safer route to Heaven
than to make the dangerous journey directly from the turmoil of the
world. This was the elitist way of preparing for death—even a royal
one, as appears from aristocrats following the royal example. Mean­
while, in the lower reaches of society, a long process of ‘Christianizing
death’ continued. The tremendous importance of the intercession for
the dead shows that the long-term solicitude of kinsmen concen­
trated first of all on the care of their deceased in the hereafter; Chris­
tian burial rites followed in the wake of the prayer for the dead. Given
that bishops and abbots took care of the burial of the poor as an act
of charity, a Christian burial remained an expensive affair. By 900,
this was probably within reach of most people, which also meant that
the exclusion of those who had died as grievous and unrepentant
sinners began to make sense. The happy few were buried ad sanctos,
near the saints they had supported during their lifetime, and within
the confines of the ‘monastery’ —of whatever variety—that most suc­
cessfully mediated between God and mankind. Monasteria were not
only powerhouses of prayer, but also vast burial sites, harbouring
those wishing to be close to the saints when Resurrection was at hand.
Regardless of the first judgement directly after death, fears and hopes
of the Last Judgement remained intense. Some people despaired of
salvation, or simply disbelieved it. In the missionary country of East
Saxony, Bishop Thietmar of Merseburg (d. 1018) told a string of hor­
rific stories about the dead who wandered at night, even attacking
hapless priests in their own churches, in order to convince the ‘illiter­
ate’ that the Resurrection of the dead at the end of times was by no
means an outrageous idea. With his flock, the learned bishop shared a
nightmare: the dead might return in the dark, to haunt the living.16
Between baptism and death, Christian time impinged on people’s
lives. Christian feast days defined the course of a week, a month, or a

16 Thietmar, Chronicon I, cc. 11-13, ed. W. Trillmich, Thietmar von Merseburg,

Chronik (Darmstadt, 1974), pp. 14-19.
 RELIGION 159

year: Sundays, days of fasting, the feast of the saints. Interpretations

of proper festivities might vary. Some clerics objected to Rogations—
a communal and penitential plea for the support of the saints—being
turned into a display of gorgeous clothes on the part of the powerful,
but then again, pious laymen may have had similar qualms; ‘correct­
ness’ was not the prerogative of the clergy. Laymen were not required
to make regular appearances in church, and neither did they have to
take frequent Communion. From the sixth century onwards, Christ­
mas, Easter, and Pentecost were the only appropriate times for
Communion, and of these three momentous occasions, only Easter
remained. Just like the clergy, the laity needed to cleanse themselves
from the pollution of sexuality before venturing to have physical
contact with the ‘terrible sacraments’ (terribilia sacramenta), so
Communion was an important occasion demanding a lengthy pre­
paration. Lent therefore became a period of collective purification, a
preparation for Easter, the principal Christian feast. Stories ran rife
about laymen who had ‘lapsed’ during this crucial period, indulging
in marital sex, but who still managed to make it to Easter Com­
munion after due contrition and a miraculously brief penance
granted by a saint. Such tales expressed the hopes of people falling
short of an ideal that was nonetheless very much alive. Lent was also
the season for confessing one’s sins and doing penance. From the late
seventh century onwards, an originally monastic practice—regular
confession and penance, as a way to cleanse oneself from the stain of
sin—gradually entered lay society. This engendered an extensive
literature of ‘penitentials’, handbooks for confessors, containing
detailed lists of sins and ways to make amends. Such texts are by no
means a straightforward reflection of the actual behaviour of ordin­
ary sinners, but they do reveal a lot about the aims and perceptions of
those trying to build a Christian society. These regular penances—
usually fasting and alms-giving—were supervised by priests; scandal­
ous sins that had offended God and society merited a public penance,
however, administered by the bishop. Public penance was not an
everyday affair; it was an exceptional punishment, primarily aimed at
those with sufficient standing in society to create a real ‘scandal’, such
as aristocrats guilty of flagrant sexual sins or outrageous violence.
The humiliating ritual of public penance included a deposition of
arms on the altar; the actual penance entailed a long period of semi­
monastic existence. This struck at the core of an aristocratic code of
i6 o MAYKE DE JON G

honour hinging upon military glory and the control of one’s family
and household.
To glean information about the religious universe of the laity from
texts predominantly produced by clerics is obviously hazardous. But
this delicate operation is bound to fail if modern sensibilities about
the divide between laymen and clerics are projected upon the distant
past. Some of the lost voices of ordinary priests and ordinary laymen
may be heard, underneath the dominant discourse, Tut if we want to
listen, the opposition between clergy and laymen should be
exchanged for a more important one prevalent at the time: the
powerful (potentes) and the vulnerable (pauperes): Neither should late
medieval religious practice be taken as some kind of an end station to
a linear process starting in the early middle ages. The slow emergence
of the Christian marriage ceremony is a case in point. Christian mar­
riage rites did exist in the early middle ages, in the shape of a blessing
of the couple and their marital bed. Yet most of the nuptial rituals,
from the betrothal and property arrangements to the cheerful crowds
seeing the couple to their marital chamber, remained a lay affair—the
business of the two families who created a lasting alliance through the
strategic pairing off of members of the younger generation. Marital
blessings, like sumptuous burials, were something for the happy few.
Clerics were well advised to keep out of marriage rituals, unless the
couple were a particularly pious one, guaranteed to enter marriage as
virgins, and of impeccable aristocratic descent. Pope Nicholas (d.
867) supplied the newly converted Bulgars with a long and detailed
list of good Christian practice, but according to this pope a Christian
marriage ceremony was not what distinguished a Christian from a
pagan. There were more important things: a Christian marriage
should be indissoluble, and all kinsmen were out of bounds as mar­
riage partners, including those acquired by godparenthood. This was
indeed the agenda that had crystallized in early medieval Europe,
including papal Rome. From the sixth century onwards, a mind-
boggling array of kinsmen became forbidden marriage partners. This
wide-ranging anti-incest legislation is a typical post-Roman devel­
opment, and a primary concern of the rulers of the early medieval
New Israels: the first ramifications of forbidden kin are found in
barbarian law codes and royal decrees. By the time Pope Nicholas
instructed the Bulgars, a highly impractical consensus forbidding
marriage until the ‘seventh degree’ (read: no blood relations, affines
 RELIGION l6l

or spiritual kin of whatever kind) had been reached. Like public

penance, which disarmed the fighting men, this taboo on kin-
marriage cut deep into the life of the aristocracy. Much as incest
avoidance was occasionally manipulated to serve ulterior aims, such
as a legitimate separation from an unwanted partner, exogamie
marriages were the norm among early medieval aristocrats.
Was early medieval Christianity ‘top-down’? Yes, if one means by
this that kings and aristocrats vied for control of sacred resources,
and turned them into bases for building legitimate power. No, if one
discards the familiar perspective of clerics pitted against ‘the laity’,
and listens to discordant voices claiming their own kind of real Chris­
tianity. Pope Gregory the Great enjoyed tremendous authority in the
early medieval west, but his lenient pronouncements on ritual purity
went unheeded, along with his view that in liturgical matters ‘unity
might exist in diversity’, as long as Christian communities were one
in their love of Christ and their neighbours. Christians demanding
correct ritual won the day, and literal interpretations of the Old Tes­
tament became part of mainstream Christian thinking among clerics
and laymen alike. Could the ideal of clerical celibacy in the west
have endured, without those dependent upon the purity of prayer
clamouring for reform, for the sake of their salvation?

Changing legacies
After the mid-eleventh century, the so-called Gregorian Reform
deeply affected the churches and kingdoms of the west, with far-
reaching political consequences known as the Investiture Contro­
versy. A much more self-confident papacy and clergy set about
redrawing the boundaries between the secular and the sacred, claim­
ing the latter as the exclusive domain of the clergy. Yet the river of
eleventh-century reform was fed by many tributaries reaching into
the distant past. ‘Simony’, the sale of ecclesiastical office, was one of
these; priestly purity was another. These were old issues rephrased in
a new context of heightened anxiety about the limits of the sacred, so
new strategies of distinction were developed. Some of the back­
ground to eleventh-century change has been outlined above, and it
yields fundamental questions about change and continuity yet to be
1Ó2 MAYKE DE JON G

addressed. Most historians have treated the eleventh century as a

profound watershed. Early medieval conceptions of real Christianity
became a major victim of this, for pre-iooo versions of Christianity
became defined as the dark and primitive predecessors of the real
thing erupting on the scene in the eleventh century. But as we
have seen, Christianity in the earlier period was a complicated
phenomenon with its own claim to ‘reality’.
When it comes to the transformation of religious belief and prac­
tice, the year 1000 is a particularly useless landmark. Change occurred
slowly and almost imperceptibly, with older structures and ideas
remaining intact. The metaphors of geological layers pressing into
each other, or of subcurrents gradually becoming mainstream with­
out older ideas disappearing overnight, are more appropriate ones
than the images of ‘birth’ or ‘flowering’ that so often adorn textbooks
discussing the eleventh and twelfth centuries. The older histori­
ography about the monastery of Cluny, founded in 910 by Duke
William of Aquitaine, is a case in point. William put Cluny under
papal protection, guaranteeing the full dominion of its first abbot
over its monks and property, as well as the free election of future
abbots. From the mid-eleventh century onwards, Cluny was to play a
key role in a new reform movement closely associated with the pap­
acy, but as decades of scholarly work have shown, this did not mean
the monastery was unique, exceptional, and influential right from the
beginning. In many ways, Cluny was typical of a lively tenth-century
monastic world heavily indebted to Carolingian monastic reform,
and to a long tradition of immunities of various kinds defining sacred
space. Perhaps Cluny was special in that its foundation charter and
subsequent privileges made the most of this rich heritage, combining
different elements that existed separately before. In Germany the
emperors still took centre stage in monastic reform, as their Caroling­
ian predecessors had done; when Otto I visited St Gallen in 972, he
dropped his sceptre with a clattering noise among the monks who
sang the laudes to welcome their monarch, to check whether anyone
would be distracted. Nobody batted an eyelid; the emperor was satis­
fied.17 This anecdote was recounted enthusiastically around 1050, by a
monastic historian who deeply disapproved of the ‘schismatics from

17 Ekkehard, Casus Sancti Galli, c. 146, ed. H. F. Haefele, Ekkehard IV. St. Galler
Klostergeschichten (Darmstadt, 1980), pp. 282-3.
 RELIGION 163

Gaul’ —that is, the radical reformers wishing to oust secular rulers
from their sacred domains. In tenth-century France and Lotharingia
the traditionally royal role of protecting and safeguarding the cloister
was increasingly assumed by dukes, counts, and other noblemen now
in charge of public power; to found or to reform a monastery had
been an integral part of the trappings of true royal authority, which
devolved upon the leaders of strong principalities. Monastic reform
flourished, not only in Cluny, but also in Gorze, St Bavo in Ghent,
and Fleury. The latter two monasteries were a crucial source of
inspiration for a monastic movement in England building upon
Carolingian models. The great English reformers of the tenth
century—Æthelwold, Dunstan, and Oswald—cooperated closely
with the king; it was King Edgar of Wessex who in c.970 promulgated
the Regularis Concordia, turning the Rule of Benedict into the bind­
ing norm for monastic life in his kingdom. Likewise, Duke Alberic II
of Spoleto invited Abbot Odo of Cluny (927-942) to reform the
monasteries in and around Rome along Benedictine lines.
The tenth-century west was a lively religious landscape, featuring
dramatic conversions of the powerful who put their armour upon the
altar and renounced the world. In the far north, this was what Count
Ansfrid did, before this formidable warrior, the scourge of robbers,
became bishop of Utrecht in 995. But when he lost his eyesight,
Ansfrid became a monk who followed Benedict’s Rule. He had a
hilltop cleared, six miles from Utrecht, and established himself there
in a cell in order to escape the noise of the world. ‘Once other cells
had been built and thus a monastery had grown, he gathered a num­
ber of monks and put them under the guidance of an abbot.’18 The
religious fervour of Ansfrid and others converting from secular life
was channelled along traditional lines, and incorporated in tradi­
tional structures: they moved away from the noise of the saeculum,
and into the sacred and secluded space of the claustrum. Both
domains, the secular world and the cloister, were equally hierarchical,
and, moreover, intricately connected. Between these interconnected
corridors of power—the palace and the monastery—secular rulers
and bishops moved freely, heavily dependent upon the resources of
the sacred and eager to extend its dominance. This pattern emerged

18 Alpertus of Metz, De diversitate temporum I, c. 14, ed. H. van Rij (Hilversum,

1980), p. 30.
1Ó4 MAYKE DE JON G

in late antiquity, it was established in the early medieval kingdoms in

the west, and it came under attack in the century after Ansfrid estab­
lished himself upon a modest hilltop near Utrecht. The intricacies of
this long-term transformation await further investigation.
Figure 9 Missorium o f the Emperor Theodosius I (379-395)
 5
Culture
Ian Wood

The culture of western Europe and the Mediterranean in the year 400
was, at least for the elite, Roman and Imperial. It can be illustrated by
an object of a decade earlier: the missorium of the Emperor Theodo­
sius I (379-395), a silver-gilt dish bearing a picture of the seated
emperor surrounded by his sons and guards. (Fig. 9). It was doubtless
presented to some high-ranking member of the empire. For a rather
smaller proportion of the population in the year 1000 culture was
equally Roman and Imperial. One might take as a corresponding
image the portrait from the Gospels of the Saxon Emperor Otto III
(983-1002), where the young emperor sits in majesty, approached by
personifications of Roma, Gallia, Germania, and Sclavinia (Fig. 11 and
front cover). The iconography is in many respects classical and was
intended to mark a Roman Renovatio. Yet its meaning is far removed
from its prototypes—not least because it is contained within a Gospel
Book.
The cultural history of the years between the production of these
two objects is complex, but may reasonably be divided into five
chronological sections: the closing years of the west Roman empire,
which provided the basis for much of what was to follow; the period
of the successor states; the cultural separation of Spain, marked by
the Islamic takeover of much of the peninsula; the Carolingian
Renaissance of the late eighth and ninth centuries, and finally the
Ottonian Renovatio of the tenth century. Continuities across time are,
of course, too easily ignored when the material is divided chrono­
logically. On the other hand, the changes within the culture of west­
ern Europe between 400 and 1000 are such that it is important to give
at least as much weight to the different periods within the early
middle ages as to the continuities across those periods.
l 68 I IA N W O O D

The last century o f the western

Roman empire
Despite the dramatic political changes which surrounded the arrival
of the Visigoths and Vandals in the late fourth and early fifth centur­
ies, the prevailing cultural image was one of stability—which is not to
say that no writer noticed the disasters, for a number of historians
and moralists—particularly in Gaul and Spain—recorded them in
some detail, but others carefully avoided presenting an impression of
catastrophe.
Nevertheless, imperial culture was not unchanging. There were
novelties at the imperial court. The magister militum Stilicho, himself
of barbarian extraction, is represented on an ivory diptych, wearing
trousers—a style of clothing which was forbidden in Rome in 397 and
399! (Fig. 2). More significant, a new capital was created when Hono­
rius moved from Milan to Ravenna, to profit from the security
offered by the marshes of the river Po. As was appropriate for a
capital, Ravenna gained new imperial buildings, if not under Hono­
rius (395-423), at least under the influence of his sister Galla Placidia
(d. 450). In 425 she built a palace chapel dedicated to St John, San
Giovanni Evangelista, to commemorate the miraculous escape of
herself and her infant son, Valentinian III (425-455) from a storm, as
they returned from Constantinople to claim his throne. The decor of
San Giovanni included a series of portraits of Christian emperors,
and, in the apse, a depiction of the storm from which John the Evan­
gelist had delivered the young emperor and his mother. She also
founded a church dedicated to the Holy Cross, which had an adjacent
chapel of St Lawrence, now wrongly known as the Mausoleum of
Galla Placidia.
The Ravenna Annals, an apparently official record of events, which
survive only in a later copy, but one whose marginal illustrations
seem to be an accurate rendering of what was in the original, are
illustrated with symbolic depictions of earthquakes and with the
heads of executed traitors. The barbarians were ignored. The court
art of Ravenna, which was essentially a nouveau riche city, much as
Constantinople had been a century before, presented itself as a
legitimate centre of power, triumphing over would-be usurpers, and
 CULTURE 169

untroubled by any external threats. Ravenna was the new imperial

capital in the west. As such it would attract numerous later rulers,
among them Charlemagne (768-814) and Otto III.
Imperial art in general was calculated to give an impression of
stability, perhaps even of rigidity. Quite apart from buildings, there
were statues and, rather more often, imperial portraits—displayed in
public places much as photographs of presidential figures are still
displayed in many countries. Imperial authority was also manifest in
numerous occasions of gift-giving, New Year celebrations, inaugura­
tions of consulships, birthdays, and anniversaries, when the emperor
distributed gifts of silver, such as the missorium of Theodosius. Each
object was of a value appropriate for its recipient. For high-ranking
officials there would be brooches (fibulae), again of appropriate
value. Similar objects could be sent to clients outside the Roman
empire.
This court culture is as apparent in the written word as it is in
objects. It is reflected in the preambles of laws, including those issued
by Valentinian III and his successors, and it is also reflected in the
court literature of the panegyric: prose or verse speeches delivered in
praise of the emperor or a new consul, by orators like Symmachus
(d. 402) or the poet Claudian (d. c.404). Such speeches provided the
opportunity for the justification of a policy, even at times delicate
criticism, but clothed in the imagery of Roman myth.
The culture of the court may seem rarefied but it was shared by the
literati of the empire. Education for the elite was first and foremost an
education in grammar and rhetoric. Rhetoric trained a man both for
high office, where the art of persuasion was ever a necessity, and also
for the leisure, otium, which was the ideal for any wealthy man. Busi­
ness activity, negotiumy was the negative of the leisured ideal, but it
was generally reckoned that an aristocrat ought occasionally to deny
himself the pleasures of otium to serve the state. A cultured senator
was inevitably well-read, and he had the opportunity to show his
literary skills not just in government or the law courts, or in the rows
of books in his library, but also in his letter writing, since it was
through such communication that he maintained the bonds of
friendship, which lay at the heart of late Roman aristocratic society.
This literary culture was a long-standing one, which stretched back
at least to the late Republic. It had been remarkably undisturbed by
the Christianization of the Roman empire, even though the Bible,
170 I IA N W O O D

central as it was to the new religion, was anything other than a liter­
ary masterpiece by classical standards. Indeed literate Christians were
more likely to improve the Bible by such tricks as versifying it, as they
were to abandon their love of literature. Jerome (d. 419/420), the finest
translator of the Bible, was a Latin stylist through and through—and
he was aware of the potential conflict between literary studies and the
Christian life, having a nightmare about being too much a follower of
Cicero. Augustine of Hippo (d. 430), perhaps the greatest of all theo­
logians, was a trained rhetor who had served his time at the imperial
court. Rhetorical skills as well as Neoplatonic philosophy underpin
his theology. Jerome and Augustine, like Ambrose of Milan (d. 397)
and Basil of Caesarea (d. 379), were at the forefront of the fourth- and
fifth-century patristic writers, Latin and Greek. Their works, espe­
cially biblical commentaries, provided a foundation for much early
medieval scholarship. Like Jerome, Augustine was also a great writer
of letters, as was Paulinus of Nola (d. 431), who did perhaps more
than any other writer to transform the epistolary tradition into a
vehicle for the expression of Christian love, by substituting the notion
of caritas (misleadingly translated as ‘charity’ in the Authorized Ver­
sion of the Bible) for amicitia (the traditional virtue of friendship).
The court and the aristocracy of the empire were bound together in
a single, if multifaceted, literary culture. They present an image of the
later Roman empire, which can blind us to the underlying import­
ance of military power. Such power surfaces most clearly at moments
of civil war and when the barbarian threat had run completely out of
control. There was, however, always a military underside to Roman
culture. It can be seen in the soldiers surrounding Theodosius on his
missoriumy and in the shield and spear held by Stilicho, the sword at
his side and the great military fibula on his shoulder, all portrayed in
detail on his diptych. It can be seen equally in the architecture of the
frontier provinces, notably the Porta Nigra at Trier, and in the walls of
the two capital cities, Rome and Constantinople, built in times of
military crisis. It is also apparent in the numerous military buckles
which are found in late Roman cemeteries of the frontier regions:
buckles which in turn influenced the style of barbarian war-gear. By
relieving most of its population of the duty of military service, and by
keeping the majority of its forces near the frontiers, the empire had
gone a long way towards splitting civilian and military culture, but it
was a division which would be undermined in the fifth century.
 CULTURE I 171

Nor was the army the only focus for a culture other than the
literate culture of the court and the senatorial aristocracy. Although
the empire acknowledged two major literary languages, Latin and
Greek, there were other languages in the provinces. To a large extent
these had been pushed into obscurity, but such languages as Coptic
and Syriac can already be found in the later empire. They appear as
often as not in religious contexts and associated with marginal Chris­
tian groups, whether ascetics or heretics. They are a mark of the
extent to which even Christianity was made up of numerous regional
cultures, divided by language, doctrine, and the cults of local saints:
microchristendoms as they have been called.1 In the west, written
evidence for this linguistic regionalism appears perhaps around 600,
a little later than it does in the east. This chronological distinction
may reflect the poorer survival of documents in the west, but it is
more likely that, unlike the peoples of the Middle East, the Celts had
previously had no significant tradition of writing. Nevertheless, in
parts of Britain and in Ireland, Celtic cultures—literary and artistic—
soon came into their own once the high culture of the imperial court
and the senators had faded.

The successor states and the

imperial tradition
The majority of the states which were established in what had been
the western Roman empire tried in one way or another to continue
imperial tradition or to ape it. The Ostrogoths, who established
themselves in Italy in the 490s, took over the imperial capital of
Ravenna, and their first king in Italy, Theodoric (493-526), in certain
respects continued the work of Galla Placidia. Since the majority of
the Ostrogoths, including the king, were Arian Christians—who saw
the Three Persons of the Holy Trinity, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, as
a hierarchy—they could not use the city’s Catholic churches. A new
Arian cathedral and baptistery were built, as was a new court chapel,
dedicated to the Saviour, and decorated, like Galla Placidia’s San

1 P. Brown, The Rise of Western Christendom (Oxford, 1996).

172 IA N W O O D

Giovanni Evangelista, with sumptuous mosaics. Although some of

the mosaics were replaced after the capture of the city for the Byzan­
tine Emperor Justinian I (527-565), it seems that they originally
included portraits of Theodoric and members of his court, set against
representations of the palace of Ravenna and the city's port of Classe.
This was something that Justinian’s supporters would outdo, both by
removing the Ostrogothic figures from the walls of Theodoric’s
chapel, and also by placing two of the most memorable images of an
emperor, his empress, and their courts in the sanctuary of the newly
completed church of San Vitale. This church seems particularly to
have impressed Charlemagne and the architects of the palace chapel
at Aachen at the end of the eighth century.
Nor was it only in terms of architecture that the Ostrogothic
leadership aped the Roman past. Theodoric took over the institutions
of government, and one of his administrators, the Roman senator
Cassiodorus (d. 580), fortunately set down his official letters as
models for future generations in a collection known as the Variae,
which is as informative about late Roman government as it is
about that of the Ostrogoths. The literary traditions of the senatorial
aristocracy had also survived intact. Indeed, Boethius (d. 524) was
one of the few great Latin philosophers of late antiquity. Quite apart
from his magnum opus, the Consolation of Philosophy, written while
awaiting execution, there were translations of Aristotle, and a number
of short tractates on music, arithmetic and Christian theology.
Other barbarian kingdoms did not start with the advantage of
taking over the capital city. In fostering governmental continuity,
which they did, the kings of the Visigoths, Franks, and Burgundians
were necessarily continuing the practices of regional rather than cen­
tral government. Bishop Remigius of Rheims congratulated the
Frankish king Clovis (481-511) on taking over the government of the
old Roman province of Belgica Secunda.
Some kings of the new successor states of the west openly admitted
their subordination to the emperor in Byzantium in their official
correspondence, but that did not stop them emulating imperial style.
Clovis’s grandson, Theudebert I (533-548), usurped a little of the
emperor’s authority by issuing gold coins at one stage in his reign.
Another grandson of Clovis, Chilperic I (561-584), imitated imperial
missoria, having dishes made with inscriptions to the glory of the
Franks.
 CULTURE I I 73

The Merovingian kings were not boorish illiterates, but were able
to read and write. One collection of letters, the Epistulae Austrasiacae,
by various writers, survives from the east Frankish court. There is, in
fact, an unbroken tradition of aristocratic letter-writing in Visigothic,
Burgundian, and Frankish Gaul, stretching from Sidonius Apollinaris
(d. C.480), through the works of his relatives Ruricius of Limoges
(d. C.507) and Avitus of Vienne (d. 518), to the seventh-century bishop
of Cahors, Desiderius (630-655). A collection of verse panegyrics
and occasional poems for the Merovingian kings and their courtiers
also survives from the pen of the late sixth-century Italian poet
Venantius Fortunatus (d. c.600).
The late sixth century saw the resurgence of a royal court in Visi­
gothic Spain. The Visigoths had openly aped the imperial court when
King Athaulf married Galla Placidia in 411, a marriage celebrated by
an official epithalamium (marriage-poem) delivered by a senator. The
crises and civil wars of the early sixth century, however, undermined
what court culture there was. A sense of imperial style was reasserted
by Leovigild (569-586), who developed a royal regalia, and who also
founded a city, Reccopolis, which he named after his son, Reccared.
Reccopolis is reminiscent of Constantine’s foundation of Constanti­
nople. A later Visigothic king, Recceswinth (649-672), built a chapel
which still survives, albeit somewhat altered, at San Juan de Banos,
while a votive crown that he commissioned, probably for one of the
great churches of Toledo, is one of the few examples of a type of
object which is well attested in written sources from the days of
Constantine onwards. By comparison with the Merovingians, the
ideology of the Visigothic court in the late sixth and seventh centuries
is rarely to be found in letters and poems: it is most apparent in the
utterances of the Councils of Toledo, and in the History of the Goths,
Vandals and Sueves of Isidore of Seville (d. 636) and the works of
Julian of Toledo (d. 690), notably his History of King Wamba.
The Lombards were latecomers into the Roman world, but they
too took over something of the imperial style—most notably in the
representation of Agilulf (591-616/17) on the visor of a helmet, at pres­
ent preserved in the Bargello Museum in Florence. Their palaces at
Milan, Pavia, and Monza are unfortunately only known from written
accounts, above all by the eighth-century writer Paul the Deacon
(d. C.799).
Much weaker were the echoes of imperial culture in Anglo-Saxon
174 IA N W O O D

England. This is not surprising, since Britannia had been far less
Romanized than provinces nearer the Mediterranean heart of the
empire, and the takeover by the Anglo-Saxons was a much longer
and more disruptive affair than was the case elsewhere. Nevertheless
there are hints of imperial imagery in Bede’s description of the
Northumbrian King Edwin (c.616-633).
The courts of the barbarian kings of the successor states thus con­
tained echoes, sometimes faint, but sometimes clear,, of the imperial
court. Yet louder were the echoes to be found in the culture of papal
Rome. Although Ravenna had become the court capital for Honorius
and his successors, Rome continued to be the imperial city, and, in
the absence of the emperor, the papacy made more and more of the
city’s glorious past.
For the papacy Rome was, of course, the city of the apostles Peter
and Paul. Constantine erected a great shrine for St Peter on the
Vatican, and Pope Damasus (366-384) did the same for St Paul in the
church of San Paolo fuori le Mura. Other popes were to add to the list
of churches at the tombs o f the martyrs. Their work was pain­
stakingly recorded in the Liber Pontificalis, a collection o f papal bio­
graphies, begun in the sixth century, and continued until the end of
the ninth. Pelagius II (579-590) built the church of St Lawrence, and
Honorius I (625-638) that of St Agnes, both of them extramural
churches set over catacombs, with an eye to the needs of pilgrims.
Gregory the Great (590-604) built little, but he did redesign the crypt
of St Peter’s. His cultural importance was to lie elsewhere, in his
biblical commentaries, which continued the traditions of Augustine
and Ambrose, in his administration of the papal estates and his
defence of Rome—both of which are most apparent in the Register of
his letters—and in his sending a mission to Christianize Anglo-Saxon
Kent.
The popes had their eyes on the imperial as well as the Christian
past. Pope Felix IV (526-530) transformed what had probably been
the audience hall of the City Prefect into the church of SS Cosmas
and Damian, which is dominated by a great mosaic of Christ at the
Second Coming. At some point in the sixth century a ceremonial hall
at the foot of the Palatine Hill was dedicated to the Virgin, to be
known as Sta Maria Antiqua, whose sequence of frescoes provides a
key to the history of painting from the sixth to the ninth centuries.
Honorius I even turned the old senate house into the church of
 CULTURE I I 75

S. Adriano. Shortly before that, Boniface IV (608-615) was the first

pope to dedicate a major temple in the city to the Christian cult, with
the consecration of the Pantheon to the Virgin, thus creating the
church of Sta Maria Rotunda. In such ways the papacy not only
Christianized the city, they also annexed its imperial past.
Kings and popes drew heavily on the Roman past, and the sub-
Roman aristocrats who surrounded them were happy to cultivate the
long-established traditions of a literary culture. Yet behind this façade
of continuity much had changed. In the course of the fifth century
most of the great urban schools of grammar and rhetoric seem to
have failed: Gaul had boasted a great rhetorical tradition, which the
fourth-century poet Ausonius (d. 393) had praised. By 500 the schools
of Autun and Bordeaux had vanished from sight. Elsewhere in Gaul
no more than an occasional orator is recorded. In so far as oratory
survived, it did so in the homilies of clerics, although, responding
to the standards of the time, Bishop Caesarius of Arles (502-542)
deliberately cultivated a simple literary style in his sermons.
In Italy traditional education seemed less under threat around 500.
Ennodius of Pavia (d. 521) praised both Rome and Milan as edu­
cational centres. A high level of schooling must also have been avail­
able in Ostrogothic Ravenna, for Theodoric’s daughter Amalasuintha
(d. 535) was regarded as being well educated. But if literary traditions
continued in Italy into the sixth century, they were not to last through
the long wars between the Byzantines and Ostrogoths, still less the
subsequent arrival of the Lombards. Yet war was not the only cause of
change. It may well be that the cities no longer had the resources to
support a roster of teachers of grammar and rhetoric. Certainly the
institutions that employed trained orators were themselves failing.
With the decline and collapse of the imperial court, and with the
break-up of the empire, there was a corresponding collapse of gov­
ernmental jobs. Such offices had required oratorical ability. As a
result, there was no longer the same incentive to master the rules of
Latin rhetoric. Although education still continued in some house­
holds, it was increasingly associated with the church. Reading was
taught at a parish level, and the Bible, especially the Book of Psalms,
was used as a major text for teaching. More advanced learning could
be found in the households of bishops, and, increasingly, in
monasteries.
Even before the Ostrogothic wars, Cassiodorus considered the
176 IA N W O O D

notion of creating a Christian school, by which he meant a centre of

higher education, in Rome with the help of Pope Agapitus (535-536).
In the event that was too optimistic a plan, and he retreated instead
to the monastery he founded in 554 on his south Italian estate of
Vivarium (Squillace), where he wrote a number of works, including a
commentary on the Book of Psalms. He also commissioned the
Historia Tripartita, which was compiled from the Greek histories of
Socrates, Sozomen, and Theodoret. Cassiodorus’s. last work, the
Institutes, provided his monks with what is effectively an annotated
bibliography. It was to be a basic handbook during the early middle
ages. Other writers also recognized the need to provide access to
the learning of previous generations. Writing in Spain in the early
seventh century Isidore of Seville, in his Etymologies, provided what
was essentially a potted encyclopedia of classical knowledge for future
generations. It was Isidore’s most influential work, although he wrote
much else besides, including works of theology and history. Just as
encyclopedias were useful, so too were florilegio. Already in the early
sixth century Eugippius (d. post 533) at the Lucullanum, outside
Naples, put together a volume of quotations from Augustine’s
works. Around 700 Defensor, a monk from Ligugé, compiled his
Liber Scintillarum, a book of extracts from the Church Fathers.
Cassiodorus’ shift to church-based education was a sign of the
times. So too was his decision to found a monastery. The origins of
monasticism lay in fourth-century Egypt. Tales of the monastic life in
Egypt, but also in Syria and Cappadocia, were brought back to the
west, where Martin (d. 397) founded monasteries at Ligugé near
Poitiers and subsequently in Tours. Further impetus was given to the
western monastic tradition when a group of aristocrats led by Hono­
ratus (d. C.430) set themselves up on the island of Lérins in the first
decade of the fifth century. This Provençal movement received a
further fillip when an easterner, John Cassian (d. c.435), who had lived
in Egypt, moved to Marseilles. Cassian’s two great spiritual works,
the Institutes and the Conferences, were to be staples for the ascetic
life. The monastic movement was, therefore, well established before
Benedict wrote his Rule in the middle of the sixth century. The
Regula Benedicti was one rule among many, and it was to take cen­
turies before it eclipsed the alternatives. Monasticism in the fifth,
sixth, and seventh centuries was not a motor for cultural uniformity,
to compensate for the failure of the international court culture of the
 CULTURE 177

late Roman empire. Rather, its variety, which depended on the prefer­
ences and contacts of individuals, echoed the regional flavour of
culture in the post-Roman period.
This cultural regionalism had its own compensations. It has been
noted that the first surviving historical work of any length to come
from Britain is the De Excidio Britanniae of the deacon Gildas, writ­
ten at some point in the early sixth century, or just possibly a few
years earlier. It may, of course, be an accident of survival that we have
nothing comparable from earlier centuries. In the fourth century,
however, Britain had produced the theological writer Pelagius (d.
post 418), while two fifth-century letters have survived from the mis­
sionary Patrick. Pelagius is a good illustration of what could happen
in imperial times: as a talented provincial he was sucked into the
cosmopolitan life of Italy, and made his major impact while in Rome.
Such opportunities were not open to later generations. Gildas’ Latin
suggests that he was well educated. His Latin is at least as good as that
of his continental contemporaries, and he has much in common with
a group of moralists writing in Gaul in previous generations. Never­
theless, he remained in Britain, perhaps moving later to Brittany, to
write about the sins of his own people, and the resulting punishments
inflicted on them.
Although not, strictly speaking, a historian, Gildas is one of the
earliest of a group of western writers to set down a regional view of
history. He was preceded by a handful of annalists, notably Hydatius
in Galicia, and followed, among others, by Gregory of Tours (d. 594)
and Fredegar (c.66o) in Francia, Isidore in Spain, Bede (d. 735) in
Northumbria, and Paul the Deacon in Italy. Closest in time to Gildas
was Jordanes, who, in the middle of the sixth century, wrote a Gothic
History, supposedly influenced by a now lost History of the Goths by
Cassiodorus, but written from the vantage point of Constantinople.
We have been told, quite rightly, to see each o f these historians as
embarking on an individual task, and not to see them as writers of a
genre of national history.2 At the same time we should not ignore the
fact that they all limited their subject matter to particular regions
or peoples, however much some of them (notably Gregory and Bede)
were intent on charting the history of divine providence. Gregory did
so by narrowing his focus from the history of the creation to that of

2 W. Goffart, The Narrators of Barbarian History (A.D. 550-800) (Princeton, 1988).

i 78 IA N W O O D

Gaul, and ultimately of Merovingian Francia, while Bede concen­

trated on the Christianization of the Anglo-Saxons and the sub­
sequent development of the Anglo-Saxon church. The fact of writing
from within one of the successor states had an effect on their
horizons: in Byzantium, however, Procopius (d. 562), and Agathias
(d. C.580) after him, could still write imperial history.
Regionalism is also a factor in the ever-expanding world of
hagiography, although it is an open question quitè how much hagi­
ography was written in this period. Visigothic Spain boasts few saints’
Lives, as does post-Roman Italy: indeed Gregory the Great’s Dialogues
were written precisely because of a dearth of records about con­
temporary holy men. Francia seems at first sight to be very different
because a good proportion of the hagiography dealing with the
Merovingian period has been published in convenient editions. It is
not clear, however, how much of this material was written before 750.
For the sixth century there is the huge hagiographical output of
Gregory of Tours and of Venantius Fortunatus. In Gregory’s eyes, at
least, Francia was filled with the shrines of holy men, giving access to
numinous power, most of them supported by local cults, which ought
ideally to be controlled by the clergy: each in its own way was a
microchristendom. Gregory’s interpretation of the world around him
may have been less widely shared—and more deliberately con­
structed to enhance ecclesiastical power—than has been thought.
There were certainly those who were sceptical about the power of the
saints. Yet there can be no doubt that Gregory opens up a world even
more local than Pausanias had observed in classical Greece. Seventh-
century hagiography has other concerns, notably, in the Passiones
of Bishops Praeiectus of Clermont (d. 676) and Leodegar of Autun
(d. C.677), with politics.
Most of the changes described so far are developments within the
existing culture of the empire. Even the histories of Germanic peoples
and Germanic kingdoms were written from a largely Roman view­
point, and in the Latin language. On the other hand, the Germanic
incomers also brought with them non-Roman traditions, as well as
Roman traditions which they had already transformed. All of these
added yet more diversity. There are, however, problems in identifying,
with the exception of certain archaeological artefacts, just what is and
what is not Germanic. Although the barbarians were for the most
part only converted to Christianity after their entry into the Roman
 CULTURE 179

empire, there is very little evidence to show what was the nature of
their previous pagan religion. Old interpretations used to combine
the first-century evidence of Tacitus with the thirteenth-century evi­
dence of Snorri Sturlasson, and end up with an all-embracing Ger­
manic paganism. What little evidence there is, however, suggests that
it is wrong to amalgamate all the evidence, and that there was con­
siderable variety. An equivalent problem attaches to the evidence for
Germanic epic literature. The greatest of the early Germanic epics,
the Old English Beowulf, only survives in one manuscript of c.1000,
and although the poem, or a version of it, may well have been com­
posed centuries earlier, it is impossible to deduce when the story
originated, and whether its references to the migration period have
any basis in fact. Some scenes from Germanic legend, however, are
identifiable on metalwork, stone, and on the eighth-century Anglo-
Saxon whale-bone box known as the Franks Casket, now in the Brit­
ish Museum, which has a clear depiction of the story of Weland the
Smith. He is, however, depicted alongside the Virgin and Child, while
other scenes on the Casket show Romulus and Remus and the Sack of
Jerusalem by the Roman general, and later Emperor, Titus (Fig. 7).
However much one may question what is and what is not Ger­
manic, two points are clear enough. The first is that the Germanic
settlers had a linguistic impact on the regions in which they settled.
The extent of the impact varied. It was most considerable in what was
to become England, particularly eastern England, and in the territory
adjacent to the Rhine. It was weaker the further one moved from the
old frontiers of the empire towards the Mediterranean. One might
note that the Germanic peoples had a comparable impact on the
artistic language of decoration. Second, and of equal importance,
because the barbarian incomers belonged to warrior societies, and
because, in invading the empire, they caused the Romans themselves
to mobilize, they effectively broke down the imperial division
between civilian and military.
In some regions this seems to have prompted what was effectively a
return to pre-Roman traditions amongst the indigenous populations
of what had been the Roman empire. The native population of the
highland zone of Britannia, for instance, revived a tradition of build­
ing hill-forts, although the new forts were rather smaller in scale than
those of the pre-Roman Iron Age, and suggest a rather different social
structure. The military ethos of the post-Roman world is captured in
i8o IA N W O O D

the epic poem called The Gododdin, which seems to have had its
origins in the sixth century.
The Germanic incomers were not the only outsiders to have an
impact on the culture of the post-Roman world. The Irish had never
been conquered by Rome, which, ironically, exerted its greatest influ­
ence on them at precisely the moment that the western empire was in
its final decline, through the Christianizing work of missionaries. The
result was a Celtic tradition of Christianity, which ,was distinctive,
even if it was not as different from other traditions as was once
thought. Similarities between the legal books of the Old Testament
and Irish law have led to Ireland being interpreted as a society not
unlike that of the ancient Israelites. That it was archaic is clear
enough from the great Irish saga, the Tàin Bó Cuailngey the Cattle
Raid of Cooley, but it is now recognized that the similarities between
Irish and Old Testament law may partly reflect borrowings from the
Book of Leviticus.
Irish Christianity, as it developed in the sixth century, was strongly
ascetic. In this it was drawing on patterns of desert asceticism, prob­
ably filtered through Gaul. Irish churchmen also championed a prac­
tice of penance which involved the use of tariffs set out in books of
Penitentials. This practice seems to have been borrowed from the
British church. What made these traditions important within a wider
cultural world was a further Irish practice, the peregrinatio pro
Christo, or pilgrimage for the sake of Christ, by which individuals
seeking salvation followed the Gospel injunction to leave home,
abandoning father and mother.
In around 590 this is exactly what the Leinsterman Columbanus
(d. 615) did, settling first in the Frankish kingdom, founding the great
monastery of Luxeuil, later moving to Italy, where he founded the
monastery of Bobbio. In the generations after Columbanus Luxeuil
and the related north Frankish monastery of Corbie were to play
a major role in late Merovingian culture, not least because of
their importance in manuscript production and, in Corbie’s case, in
the development of letter-forms which contributed directly to the
evolution of Carolingian script.
Columbanus himself is sometimes regarded as a missionary figure,
and certainly his monasteries contributed to an in-depth Christiani­
zation of the countryside. He was, however, primarily a holy man,
who acted as a catalyst, invigorating the monastic traditions of Gaul
 CULTURE l 8l

and Italy. He was not the only such Irishman to have an impact on the
ascetic standards of monasteries, or on the morals of kings. On the
whole mission was not the raison d ’être of these peregrini although
there were notable exceptions, above all Aidan, who worked in
Northumbria in the reign of King Oswald (634-642), and, in the mid­
eighth century, Virgil of Salzburg (d. 784), who played a significant
role in organizing mission in eastern Bavaria and Carinthia.
The Irish were less significant for the developing notion of mission
than were the people they inspired. The Anglo-Saxons, Christianized
from Rome, Francia, and Ireland, thought they had a duty to evangel­
ize their continental cousins without realizing quite how much Chris­
tianization had already taken place. It was a notion which Bede saw fit
to include in his Ecclesiastical History, which, as it happens, was also
the first extended account of the evangelization of a whole people.
Bede provides an interesting, if exceptional, illustration of the state
of early medieval culture at the start of the eighth century. The mon­
astery to which he belonged, the combined house of Wearmouth-
Jarrow, had been founded by Benedict Biscop (d. c.690), with very
considerable support from King Ecgfrith (670-685), who was to die
fighting the Piets. It was subject to a monastic Rule which was influ­
enced by that of St Benedict, but it was not Benedictine. It boasted a
library of considerable riches, which had been built up of books
recently collected on the Continent, and which allowed Bede himself
to write works of biblical commentaries of such quality that he was
regarded as the last of the Fathers of the Church. Bede’s own scien­
tific genius led him to gather information from a wide range of
insular contacts, enabling him to be the first to write an account of
the nature of the tides in his On the Reckoning of Time.
Among Bede’s contacts were the monks of Lindisfarne, for whom
he wrote a Life of St Cuthbert. Also created in honour of the saint was
a manuscript which, rather more clearly than Bede, shows the com­
plexity of early medieval culture. The scribe of the Lindisfarne Gos­
pels certainly had access to one manuscript at Wearmouth-Jarrow,
for the portrait of St Matthew in the former is thought to be derived
from the depiction of Ezra in an Italian Bible of the sixth century,
once owned by Cassiodorus and acquired by Benedict Biscop. The
Lindisfarne Gospels also boast a profusion of ornament in the decor­
ation of so-called carpet pages and of the opening phrases of each
gospel. This ornament is derived from Germanic and Celtic tradition,
i 82 IA N W O O D

not least from metalwork. Here, as in the other great insular gospel
books, one gets a sense of the range of influences which underpinned
the culture of the successor states. Despite the existence of a common
elite culture which looked back to traditions of the fourth century
and beyond, it is variety which is the dominant image of the cultural
world of the post-Roman period.
Of course the range of influences differed from one part of the
early medieval west to another. In the Frankish monastery of Echter­
nach, founded for Willibrord (d. 739), an Anglo-Saxon who had spent
years in Ireland, insular manuscript traditions combined with con­
tinental ones, most notably in the Trier Gospels, where a peculiarly
Frankish style of initial, made up of animal-, notably fish-, forms, are
to be found alongside the insular repertoire. It was a style which
produced its own masterpieces in Frankish liturgical books of the
eighth century (Fig. 8). A similar eclecticism can be seen in the sur­
viving stone sculpture, in England and in the semi-subterranean
Hypogée des Dunes, at Poitiers, whose decor boasts figure sculpture
depicting the crucifixion, angels, and the Byzantine stylite saint,
Simeon, as well as what appear to be apotropaic representations of
intertwined fish, and a lengthy inscribed curse. Such eclecticism is a
mark of the liveliness of culture in the British Isles and the northern
half of Francia. In the southern half of Europe culture had remained
more exclusively Roman. This is not to say that it was a cultural
desert: rather it was a repository of tradition that was constantly
drawn on in terms of books and in terms of the iconography of its
monuments.

Spain after 711

The cultural developments of the successor states in the seventh cen­
tury were little affected by the disaster which struck Byzantium: the
rise of Islam. With the defeat of the Visigoths at the hands of an army
of Berbers and Arabs in 711, however, the Muslim world impinged
directly on the west. Islam carried with it its own religious traditions,
notably an interest in the Quran, in the Prophet, and in Islamic law.
None of these traditions was monolithic, not least because of the
politics of the Muslim world. In 750 the Umayyad caliphate in
 CULTURE 183

Damascus was overthrown by the Abbasids. Six years later, however, a

surviving Umayyad, Abd al-Rahman I (756-789), seized control of
Muslim Spain. The rule of the Umayyads meant that Spain would be
anything but a backwater in the Muslim world, but it also ensured
that in certain respects it would adopt traditions different from those
championed by the usurping Abbasids, now established in Baghdad.
Thus, for instance, Muslim law in Spain followed the school estab­
lished by Malik ibn Anas in Medina, and not the Hanafi school
adopted by the Abbasids. In other areas of learning, however, the
scholarship of Umayyad Spain derived from the east, where most
Andalusi scholars spent some time. This is particularly true of
astronomy, which was perhaps first adapted for conditions in al-
Andalus by al-Maslama of Madrid (d. 1009). Some astronomical
information found its way into the Calendar of Cordoba, which may
have been based on one written for al-Hakam II (961-976), and which
survives in Latin and Arabic versions.
The Umayyads long hankered after their lost caliphate. They tried
to create in Cordoba a capital reminiscent of Damascus. To this end
emir after emir expanded and embellished the great mosque. The
glories of Cordoba itself were extolled, making it sound an infinitely
greater city than archaeology reveals it to have been. Nevertheless, the
ruins of the palace of Madinat al-Zahra, founded by Abd al-Rahman
III (912-961), who reclaimed the title of caliph for the Umayyads, are
an indication of the splendours and scale of Umayyad building in the
neighbourhood of the city.
Abd al-Rahman III lamented the fact that the legitimacy of the
Umayyads had been called into question by two centuries of silence.
That is not to say that there had been no historical writing in the
period since the conquest of Spain, but little survives. Much of the
information that we do have is contained in later biographical dic­
tionaries. Abd al-Rahman’s son, al-Hakam II (961-976), determined
to rectify the situation and encouraged the study of history and
genealogy. In so doing he probably led to the championing of bogus
Egyptian traditions relating to the conquest of Spain, which had been
introduced into the peninsula a century earlier by Ibn Habib (d. 853).
Al-Hakam also founded a great library, which was unfortunately
purged by the puritanical vizier al-Mansur before 1002.
Our evidence for Umayyad Spain centres on Cordoba: we know
little about other cities of al-Andalus. This is as true for the history of
I84 I IA N W O O D

the Christians as for the Muslims. Our knowledge of Christian cul­

ture under the Umayyad caliphate is dominated by a group of texts
associated with a martyr movement which erupted in the capital in
the 850s. These texts, written by Eulogius (d. 859) and his friend Paul
Alvar, give a superficial impression of considerable hostility between
Christians and Muslims, but the impression is only superficial: it is
clear that the martyr movement was frowned on by many Christians.
The church, in Umayyad Spain, indeed, had survived the Muslim
invasion remarkably well. Councils could still be held. Eulogius’ own
writings reveal monasteries in the surroundings of Cordoba itself. A
recognition that Eulogius and Paul Alvar are not representative of
Christian culture calls into question the extent to which the Christi­
anity in Umayyad Spain was under threat, and leaves wide open the
problem of the speed with which conversion to Islam took place. It
has also opened up the question of the date of a number of churches,
most notably of Santa Maria de Melque, outside Toledo, which used
to be assigned to the Visigothic period on no better grounds than that
it was assumed that they could not have been built under a Muslim
regime.
A rather less tolerant attitude, however, was to emerge on the
Christian side, in the north-eastern kingdom of the Asturias. This
was territory which, like other parts of the north and centre of the
peninsula, had remained outside Islamic control, albeit under threat
of Muslim raids. In the Visigothic period, Galicia seems to have been
a backwater: it was the Muslim conquest of the south which made it
the centre of a flourishing culture.
Although Asturian culture was to focus on the court at Oviedo, its
first product was to be a commentary on the Apocalypse written in
the late eighth century by Beatus, a monk of Liébana, on the edge of
the mountainous Picos d’Europa (Fig. 5). The monastic library there
afforded Beatus the opportunity to compile a sizeable work, drawing
on a considerable range of patristic authors. Whether Beatus thought
that the Muslims had brought the Apocalypse a stage closer is an open
question, for he nowhere mentions Islam. He did, however, mention
the evangelization of Spain by St James, who as the ‘Moorslayer’
would become the presiding saint of the Christian reconquest.
Equally, one illustrator of Beatus—and the tradition of truly spec­
tacular illustrations for his work may have begun in the Asturian
kingdom—did apparently link Muslims with the Apocalypse. A more
 CULTURE 185

obvious sense of anti-Muslim, feeling, however, is to be found in a

group of texts associated with the court of Alphonso III (866-910), in
particular the so-called Prophetic Chronicle, which indicated that the
Muslims would be driven out of Spain in 883.
Asturian culture, however, is more marked by its building pro­
grammes than by its surviving literature. Although there is some
debate over the precise chronology of Asturian churches, it is clear
that the establishment of a capital in Oviedo by Alphonso II (788-
842) at the end of the eighth century was the trigger for a succession
of church buildings, most notably the church of San Julian de los
Prados, which still survives, boasting a faint, but perfectly visible, set
of frescoes depicting arcades with vistas opening onto images of
churches. This trompe Vœuil style is derived ultimately from late
antique decoration exemplified in both the orthodox baptistry in
Ravenna and St George, Thessaloniki. The scheme centres on an
image of a jewelled cross, reminiscent of a magnificent bejewelled
cross, the so-called Cross of the Angels, commissioned by Alphonso
in 808. The importance of this cross to Asturian ideology is marked
by the fact that Alphonso III commissioned another, the Cross of
Victories, exactly a century later.
The Asturian kingdom had its capital city in Oviedo, but one of its
kings, Ramiro I (842-850) was responsible for building another clus­
ter of royal buildings across the valley on Monte Naranco (Fig. 6).
There is a mismatch between the documentary evidence for what
Ramiro built and the surviving structures, making precise identifica­
tions difficult. What is certain is that the sculptors who worked on
them had access to late Roman ivories and Sasanian metalwork,
which provided the inspiration for their decorative schemes. Like
the art of the successor states, that of the Asturian kingdom under
Ramiro was remarkably eclectic.

The Carolingian Renaissance

While the Umayyads were establishing themselves in Spain, the Caro-
lingians were doing the same in the Frankish kingdom, subsequently
extending their authority into Italy as well as Saxony. Alongside these
developments went the re-establishment of a dominant court culture,
i 86 IA N W O O D

which in many respects meant a reinterpretation of the culture of the

later, that is Christian, Roman empire.
Aspects of what we regard as the Carolingian Renaissance had their
origins in the monastic culture of late seventh-century Francia. One
of the most distinctive features of Carolingian learning was its pro­
duction of books in an elegant script known as Caroline minuscule,
which drew on Roman uncial, half uncial, and cursive letter forms,
developed out of late Merovingian scripts (Fig. 10). So too, the
reformed monasticism of the Carolingian period had its roots in the
enthusiasm of certain Anglo-Saxons, most notably St Boniface (d.
754) for the Rule of St Benedict. Equally Alcuih (d. 804), who was
summoned to Charlemagne’s court to act as tutor to the then king
and his daughters, was very much a product of the school of York,
where he had been deeply influenced by the writings of Bede. The
Carolingian Renaissance was not created ex nihilo. On the other hand,
it was certainly fostered by Charlemagne himself, without whom it
would scarcely have happened.
Despite the influence of Boniface, and despite the rather closer
connections between Bishop Chrodegang of Metz and Pippin III
(751-768), the first clear indication of the cultural revival that was to
embrace the whole Frankish world came in 789 with Charlemagne’s
Admonitio Generalis. This lengthy capitulary, addressed to all the
religious and secular officials of the kingdom, drew first on the
canons of the late Roman church, setting out basic rules for the clergy
and laity. It then turned to the Bible to produce a blueprint for
Christian behaviour. The whole was prefaced with a statement in
which the biblical king Josiah, in his visitations, admonition, and
correction, is set out as the model for kingship.
Charlemagne was not the first to look to the Bible for his models.
Late Roman emperors and the rulers of the successor states had been
compared with such figures as Moses and particularly Melchisedek,
the ideal priest king. The Carolingians, however, were to make much
more of the image presented by the kings of the Old Testament,
and not just of Josiah. David became a point of comparison for
Charlemagne, and for his grandson Charles the Bald (840-877).
Much of the Admonitio Generalis is a restatement of canonical and
biblical injunctions, but there are pieces of directly pragmatic guid­
ance. In particular there are precise directives on teaching: schools were
to teach the psalms, notas (writing or musical notation), computus
 CULTURE IS /

Figure 10 Caroline minuscule script. The main part of the text is written in
Caroline minuscule. The 2-line heading beginning ‘Incipit’ is written in
Rustic capitals, and the first line of the text, beginning Tn eadem urbe’ is
written in uncial script. Rustic capitals and uncial script are both scripts
within the Roman system of scripts retained by the Frankish scribes of the
Carolingian period and used in many of their books
i 88 IA N W O O D

(vital for calculation of the ecclesiastical year), and grammar. Books,

particularly Gospels, Psalters, and Missals, were to be copied out
with care. About ten years later Charlemagne returned to the associ­
ation of good grammar and a proper understanding of scripture in
another capitulary, ‘on cultivating letters’, De litteris colendis.
In many respects the programme, and specifically the educational
injunctions, of the Admonitio Generalis are at the heart of Carolin-
gian culture. Good grammar, good Latin, and good texts of books,
especially Bibles and liturgical books, are recurrent elements. An
immense amount of labour was put into creating a good text of the
Bible at many centres in the Carolingian world.'With regard to the
liturgy, the issue was somewhat more complicated, because there had
been no standardized liturgy in western Europe in the pre-
Carolingian period, and different dioceses followed different tradi­
tions. One need was to establish a standard liturgy. This was not, in
fact, achieved, but a start was made when Charlemagne secured a
copy of the Roman Mass Book, known as the Sacramentarium Grego-
rianum or Hadrianum, from Pope Hadrian I (772-795) between 784
and 791. A concern to establish uniform ecclesiastical practice also
stretched to an attempt to impose a single monastic rule, the Rule of
St Benedict, or rather a version of it, which was made at the reform
council of Aachen in 816, in the early years of the reign of Louis the
Pious (814-840).
All these reforms were thought necessary to make the Frankish
kingdom acceptable to God. Right religion, correctly, and to some
extent uniformly, expressed, was at the centre of Carolingian culture.
The need for this was made all the more apparent by current prob­
lems in the Byzantine empire. Since the early eighth century Byzan­
tium had been riven by the problem of the status of images. Icons of
saints had become increasingly important as objects of veneration in
the course of the seventh century. At the same time the failure of the
Byzantine armies in the face of the Muslims had led some to conclude
that one cause of the empire’s crisis was the veneration of images,
which could be interpreted as idolatry. In the course of the eighth
century Byzantium moved through phases both opposed to icons
(iconoclasm) and in favour of them (iconodulism). In the last years
of the eighth century an iconodule party was in power, and the ruler
was a woman, the Empress Irene (796-802), who had achieved her
position by having her son, the Emperor Constantine VI (780-797),
 CULTURE I 89

blinded. The Carolingian court responded to affairs in the east in

a work of theology entitled the Libri Carolini, written largely by
Theodulf of Orléans (d. 821), which provides a remarkable critique
of Byzantine ideology, as well as a theory of images. The Carolingian
position was also set out at the Council of Frankfurt (794), which
condemned both iconodulism and iconoclasm—allowing that
images could be useful educational devices, but denying that they
were worthy of veneration.
Rulers in the west had not entirely ignored Byzantium in the sev­
enth century. Carolingian intervention in Italy, from the time of the
conquest of the Lombard kingdom in 774, however, had meant that
the Byzantine empire could not be ignored. Byzantine territory, of
course, included substantial parts of southern Italy as well, theoretic­
ally, as Rome, though the city was largely left to the care of the popes.
Carolingian support for the papacy, and involvement in its affairs,
was necessarily a challenge to the Byzantines, not least when it led to
Charlemagne being crowned emperor by Pope Leo III on Christmas
Day 800. Intervention in Italy, and the concurrent development of an
imperial ideal, also had direct repercussions on Carolingian culture.
Alongside the Bible, the Roman past was one of the foundations of
Carolingian culture. While Rome, like the Bible, had been a recurrent
influence for the successor states, its cultural legacy was the subject of
renewed and intensified attention under Charlemagne. In certain
respects the renaissance of things Roman went hand in hand with the
reassertion of Christian education. A concern for Latin grammar and
language was essential: the late Roman grammarians Donatus and
Priscian were central to linguistic instruction. Just as Carolingian
monasteries played a vital role in the creation of good biblical texts,
and also in the transcription of the works of the Church Fathers, so
too those same monasteries were responsible for the preservation of
works of classical Latin literature. By the end of the ninth century
most of what has survived to the present of classical Latin learning,
works of some seventy authors, had been copied in Carolingian mon­
asteries, and some Greek works were translated into Latin. There was
also a revival of literary forms that had been central elements of late
Roman culture. The court became a focus for poetry, sometimes on
an epic scale, and of letter-writing, which is as distinctive a feature of
the late eighth and early ninth centuries as it had been of the fourth
to sixth. Alcuin and Lupus of Ferrières (d. c.862) were among the
190 IA N W O O D

most notable writers. The social structures which sustained the new
epistolary tradition were of course different from those of the later
empire, but both societies depended on the regular exercise of
communication.
The revival of Roman culture, however, was not just confined to
literature. Roman architectural and artistic forms were seen as being
appropriate to the new, increasingly imperial, culture of the north.
This was expressed in small ways as well as large. Einhard (d. 840), for
instance, who turned to Suetonius for inspiration when it came to
writing his Life of Charlemagne, used the image of a Roman tri­
umphal arch as a model for a small reliquary. The same architectural
form was used at the abbey of Lorsch in constructing its gatehouse.
Later on in the ninth century the main floor of the great western
tower of the monastic church of Corvey, whose lowest storey
was intended as an echo of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem, was
frescoed with scenes from classical legend. Not surprisingly it was
royal buildings which most obviously drew on Roman antecedents.
Charlemagne plundered Ravenna for marble and for columns, and he
even used the church of San Vitale as a model for the new palatine
chapel at Aachen. So strong was the notion of Rome that the epithet
‘New Rome’ was given to more than one place—Paderborn, for
instance, as well as Aachen—adorned with Carolingian buildings.
Rome and the Bible underpinned the Carolingian Renaissance, but
Rome meant more than one thing. It stood for classical culture. But it
also stood for power, particularly imperial power, and as such could
be exemplified by Ravenna as much as by the Eternal City itself. In
addition it carried with it the notion of Christian, papal, power, with
Rome being understood as the city of the apostles Peter and Paul.
When the Abbot of Fulda, Ratgar (d. 835), decided to exploit a Roman
model, he thought of the basilica of St Peter and sought to imitate it,
to create a church to commemorate the Apostle of the Germans, St
Boniface.
Neither Rome nor the Bible was monolithic. This is even apparent
in the production of biblical manuscripts. In the middle decades of
the ninth century scribes under successive abbots of Tours produced
large-format, one-volume, Bibles, known as pandects, in a distinctive
and elegant version of the standard Caroline minuscule, among them
gospels for the Emperor Lothar I and a Bible for Charles the Bald.
The text was for the most part Jerome’s Vulgate Latin version, with
 CULTURE 191

spelling corrected and many organizing elements, such as headings,

added. Although other centres such as Lorsch, Micy, and Metz also
produced single-volume pandects, it was more usual for individual
books or groups of books of the Bible to be copied. Gospels could
receive particularly lavish treatment, and individual centres
developed their own style of illumination. The Gospels of the so-
called court school, the Ada and Coronation Gospels groups, are
often distinguished by the splendour of their colour, while the latter
group either had access to antique models or was subject to Byzantine
influence. These Gospels had their echoes in manuscripts produced
at other centres with court connections, notably the great monastery
of Lorsch. During the reign of Louis the Pious, Archbishop Ebbo of
Rheims (816-835, 840-841: Bishop of Hildesheim 845-851) presided
over an atelier at the monastery of Hautvilliers, whose manuscripts
were notable for the almost nervous quality of the figurai drawing.
A fine example is the Utrecht Psalter, which, when it reached Can­
terbury in the tenth century, exerted a profound influence on the
Anglo-Saxon artists who saw it.
Book production was at the heart of the Carolingian Renaissance,
and the most beautiful books were almost all Gospel books, although
there were exceptions, not least the remarkable manuscripts of
Hraban Maur’s poetic contemplation of the Holy Cross, the Liber
sanctae crucis (Fig. 12). As abbot of the monastery of Fulda, Hraban
(d. 856) headed one of the great centres of Carolingian culture, as did
the poet and theologian Walafrid Strabo (d. 849) at the Reichenau.
They, and their contemporaries in other centres, produced an aston­
ishing range of theological works, biblical commentaries, encyclo­
paedias, saints’ lives, poetry, didactic and moral treatises, and school
books. One intellectual who was trained at both Fulda and Reichenau
was the monk Gottschalk (d. c.870), whose views on predestination
caused a genuine theological debate, not least with the Irishman John
Scottus Eriugena. The debate was concluded, however, as much by
the ecclesiastical authority of Archbishop Hincmar of Rheims (845-
882), the leading ideologue of the reign of Charles the Bald (840-877),
as by intellectual consensus.
Historical writing had also been a matter of importance for the
Carolingians from the middle of the eighth century, when members
of the family were responsible for the continuations to the Chronicle
of Fredegar. History was overtly used as Carolingian propaganda at
192 IA N W O O D

the turn of the century, in the Annales Mettenses Priores. Thereafter a

number of major sets of annals were kept up, not least those known
as the Annals of St Bertin, which for a while were written by Hincmar
himself. Annals, however, were not the only form of history writing
cultivated during the ninth century. Einhard’s Life of Charlemagne
was followed at the end of the century by that of Notker of St Gallen
(d. 912). In between, two authors, Thegan (d. c.850) and the so-called
Astronomer, wrote biographies of Louis the Pious. Full-scale his­
torical narrative was attempted in the reign of Charles the Bald by
Nithard (d. 845).
The culture of the Carolingian empire was not confined to the
court or the monasteries of Francia. Papal Rome, of course, had tradi­
tions of its own, particularly in the building of churches, which were
decorated with mosaics harking back to the sixth century. The apse
mosaics of Sta Prassede and Sta Cecilia, built by Pope Paschal I
(817-824), copy those set up in SS. Cosmas and Damian by Pope
Felix. Pope Gregory IV (827-844) used the same iconography in his
foundation of San Marco, but adopted the colour scheme of Pope
Honorius’ seventh-century church of Sta Agnese.
Outside Rome, Italy boasted other traditions. By the late eighth
century there was much to be said for the cultural achievements of
the Lombards. Paul the Deacon, who wrote the history of his people,
was one of the many leading scholars drawn into the world of
Charlemagne’s court. Lombard architecture is well illustrated by
the fine monastic church of San Salvatore in Brescia, built by Duke
Desiderius in c.753-75 6, with its elegant stucco work. Stucco, which
was unquestionably of importance throughout the Carolingian
world, as archaeology increasingly shows, is one of the glories of the
Tempietto, probably to be dated to the early Carolingian period, at
Cividale (Fig. 1), where there is also a fine collection of sculpture
associated with King Ratchis (744-749, 756-757). In addition there
would seem to have been a major tradition of fresco painting in Italy.
The church of S. Maria foris portas at Castelseprio, however, would
seem to be Carolingian, as, certainly, is the monumental fresco cycle
at Müstair in the Upper Adige. Just down the valley, at Malles, is
another church with two particularly impressive portraits, one mili­
tary and the other religious. Nearby, the church at Naturns also boasts
a cycle of paintings, albeit in a style that comes close to caricature.
Just as there was variety in art, so there was in language. Latin, like
 CULTURE 193

all languages, was in a constant state of evolution. The Latin of the

seventh century was scarcely classical in its orthography or in its
grammar. It was also becoming increasingly regional. In some places,
because of the Germanic settlements of the fifth and sixth centuries,
it had ceased to be spoken altogether. This was the case in England.
Latin was, however, the language of the church, and when the Anglo-
Saxons were Christianized, it became necessary to teach it from
scratch. As a result the Anglo-Saxons, like other peoples who were
taught Latin as a foreign language, learnt it from grammar books, and
thus learnt a language which was out of kilter with the spoken Latin
of native speakers. When good grammar was taken up by the Caro-
lingians as part of the educational reforms of the period, this
reinforced the divide between the two levels of the language; every
day Latin speech became increasingly distinct from the Latin of the
educated, developing increasingly into the Romance languages, that
is early forms of Spanish, French, and Italian.
The beginnings of the Romance vernaculars were not the only
linguistic spin-off from the Carolingian Renaissance. Concerns to
spread Christianity among the non-Latin, Germanic speakers of the
empire, led increasingly to the development of written forms of
German. In England laws had been written in Old English as early as
the seventh century, and Bede had embarked on translating parts of
the Bible in the eighth. In Francia legal manuscripts acquired Ger­
manic glosses, but no full-scale translation. In the course of the ninth
century, however, ecclesiastics east of the Rhine, who had already
begun to use the vernacular in such matters as baptismal catechism,
began to write substantial Christian texts in Germanic dialects, such
as Rhine Frankish and Old Saxon. Most important are the mid-
ninth-century Old Saxon versifications of Genesis and of the Gospel
story, which was retold in a poem called the Heliand, together with an
Old High German version of the Gospels, the Evangelienbuch of
Otfrid of Weißenburg. Secular poetry was also written down in the
same period. Einhard tells us that Charlemagne himself commanded
that ancient Germanic songs should be preserved. None of these
survives, although there are fragments of a ninth-century epic, the
Hildebrandslied, revolving around events of the fifth century. From
perhaps the last decades of the century there is the first surviving
Germanic poem on a contemporary subject, the Ludwigslied, which
takes as its theme a battle against the Vikings.
194 IA N W O O D

The impact of Carolingian culture thus spread beyond the Latin

and biblical renaissance of the court. Nor was it confined to the
Frankish empire. It may be that the court culture of Alphonso II and
Ramiro I in the Asturias was inspired to some extent by connections
with the Carolingian world, though as we have seen there were more
local influences. In the British Isles there are indications of Caroling­
ian influence. This is not surprising, given the close political contacts
between Offa of Mercia (757-796) and Charlemagne. Among the
leading figures of the Legatine Synod of 786, sent by Pope Hadrian I
to investigate the state of the English church, were a number of
Frankish ecclesiastics, and there are close parallels between the
canons of the synod and those of the Admonitio Generalis issued by
Charlemagne three years later. The Book of Kells, the greatest insular
manuscript of the years on either side of 800, and probably the prod­
uct of the monastery of Iona, belongs firmly to the insular tradition.
Other English manuscripts, such as the Royal Bible however, show
Carolingian influence. Similarly, metalwork was inspired by the new
continental classicism. In other media, chronological problems have
prevented a clear understanding of the relation between the culture
of the Carolingian world and that of the Anglo-Saxons. The Viking
raids, which began in the 790s, but which did not become full-scale
onslaughts until the 830s, used to be regarded as a reason for dating as
little sculpture and architecture to the ninth century as possible.
Although the assumption has been undermined in recent years, the
extent to which the Carolingian Renaissance was echoed in England
still remains to be established.

The tenth century

Although the Vikings did burn monasteries, the Scandinavian cul­
tural impact of the ninth century was less than that of the Germanic
settlements of the fifth and sixth. Certainly the Vikings set up new
kingdoms in England and Ireland, and those kingdoms had their own
cultures. The Anglo-Saxon sculpture of the north of England is easily
divided into Anglian (i.e. pre-Viking) and Viking phases, with each
having a very different repertoire of form and ornament. Classicizing
vinescroll and interlace, for instance, is replaced by a rather debased
 CULTURE I 195

animal ornament. While the tradition of erecting stone crosses sur­

vives, furthermore, the iconography comes to include figures from
Scandinavian mythology and images of warriors. New types of funer­
ary monument, so-called hogbacks, also make their appearance. Of
the culture of the new courts ruled over by Viking kings we know a
little from later saga material. This sometimes includes fragments of
ninth- or tenth-century skaldic verse, some of it spoken in praise of
the new rulers. At the same time the Viking raids led to Anglo-Saxon
and Carolingian material being taken back to Scandinavia. Attempts
at Christianizing the Danes, moreover, as well as political contacts
with Germany, ensured that the culture of the royal centre at Jelling
came under increasing influence from the Frankish world.
In England, although the kingdoms of Northumbria, Mercia, and
East Anglia were dismembered, Wessex survived. Central to this sur­
vival was a renaissance. King Alfred (871-899), like the Carolingians,
to whom his own family was connected by marriage, thought that
God’s favour, which included protection against the Vikings, was
dependent on proper religious observance. This in turn required
learning, and constant oversight by the clergy. Cultural reforms,
which included the translation into Old English of books which the
king thought all men should know (including Gregory the Great’s
Pastoral Care, the Histories of both Orosius and Bede, and Boethius’
Consolation of Philosophy), as well as a concern for the poor know­
ledge of Latin, were at the heart of Alfred’s reign. His reforms pro­
vided a base for the development of Old English literature, which
reached a peak in the homilies ofÆ lfric of Eynsham (d. 1025).
Alfred was the architect of West Saxon survival against the Vikings,
but it was left to his successors, notably Athelstan (924-939), to create
a united England—something which required more than simple war.
A central aspect of the unification was the translation from the north
to the south of the relics of saints, who both represented the Christian
past, as recorded in Bede’s Ecclesiastical History, and also were the
focus of regional identities. Where the local power of the saint was
too great for a translation of relics to be achieved, as in the case of St
Cuthbert at Chester-le-Street, Athelstan instead showed his reverence
with endowments of precious manuscripts.
The tenth-century monastic reform which developed from such
centres as Cluny, Gorze, and Fleury, came to play a particular role in
English culture. One of the leaders of the movement in England,
196 IAN W O O D

Æthelwold (963-984), was bishop of the court city of Winchester,

whose leading monastery was to become a major centre for the pro­
duction of extremely costly Bibles and liturgical books of consider­
able beauty. Liturgy, architecture, especially that of the Old Minster,
with its massive western tower looking back to a Carolingian tradi­
tion, and manuscripts, were to make Winchester under King Edgar
(959-975) an appropriate capital for the newly united Kingdom of
England.
West Francia and Lotharingia were at the heart of the monastic
reform movement, and not surprisingly their monasteries boasted a
number of major scholars, not least the hagiographer and abbot,
Abbo of Fleury (d. 1004). Yet the episcopal schools, which had their
origins in the ninth century, were equally important, especially that
of Rheims in the time of Archbishop Gerbert of Aurillac (991-996),
who later, as Pope Silvester II (999-1003), was to be one of the
dominant figures of the Roman Renovatio of Otto III.
The Ottonians were a Saxon family, from what had been the east­
ern fringes of the Carolingian empire. One of the distinctive features
of Ottonian culture was geographical. New cities, notably Magde­
burg, were founded in the east, and with them new churches and
monasteries, the most notable surviving monument being the great
abbey church of Gernrode on the edge of the Harz mountains. But
the Ottonians also had their eyes firmly on the old centres of Carol­
ingian power. Otto I (936-973) was careful to appoint his brother
Bruno archbishop of Cologne, where Theophano, widow of Otto II
(973-983), founded the great church of St Pantaleon. More important
still for the Ottonians was Charlemagne’s old capital of Aachen.
Otto III had a particular respect for Charlemagne, and even opened
his tomb in the year 1000, exhumed the body and had it laid on
Byzantine silks.
Like the Carolingians, the Ottonians also became involved in Italy
and, inevitably, Rome. Once again northern intervention in the south
caused a revival of the imperial title: Otto I was crowned emperor in
962. The imperial style of the Ottonians was further influenced by the
fact that Theophano was the niece of the Byzantine Emperor John
Tzimisces. Byzantium itself, however, received a scathing notice in the
pages of the historian Liudprand of Cremona (d. c.970). Theophano’s
son, Otto III, embarked on a new Roman Renovatio, which was to
lead to personal disaster in 1002, when he died of malaria having been
 CULTURE I 197

driven ignominiously out of Rome. In the previous decade, however,

Otto had been closely involved in an Italian ascetic movement,
dominated by Romuald of Benevento (d. 1027), and he had been at
the centre of a renaissance, which would continue under his cousin,
the Emperor Henry II (1002-1024). At the heart of this renaissance
was the production of incredibly lavish manuscripts, adorned with
equally costly book covers, of Bibles, Gospels, and liturgical books. In
many respects, but especially in their ruler portraits, they look back to
Carolingian books, both to those produced in the court school of
Charlemagne and such centres as Tours. Those which had been pro­
duced in the east Frankish kingdom, for instance in Regensburg, in
the mid-ninth century, were also an inspiration. Stylistically, however,
Ottonian illustrated books differ radically from what had gone
before, not least in their use of gold, and in their increasing provision
of considerable narrative cycles to illustrate the Gospel story.
The Ottonians paid particular attention to the narrative of Christ’s
Passion, and objects associated with it. The Holy Lance, supposedly
that which had pierced Christ’s side, became part of the imperial
regalia, and was even carried into battle. Even more striking, when
Otto Ill’s body reached Cologne in Holy Week in 1002, it was, as we
are told by the historian Thietmar of Merseburg (d. 1018), effectively
treated as if it were Christ in the ceremonies which enacted the last
week of His earthly life. This was a logical extension of a culture
which emphasized the kingship and the suffering of Christ. It is an
emphasis and a faith apparent in the manuscript illumination and the
great crucifixes of the Ottonian period and expressed in the liturgy of
the church. The texts and rituals of the liturgy itself were greatly
enriched in the tenth century, building on the extraordinarily creative
work of the Franks in the eighth and ninth centuries. The most
dramatic developments, however, were in the music. In the late
Merovingian and Carolingian periods a hybrid ‘Roman’ or ‘Gre­
gorian’ chant repertory had been created by mixing older material,
whose Roman-ness is disputed, with Frankish chant, and many
additions were made. New syntheses of melody and prose known
as sequences and tropes were added, particularly at such centres as
Reichenau, Liège, St Gallen, and Winchester. Musical notation, which
first appears in the ninth century, proliferated in many regional vari­
ants in the tenth. There were also major developments in music
theory, a wider use of musical instruments, not least the organ, and
198 IAN W O O D

the first records of liturgical drama to complement solemn cere­

monies such as the Holy Week observances in Cologne in 1002.
Members of the Ottonian family, men and women, were consider­
able patrons in their own right. As a result they were the dedicatees
of a number of major literary works, including the Chronicle of
Widukind of Corvey (d. c.973). Yet there was no court school, and no
officially-sponsored programme for the revival of learning. Instead
the Ottonians relied solely on a limited number òf monasteries for
the production of their great manuscripts, notably on Reichenau,
Corvey, and Fulda, all of them monasteries with strong imperial con­
nections, and, in the case of the Reichenau, also Involved in the Gorze
reform movement. In this respect the Ottonian renaissance lacked
the depth of its Carolingian counterpart. Nevertheless both the
Carolingians and the Ottonians embarked on a Renovatio, which in
each case involved the recreation of an imagined Christian imperial
past. Through the overarching monastic reforms and intellectual
developments, not least the music and the educational curriculum,
moreover, connecting strands were spun across Latin Europe. The
Carolingians and Ottonians created the impression of a dominant
culture, determined by Rome and by the Bible, and thus provided
moments of coherence in a world of extraordinary cultural variety.
Figure 11 Otto III, king (983-996), emperor (996-1002), enthroned
 6
Europe and the
wider world
Jonathan Shepard

The rulers of imperial Rome prided themselves on their organization

of space, and their road systems and border controls substantiated
their pretensions. In the fifth century the world could still be con­
ceived of as revolving around two cities, Rome and Constantinople,
although the empire’s centre of gravity lay in its eastern provinces,
while the north-western parts were left to fend for themselves. The
eastern empire underwent drastic changes in the seventh century and
became culturally ‘isolationist’. Lines of communication with the
west remained open, but close encounters tended to show up how the
different parts of Christendom were diverging. Charlemagne’s feats
evoked ancient Rome and Byzantium, but his power-base, culture,
and vision were distinctive. The term Europa defined the Christian
west better than did the vocabulary of ‘empire’, being applicable to
peoples beyond the rule of ancient Rome. Many of their notables
were taken with the idea of ‘membership’ and, unlike the barbarians
fended off by Rome, were not kept out of the ‘club’. Attempts at
participation could take the form of spectacular raids, but the trading
and religious contacts between western centres and Scandinavians
and Slavs proved resilient, and even the Byzantines responded to
‘barbarian’ approaches with missions and trade agreements. If the
Mediterranean was still in the later tenth century virtually a Muslim
lake, Europa encompassed power- and population-clusters reaching
to Iceland and the Middle Dnieper. For all the ebbs and flows, this
was ultimately a period of expansion.
202 JONATHAN SHEPARD

Empire without end?

Europa was one of three continents known to classical geographers.
Neither Europe nor the other two, Asia and Africa, was regarded as
falling wholesale beneath the sway of the Roman emperor. But it was
widely assumed that the whole inhabited world was his for the taking.
Appian wrote: ‘Possessing the best part of the earth and sea
[emperors] . . . have, on the whole, aimed to preserve their empire
through exercising prudence, rather than to extend their sway
indefinitely over poverty-stricken and profitless tribes of barbarians.’1
Writers highlighted the contrast between full ‘subjects’ and the
inhabitants of the barbaricum. The concept of zones rippling out
from a centre-point was enshrined in the political culture of the city
of Rome: its inner boundary, the pomerium, screened off the military
zone with a ring of markers. The pomerium was ritually redrawn in
new imperial foundations, the civilian nucleus being marked out by a
plough drawn by a bull and a cow. Through sacred rites and layouts,
the towns gained the character of symbolic miniatures of Rome,
particularly the Capitoline Hill.
The empire’s outer boundaries were not marked out so ceremoni­
ally, but the outlying regions bristled with fortified towns and other
military installations. In part they served a practical purpose, regulat­
ing cross-border trade and deterring aggression. But the towns, forti­
fications, and bridges also had symbolic significance, staking the
emperor’s claim to regions, for example the walls from coast to coast
in Britain. They served notice that no one lay wholly beyond the
emperor’s remit. Virgil’s vision of the empire as ‘without end’ in
space and time2 was refracted in the ritual o f the fifth-century Chris­
tian empire. The reliefs at the base of Arcadius’ Column in Constan­
tinople show three different imperial encounters: with the senators
of the key imperial cities, Rome and Constantinople; with subjects of
the provinces; and with conquered foes. Such was the perspective of
the imperial ‘establishment’. Flaunting the rulers’ hegemony over the

1 Appian, Roman History, Preface 7, trans. H. White, I (London and New York, 1912),
pp. 10-11. Appian was writing in the second century a d .
2 Virgil, Aeneidy 1. 279 ff.
 EUROPE AND TH E W ID E R WORLD | 203

wider world was a key means of cementing together the disparate

inhabitants of the rural northern provinces and the teeming urban
centres of the eastern Mediterranean. Rome and Constantinople, per­
sonified as enthroned women on coins and consular diptychs, offered
a focus for all these subjects’ loyalties, being consubstantial with the
empire and the emperors, centres of wealth, wisdom, and God-given
authority.
Their aura of world dominion continued to matter to emperors in
the sixth century, although the western provinces were now fragment­
ing into a patchwork of regimes of varying provenance. The cult of
victory was reinforced with the symbolism of Christianity to which
imperial regimes were committed. The Barberini diptych shows a
mounted emperor with Christ above him and, below, a barbarian in
Iranian dress raising his hand towards the emperor. The peak of
triumphalism was reached by Justinian. Outside his church of St
Sophia an equestrian statue showed Justinian in military costume,
pointing his hand eastwards. This orientation eastwards was signifi­
cant, albeit not just for the reasons intended by the emperor. Court
rhetoric might extol the ‘new Rome’ as the centre of all things and the
Barberini diptych might display Indians and Persians as subjects
making offerings to the emperor, but the reality was less flattering. To
the east, the Roman empire had to reckon with Sasanian Persia, a
superpower capable of devastating incursions into its eastern prov­
inces. Justinian’s most solid and sumptuous fortifications were built
in areas at risk from the Persians, notably along the Euphrates valley.
More generally, the sizeable populations and—in Iraq—extensive
urban centres under the Shah’s sway made up a wealthy trading zone,
with which the Roman cities of the Middle East were linked com­
mercially. Many of the merchants of ‘the two eyes’ of the world3 could
deal with one another through common languages—Syriac, spoken
across the Fertile Crescent from Ctesiphon to Antioch, or Greek, the
language of urban elites throughout the area.
Competition was keen between the east Roman and Persian busi­
nessmen and also between their rulers. Justinian tried hard to gain
access to Oriental silk via routes bypassing Persian dominions and
procured silk worms’ eggs from central Asia, India, or still further

3 Theophylact Simocatta, Historiae, 4. ii, ed. C. de Boor and P. Wirth (Stuttgart,

1972), p. 169; trans. M. Whitby and M. Whitby (Oxford, 1986), p. 117.
204 I JONATHAN SHEPARD

east. His successors exchanged several embassies with Turk leaders in

central Asia. On a more mundane level, merchants from the Roman
world vied with Persian counterparts for a share of the luxury trade
across the Indian Ocean. The Persians’ intervention there prompted
Procopius’ complaint that ‘the Persian merchants always locate them­
selves at the very harbours where the Indian ships first put in . . .
[and] are accustomed to buy the whole cargoes’.4. The vitality of
commerce in the Indian Ocean rim is emerging from excavations at
ports on the Egyptian coast of the Red Sea and the eastern shore of
the Persian Gulf. Merchantmen converged on Sri L^nka. According to
Cosmas Indicopleustes, ‘the island, being in a central position,
receives many ships from the whole of India, Persia and Ethiopia, and
equally sends ships out, too’, between the two halves of the Indian
Ocean.5 Its ‘great emporium’, seemingly housing Persian Christians,
is probably identifiable as Mantai, which looks onto the reefs separat­
ing Sri Lanka from the mainland. Substantial amounts o f Sasanian
ceramics have been found there as well as Roman pottery, and traders
from Egyptian cities made their way east. Cosmas, himself from Alex­
andria, while telling of the commodities and creatures to be found
around the ocean, assumed that the region would not be wholly
unfamiliar to his readers. For all their rivalries, the Sasanian and
Roman worlds shared aesthetic and cultural values as well as overlap­
ping economic interests. Sasanian and imperial Roman silks have
very similar designs, and a shared taste for luxury furs from the far
north probably accounts for the finds of Persian and Byzantine silver
vessels and coins in the regions of Perm and the Kama basin.
There was, in other words, a multiplicity of contacts between east
Mediterranean urban centres and the advanced cultures still further
east in the fifth, sixth, and early seventh centuries. In fact Byzantine
and Sasanian rulers were hard-put to regulate exchanges between the
local populations of their borderlands in the Fertile Crescent. The
treaty between Justinian and Chosroes I of 562 indicates a common
interest in confining trade to a few points where tolls could be levied
and also in containing the religious enthusiasm of communities

4 Procopius, History of the Wars, 1. 20.12, ed. and trans. H. B. Dewing, I (London and
New York, 1914), pp. 192-3.
5 Cosmas Indicopleustes, Topographia Christiana, 11. 15, ed. W. Wolska-Conus, III
(Paris, 1973), pp. 344-5.
 EU R O PE A N D T H E W ID ER W ORLD 205

straddling the borderlands. The treaty allowed Christians in Persia

to ‘worship freely’ provided that they did not try to make further
converts. Most of them were ‘heretics’, subscribing to doctrines at
variance with those of the ‘orthodox’ hierarchy. The network of
the predominant Christian community in Persia, the Nestorians,
stretched along the ‘Silk Road’ via Samarkand as far as China.
Attempts by emperors like Justinian to devise a broadly acceptable
formulation about Christ’s nature met with obstruction from
communities in cities such as Alexandria, while the patriarch of
Constantinople itself could, on occasion, swing its citizens against the
imperial doctrinal line. Yet the waywardness of these urban popula­
tions of the Roman east was a mark of vigour and their external
affiliations generated what seems to have been mounting prosperity
in the sixth century. They yielded taxes which helped emperors fund
wide-ranging diplomatic and religious missions and formidable
armies, despite the toll inflicted by bubonic plague that spread from
the Indian Ocean via the Red Sea from 542 onwards. Attracting num­
erous barbarian auxiliaries through generous payments, Justinian
managed to reconquer much of Italy and the coastal strip of southern
Spain, bolstering his claim to be reviving the empire’s glory. From
his vantage point on the Bosphorus, Justinian could view western
warlords’ regimes as merely provisional. Their leaders were, when
circumstances allowed, ritually disrobed as interlopers. Such was the
fate of the Vandal king, Gelimir, paraded through Constantinople in
534 in a procession evoking the triumphs of ancient Rome.
The days of an inter-continental empire encompassing the world’s
choicest regions and projecting the emperor’s presence through roads
and military installations were, however, numbered. The conflict
between Sasanian Persia and Byzantium which broke out in 603
became a fight to the death and brought massive disruption to the
cities and trading nexuses of the Byzantine east, the empire’s richest
provinces. Emperor Heraclius eventually brought about the over­
throw and death of the Shah in 628, events celebrated in biblical
terms in his victory bulletins. But Byzantine tactics and military
organization proved unequal to the challenge that arose immediately
afterwards from desert-based Arab raiders, lightly-equipped but
highly mobile and showing unprecedented purposefulness thanks to
their new common creed, Islam. Nowhere within striking distance of
the desert was secure from their demands for tribute and submission
206 I JON ATH AN SHEPARD

to the Will of God. By 650 they had put paid both to the Sasanian
empire and to Byzantine dominion over the Middle East. Arab
raiders were edging across the Western Desert towards Carthage
while other war-bands probed into Armenia, another former conduit
of commerce between Byzantium and Persia.
The business confidence of the sixth century was now lacking in
the urban centres of Egypt and Syria and their contacts with the
Indian Ocean rim abated. Some trade may have persisted with terri­
tories remaining under the authority of the emperor. But this did not
compare in value or variety with what had gone on before, especially
once the constant warfare with the Arabs brought a change over
patterns of settlement and wealth distribution in the Byzantine lands.
Towns shrank in size and in Asia Minor many were transferred to
hilltops that were less accessible to Arab raiders but also to potential
shippers of goods for the market and to ideas or information about
the world beyond. The ‘Roman’ provinces—most of Asia Minor,
Thrace, and a pattern of islands and enclaves along the Balkan and
Italian coastlines (including Sicily)—were by 700 organized on a flex­
ible, cost-effective basis against Arabs to the east, Slavs and Bulgars to
the west. But the empire had receded visibly. Already in the 640s a
character in a fictional dialogue between a converted Jew and his
former co-religionists observed: ‘Until today the territory of the
Romans stretched from the Ocean, that is Scotia, Britannia, Spain,
Francia, Italy, Greece and Thrace . . . as far as Antioch, Syria, Persia
and all the E ast,. . . Egypt, Africa and Inner A frica,. . . and one sees
there still the statues of their emperors in bronze and marble. For all
the nations were subjected to the Romans by God’s command. Now,
however, we see Romania humbled’.6 Later in the century the Syriac
Apocalypse of Pseudo-Methodius of Patara prophesied that the man-
eating peoples of the north would burst forth from the gates behind
which Alexander the Great had penned them, ‘and the earth will
shake before their presence.’7 The thought-wo rid of frontiers and
imperially guaranteed tranquillity was on the ebb.
The author of the fictional dialogue, The Doctrine of Jacob the

6 The Doctrine of Jacob the Newly Baptised, 3.10, ed. G. Dagron and V. Déroche, ‘Juifs
et Chrétiens dans l’Orient du VII siècle’. Travaux et Mémoires, 11 (1991), p. 168.
7 Die Apokalypse des Ps.-Methodios, ed. A. Lolos, Beiträge zur Klassischen Philologie
83 (Meisenheim am Glan, 1976), pp. 128,130.
 EU R O P E A N D T H E W ID ER W ORLD | 207

Newly Baptised, was overstating the early seventh-century empire’s

possessions, but not the scale on which client-potentates, customers,
and ever adaptable traders still operated in rumbustious synergy. In
part, the demand for eastern goods among the prominent and
well-to-do in the empire’s wake sprang from their intrinsic aesthetic
qualities, appetizing tastes, or rarity value. But it also fed on their
associations with a régime still not irredeemably ancien, and with its
authority symbols. Gelimir had, while king of the Vandals, dined as a
Roman judging by Procopius,8 and what seem to have been Roman-
style dinner services have been found at Martynovka and Malaia
Pereshchepina in Ukraine as well as Sutton Hoo.9 Scandinavian
aspirants to status from the fourth century onwards had imitations of
imperial medallions—gold ‘bracteates’ —made for themselves, and
the fashion became most pronounced around the mid-sixth century,
when the influx of Byzantine coins into Scandinavia peaked. Some
appropriated ‘imperial’ qualities for the commissioner of the medal­
lion, depicting him in the pose of the emperor, but wearing finger-
rings or other ornaments of distinctively local type. These attempts to
take imperial symbols as a template of lordship were made in regions
which not even the flightiest rhetorician had claimed for Rome. The
regimes occupying former imperial territory were not, of course,
necessarily more inclined either to adapt imperial symbols to their
own requirements or to concede any formal obligations to the
emperor. In fact the Visigoths in Spain were quick to exploit the
empire’s humiliation at the hands of the Persians and in 624 they
ousted the emperor’s men from Cartagena. But the flurry of
embassies bearing subsidies in gold and o f exiles toing and froing
between Constantinople and Merovingian courts in the sixth and
early seventh centuries attests the emperor’s continuing capacity
for intervention in Frankish affairs. Against this background, and
while merchants from the eastern Mediterranean still frequented
Marseilles, few aspirants to stable kingship could afford to ignore
the basileus. In the late sixth century, King Childebert II of the
Franks still found it politic to call him ‘our most pious father, the

8 Procopius, History of the Wars, 3. 2 1.1-7 , ed. and trans. H. B. Dewing, II (London
and New York, 1916), pp. 176-9.
9 M. Mango, ‘Silver plate among the Romans and among the barbarians’, in F. Vallet
and M. Kazanski (eds.), La noblesse romaine et les chefs barbares du IIP au VIF siècle
(Paris, 1995), p. 81.
208 JON ATH AN SHEPARD

emperor’10 and in 668 the mayor of the palace, Ebroin, detained

Hadrian, a churchman of North African origin bound for England,
upon suspicion of going ‘on some mission for the emperor to the
kings of Britain, to the detriment of his [own] realm.’11 Ebroin soon
released Hadrian but his apprehensions sprang from experience. It
cannot be proved that the ‘nest of silver bowls’ manufactured in the
Byzantine lands c.6oo and deposited within a generation or so in a
mound at Sutton Hoo were themselves some form of imperial gift or
subsidy. And neither they nor the various other eastern Mediter­
ranean or Oriental products—cowrie shells, amethysts, bronze and
copper vessels—arriving in south-east England around this time
need to have come directly from the Levant. But the evidence of
contacts between the Byzantine lands and Celtic south-west Britain,
notably finds of Aegean and eastern Mediterranean amphorae and
fine red-slipped tableware, raises at least the possibility of occasional
contacts with Anglo-Saxon ports and courts further east.
It is, however, probably vain to try to determine which objects
arrived by way of traders from Egyptian and Levantine centres, which
by way of imperial gift-givers and which via intermediaries in Francia
and elsewhere. What is significant is the multiplicity of ways by which
goods, persons, and ideas could reach north-western elites from east­
ern Mediterranean centres as late as the mid-seventh century. There is
no neat name to denote this powerhouse, but it generated a kind of
gravitational field. One further item which both points to its func­
tioning and perhaps thereby gains explication is the helmet of the
notable excavated at Sutton Hoo. Its overall design is ultimately
Sasanian and even the garments worn by the ‘dancing warriors’
shown on the helmet’s decorative plates are identifiable as the uni­
forms of Sasanian warriors.12 The modalities of the appearance of
these designs at Sutton Hoo are lost somewhere in the dynamics of
emulation and exchanges between the two superpowers of the

10 Childebert II, Letter to Patriarch John of Constantinople, ed. W. Gundlach, MGH,

Epistolae III (Berlin, 1892), p. 151.
11 Bede, Historia ecclesiastica gentis anglorum, 4. 1, ed. and trans. B. Colgrave and
R. A. B. Mynors, Bede’s Ecclesiastical History of the English People (Oxford, 1969),
pp. 332-3.
12 J. Campbell, ‘The impact of the Sutton Hoo discovery on the study of Anglo-
Saxon history’, in C. B. Kendall and P. S. Wells (eds.), Voyage to the Other World: The
Legacy of Sutton Hoo, Medieval Studies at Minnesota 5 (Minneapolis, 1992), p. 92 and
p. 100, n. 97.
 EU R O P E A N D T H E W ID ER W ORLD 209

Middle East. But it is these exchanges and the essentially open nature
of the Roman empire’s eastern approaches which made a commonal­
ity of elite culture feasible, and the Sasanian-Byzantine helmet an
object of respect among the East Angles. So long as they lasted, the
claims made for the empire in The Doctrine of Jacob the Newly Bap­
tised made sense: for some while it seemed possible that the ‘humili­
ation’ inflicted first by the Persians, then the Arabs, might be
redressed and that the statues would, as it were, come alive. After
Carthage fell to the Arabs in 698 and the entire North African coast
became enemy territory, Sicily still gave the emperor a base from
which to monitor affairs in the west. And, in the seventh and eighth
centuries, the church and people of Rome still prayed for the
emperor’s dominion to return, ‘more complete’.13

The Mediterranean as a barrier to

east-west travel
Nonetheless, the emperor was diminished once he lost purchase on
the three eastern patriarchates beside Constantinople itself which
had until the mid-seventh century functioned beneath his aegis:
Alexandria, Jerusalem, and Antioch. The lands and small towns now
beneath his sway no longer amounted to a ‘generator’, putting out
waves of sometimes mutually incompatible cultural, religious, and
‘political’ initiatives. Those routes which remained viable for offi­
cials, diplomats, and churchmen towards the end of the seventh
century were more circuitous and hazardous than had ever been
the case in antiquity. The Egnatian Way and other Roman-built
highways were no longer maintained and the proximity of Slavs,
Avars, and other incomers made the land routes unappealing if not
hazardous for the next century and a half. From the seventh century
Slavs’ picking off boats in the Gulf of Corinth and marauding the
outskirts even of important towns such as Patras and Corinth
induced travellers between east and west to take the slower, stormier
route round the southern capes of the Peloponnese. They could

13 Liber diurnus Romanorum pontificum, ed. H. Foerster (Bern, 1958), p. 117, lines
15-17.
210 I JON ATH AN SHEPARD

expect sporadic havens along this route but the hinterland of the
Peloponnese appeared alien to the English-born pilgrim, Willibald,
around 723: his Vita mentions only the stronghold of Monemvasia
as a landfall between Syracuse and the Aegean, and regards it as
lying ‘in the land of Slawinia\ without inklings of imperial rule
there.14
The assaults of unbelievers from every direction and mass-
displacements of Christian people may well have fostered a greater
sense of community among those afflicted. Sicily and many districts
as far north as central Italy harboured individuals and sometimes
whole communities of Greek-speakers. During the seventh and early
eighth centuries, the number of Greek monasteries founded at Rome
rose from nil to eight and until the end of the tenth century, churches
and monastic houses filled or frequented by eastern Christians con­
tinued to be prominent, if not particularly numerous, in and around
Rome. Several persons of eastern origin or Greek background were
installed on the pontifical throne and some were able and active in
sponsoring the copying of manuscripts and spreading the Word.
Thus, Pope Zacharias (741-752) translated into Greek the Dialogues of
Gregory the Great, and these straightforward stories about saints’
lives, wonders, and personal salvation struck a chord. Pope Gregory,
who was apparently revered in the east within a generation o f his
death, became known to Greek-speakers as ‘the Dialogue’. Nonethe­
less, the easterners, esteemed as they were for book learning and
asceticism, were ultimately only guests, whose manners might be
admirable but must not flout basic house rules. One migrant from
the upheavals of the mid-seventh-century eastern Mediterranean,
Theodore of Tarsus, was ordained archbishop of Canterbury as being
well-instructed in Greek, Latin, and both secular and sacred writings.
Yet he had to give up his existing tonsure, shaven ‘after the manner of
the easterners’ and one of the tasks enjoined by the pope on his guide,
Hadrian, in 668 was that Theodore ‘should not introduce any Greek
customs contrary to the true faith’.15 These two Greek-speakers pro­
ceeded to expound the Scriptures and the Greek Fathers to the

14 Huneburc of Heidenheim, Hodoeporicon (Vita Willibaldï), ed. G. H. Pertz, MGH,

SS, XV.i (Hanover, 1887), pp. 93-4; trans. C. H. Talbot, The Anglo-Saxon Missionaries
in Germany (London, 1954), p. 160.
15 Bede, Historia ecclesiastica, 4.1, ed. Colgrave and Mynors, Bede, pp. 330-1.
 EU R O P E A N D T H E W ID ER W ORLD 211

Anglo-Saxons in a distinctively eastern mode, giving pride of place

to rhetoric.
In the seventh and subsequent centuries, the notion that earthly
suffering of communities and the debacles of imperial regimes were
God’s punishment for sins and might actually offer the means to
correction and redemption gained the prominence in the east which
it enjoyed in Latin-speaking regions. It is expressed in the writings of
Anastasius of Sinai and also in the Apocalypse of Pseudo-Methodius,
a work probably written in Arab-dominated Mesopotamia towards
the end of the seventh century. However, for all the points at which
the Apocalypse ‘spoke’ to contemporary Christians elsewhere—
tellingly enough for it to be translated into Latin in the eighth
century—this work contained distinctive eastern features: the Chris­
tian empire would eventually prevail despite the triumphs of other
powers, the ‘Roman’ victor emerging from across the eastern, ‘Ethio­
pian’, sea; and the empire’s indestructibility would be due to its faith
in Christ. The belief remained entrenched in the east, notably among
the ruling elite (including most senior churchmen), that the emperor
had a primary role in guiding men’s souls towards salvation. This was
not an assumption shared by many religious thinkers living in Rome
or further west. Moreover, the very preoccupation of communities
with staving off God’s wrath and propitiating the saints heightened
their concern with the modalities of worship. At a time when com­
munications were difficult and earthly relief forces uncertain, this
opened the door to local idiosyncrasies and downright deviation
from the practices of metropolitan churches. Anxiety about deviant
forms of worship led Emperor Leo III to heed those churchmen who,
in the 720S, maintained that images of Christ and the saints were
idols—and not extensions of the divine to help repulse Saracen
invaders (see Chapters 4 and 5). The Iconoclast Controversy did not,
in itself, draw an insurmountable dividing line between the papacy
and the empire, but it illustrates the divergent ways in which ecclesi­
astical centres were moving. Under pressure of events, each looked to
its own means of salvation, both material and spiritual. At a practical
level, Leo III sought to secure Sicily and Calabria for correct worship
by transferring them, together with Illyricum, away from papal
authority to the Constantinopolitan patriarch’s jurisdiction. This was
tacit recognition that most of Italy and the west lay beyond Leo’s
effective remit.
212 JO N ATH AN SHEPARD

Out-of-body experiences in east and west

Another form of self-help—presenting ordinary folk with an
immediate sense of the next world—underlay an initiative taken by
Gregory the Great. Visions of heaven and hell circulated among east­
ern Christian communities in the first centuries after Christ, elaborat­
ing upon Paul’s vision of Paradise.16 Living on the alert for the world’s
end, Gregory turned stories of journeys to the other side and back
into a popular genre. His Dialogues' fourth book'relates out-of-body
experiences of individuals whose souls had returned with reports of
flowery meadows and fires crackling with real flames. Soon, further
travelogues of souls on the verge of death were composed in the west.
Thus, demons clawed back the winged soul of Barontus which Arch­
angel Raphael was guiding up to heaven, but flight over a monastery
during vespers gave it a decisive upwards boost. And at the end of the
seventh century a Northumbrian layman, Drythelm, was led through
a vale of suffering to ‘a very great w all. . . whose length and height in
every direction seemed altogether boundless’; beyond lay the joyful
mansions of the good but not wholly perfect, and further on still an
extraordinarily beautiful light could be discerned.17 According to
Bede, Drythelm returned to this world with his experiences of the
next.
Travel reports such as this filled in the landscape which theology
left vague. They offered information essential for any mortal and
many more were composed in the Carolingian west, advising how to
avoid the tortures of the damned. Visions of rulers in the next world
became a feature of ninth-century political discourse. A more fun­
damental theme was the value of masses for the dead, held to be
especially potent in relieving the agonies of those in the vale, and this
enhanced the mediating role of the clergy and, above all, monks as
intercessors with this unseen world. So realistic were the reports that
sporadic attempts were made to locate the entrance to the region of
suffering: the twelfth-century Purgatory of St. Patrick made it out to
be in Ireland. More generally venerated as a contact point with the

16 St Paul’s Letter: 2 Cor. 12: 2-4.

17 Bede, Historia ecclesiastica, 5.12, ed. Colgrave and Mynors, Bede, pp. 492-3.
 EU R O P E A N D T H E W ID ER W O RLD 213

next world was the Holy Land, and fascination with ‘the Land of
Promise’ spanned western Christendom. The holy places contained
physical traces of scriptural events and the monuments in this sacred
space offered allegorical hints as to Revealed Truth, intimations of the
ultimate reality. Travellers’ descriptions of biblical landmarks were
avidly collated with what the Scriptures related, partly for guidance in
the re-creation of sacred space, church buildings and especially altars
being charged with symbolism. Some were fired to retrace events of
sacred time for themselves. The early ninth-century scholar Dicuil
recorded a journey of pilgrims whose piety led them beyond Jerusa­
lem to the Nile and the pyramids, or rather ‘the seven barns built by
holy Joseph, according to the number of the years of abundance, four
in one place and three in another’.18 However, for the vast majority of
ordinary persons—peasants—in the west, communication with the
divine through the offices of the priesthood was the norm, as Gregory
the Great had intended.
Gregory’s attempts to dramatize, even sensationalize, the Christian
faith’s message and bring the reality of the next world home to his
flock sprang from pastoral concerns in an insecure, fragmented soci­
ety where a readily intelligible moral lead seemed wanting. His stories
were in no way aimed against the idea of empire and in fact proved
popular in the east, while from the eighth century onwards a Latin
version of the eastern Vision of Paul circulated widely. Yet this sort of
approach to the other side set western piety on a different track from
that of Christians in the east. There, the belief that heaven could be
found on earth and that Constantinople was a kind of New Jerusalem
was no mere conceit of imperial propaganda, but engrained in the
political culture. Visions and reports of trips to heaven tended to
portray it as a well-walled city, housing a yet more splendid version of
the palace in Constantinople, replete with eunuchs and reception
halls. Archangels were customarily portrayed in the garb of the
emperor’s officials. In other words, God’s authority was immanent in
the imperial order. So entrenched was the state’s management of
earthly affairs that the journey of the soul upon leaving the body was
envisaged as a series of halts at ‘customs posts’; demons examined it
with the aid of ledgers of past sins, counterparts of the bureaucracy of

18 Dicuil, Liber de mensura orbis terrae, 6.12, ed. and trans. J. J. Tierney and L. Bieler,
Scriptores Latini Hiberniae 6 (Dublin, 1967), pp. 62-3.
214 JON ATH AN SHEPARD

angels. The Byzantines’ conviction that their forms of worship and

hierarchy reflected the heavenly scheme of things rubbed off on some
outsiders. Rus emissaries sent by Prince Vladimir of Kiev in the 980s
to investigate Byzantine Christianity reported on the service they
attended in Constantinople, ‘We knew not whether we were in
heaven or on earth.. . . We only know that God dwells there among
>19
men.

The eastern empire’s survival tack

The standing alert of the Byzantine rulers in the face of threats from
the east and the influx of Slavs and other ‘barbarians’ into the Bal­
kans made them keenly interested in these peoples from a military
perspective. The Strategikon apparently commissioned by Emperor
Maurice at the end of the sixth century differs from earlier tactical
treatises in devoting a chapter to ‘the tactics and characteristics of
each people’. Maurice shows awareness of the different forms of cul­
ture among ‘the nations’, treating the Persians as virtually on a par
with the Romans, in contrast with loosely organized Slavs. He stresses
the need to adapt, particularly to Slav guerrilla tactics, and he is
explicit about weaponry and techniques borrowed from barbarians,
for example, the short, composite bow and the round ‘Avar-style
tents which are both stately and useful’.20 Iron stirrups, too, were
adopted from the Avars who had, only two or three generations
before Maurice’s time, been sparring with the armies of China. The
empire’s soldiery could no longer count on well-maintained high­
ways to speed them to troublespots, but they could make the most of
their situation and practise fighting in loose formation with the
utmost tactical flexibility. The value of intelligence about enemy
intentions is highlighted by Maurice and this extended to monitoring
goings-on at foreign courts. Constantine V maintained ‘secret
friends’ among the Bulgars to keep abreast of the leaders’ plans and
was swift to react to new links forged between Pippin and the papacy,

19 Povesf Vremennykh Let, ed. V. P. Adrianove-Peretts and D. S. Likhachev (St

Petersburg, 1996), p. 49.
20 Maurice, Strategikon, 1.2, ed. G. T. Dennis; German trans. E. Gammillscheg
(Vienna, 1981), p. 82.
 EU R O P E A N D T H E W ID ER W ORLD | 215

sending an organ—a kingly symbol—and a proposal of marriage

between the emperor’s son and Gisela, daughter of Pippin. A func­
tion of the emperor’s stand-in during his absences from the capital
was ‘to guard against sudden attacks by the enemy . . and in this
connection . . . constantly to write to and receive reports from the
border themes, and to keep an eye on neighbouring hostile peoples’.21
The ruses which a mid-tenth-century treatise, Skirmishing, recom­
mends to regional commanders presuppose that they will often be
facing numerically superior Muslim raiders. Against this background
of insecurity and involuntary contacts, it is understandable that the
‘image’ which the imperial court sought to convey through cere­
monies and other propaganda was one of order. Equally, as a corol­
lary to the relics and hymns which became so prominent in public life
from the early seventh century onwards, strict observance of religious
ritual and doctrine was a tool of survival. Through avoidance of
deviationism the Christians would retain God’s support.
Those who showed too free-ranging a familiarity with the litera­
ture of the pre-Christian past or some affinity for ‘barbarian’ peoples
were apt to incur suspicion, ridicule, or worse from the politico-
ecclesiastical elite prevailing in Constantinople. Patriarch Photius was
castigated for setting his heart on ‘an unsound and sandy foundation,
profane learning’.22 The members of that elite were not above making
major de facto concessions to ‘barbarian’ rulers, as the situation
required. But for this very reason they were disinclined to write it up,
or cause it to be recorded in court literature. Occasionally, disaffected
sources draw attention to what were probably unexceptional modes
of doing business with outsiders. Thus, the iconoclast emperor Leo V
is berated by an icon-venerating chronicler for the way he ratified a
peace treaty with invading Bulgars in 816: the ritual included oaths
sworn over slaughtered dogs, Bulgar-style.23 It is from a treaty
incorporated in the Rus Primary Chronicle that we learn of the

21 Constantine VII Porphyrogenitus, Three Treatises on Imperial Military Expedi­

tions, ed. and trans. J. F. Haldon (Vienna, 1990), pp. 86-7.
22 Nicetas David, Vita Ignatii; P G 105, col. 509.
23 Theophanes Continuatus, 1. 20, ed. I. Bekker (Bonn, 1838), p. 31; D. Sinor, ‘Taking
an oath over a dog cut in two’, Altaic Religious Beliefs and Practices, Proceedings of the
33rd Meeting of the Permanent International Altaistic Conference, Budapest June 24-29,
1990, ed. G. Bethlenfalvy et al. (Budapest, 1992), p. 302, repr. in Sinor’s Studies in
Medieval Inner Asia (Aldershot, 1997), no. 17.
2 16 JO N ATH AN SHEPARD

proviso that a Rus who violates the terms, whether pagan or Chris­
tian, ‘shall merit death by his own weapons and be accursed of God
and of Perun’.24 In fact, these tenth-century treaties are remarkable
testimony not merely to Byzantine officialdom’s acquaintance with
foreigners’ customs but also to their readiness to accommodate them.
Disputes were to be resolved and amends made for crimes in accord­
ance with norms prevailing in the world from which the Rus sprang.
‘Romans’ who fell out with the Rus were subject to' their alien legal
procedures. For example, there was to be a search through their
houses if stolen goods allegedly lay inside and the proprietor refused
to open up, and thieves could be dealt with more summarily than
overt robbers. This accommodation of northerners’ ways reflects
Byzantine anxiety to accustom the Viking Rus to trading as an
expedient road to riches. But it also helps explain why the public
image more commonly projected was of the emperor receiving trib­
ute from foreigners, or parading prisoners-of-war in triumphs redo­
lent of ancient Rome.
The literary convention was to designate foreign peoples by clas­
sical names—partly to keep one’s Greek in high-style ‘Attic’ but also
from reluctance to ascribe to these often amorphous groupings
intrinsic worth or to detach oneself from the cultural landscape
which the classics still provided and which did have things of rele­
vance to teach. Moreover, carrying on with the classical literary order
was a means of mitigating the downturn in Roman affairs since the
days of the ancients. Writers such as Constantine VII were well aware
that their empire had once stretched to the Tigris and the furthest
west and maintained that ‘the emperor of Constantinople rules
the sea as far as the Pillars of Hercules’.25 The Saracens could still
be deemed intruders to whom ‘the war of the Romans with the
Persians gave . . . the opportunity to seize the land’, in the words of
Constantine’s father.26

24 Povesf Vremennykh Let, ed. Adrianova-Peretts and Likhachev, p. 26.

25 Constantine VII, De thematibus, 10, ed. A. Pertusi, Studi e Testi 160 (Rome, 1952),
P- 94-
26 Leo VI, Tactica, XVIII. 110; P G 107, col. 972.
 EU R O P E A N D T H E W ID ER W ORLD 217

Byzantine reports on ‘barbarians’:

the focus narrows
The Byzantine elite, conscious of their empire’s lost territories and
glories, were not inclined to dignify ‘barbaric’ peoples with a
description in high-style Greek—even though many of those carry­
ing out diplomatic missions despatched by the emperor possessed
literary talents. The dearth of such reports after the sixth century is
worth a little further discussion; for it marks the transfiguration of
eastern Christian cultural perspectives after the age of Justinian. It
was in part a question of one’s approach to the seen world. Careful
descriptions and empirical analysis of human events and natural
phenomena as a means to explaining the way of the world had
been the essence of ancient science and historical writing, and they
were already under attack from Cosmas Indicopleustes in the sixth
century. Cosmas denounced the prevailing opinion that the earth
was a sphere as being of pagan origin and contrary to plain good
sense. Instead, he maintained, the sky is draped like a tent over the
flat, stationary earth and above it is another, heavenly, tabernacle
inhabited by God and the angels. Cosmas’ anti-empirical outlook
is an early instance of what became the prevailing orthodoxy in
eastern cosmography. It compounded the disinclination of the
Byzantine elite to describe in detail the differing manners and
mores of those living beyond their own circle. The official line was
that ‘barbarian’ regimes were essentially illegitimate, liable to go
the way of Gelimir’s. But the reticence also sprang from a certain
lack of assurance as to how to discuss barbarians’ ways, both
among individual members of the elite, fearful of being denounced
for deviation or treachery, and engrained in the political culture as
a whole.
Thus, scholars sent on embassies to Baghdad sometimes engaged
in discussions with Muslim sages ranging beyond their brief of dem­
onstrating imperial wisdom and know-how and presenting the case
for Orthodox doctrine against Muslim errors. There is evidence sug­
gesting that John the Grammarian could have obtained astronomical
data while on a mission to Damascus, perhaps readings from the
2i 8 JO N ATH AN SHEPARD

Caliph’s own observatory.27 Such scholarly collaboration would not

have looked good in literary accounts of embassies. Polemics against
Islam were their principal ‘published’ product. Nor were disquisitions
composed of the sort that Priscus of Panium or Menander the
Guardsman had written in, respectively, the later fifth and the later
sixth centuries. Priscus spiced his historical work with an account of
his sojourn at Attila’s camp in 449. Interweaving ethnographical
observations and moral themes in the manner of Herodotus—whose
remarks about the nomad way of life he draws upon—Priscus
recounts conversations with individuals, including an expatriate mer­
chant and a Hunnish chieftain. The expatriate vóices his preference
for the ‘better life’ that he now enjoys as against conditions among
the Romans, where justice is for the rich, taxes are oppressive and
‘since . . . not all men carry weapons, they place their hope of safety in
others and are thus easily destroyed in war’.28 Priscus represents the
chieftain, Onegesius, as rebuffing an invitation to defect: ‘do the
Romans think that . . . I shall betray my master, turn my back upon
my upbringing among the Scyths, my wives and children and think
that slavery to Attila is not preferable to wealth among the
Romans?’29 Portraying ‘barbarians’ as noble savages was a means of
indirectly criticizing or at least putting into a new perspective the
mores of the ‘civilized’ world, and it had precursors reaching back to
Herodotus. More than a century later, Menander the Guardsman
presented the barbarians’ point of view, drawing on diplomats’
accounts of negotiations. The Turkish khagan reportedly put his fin­
gers in his mouth and told an envoy: ‘As now there are ten fingers in
my mouth, so you Romans have used many tongues. Sometimes you
deceive me, sometimes my slaves.. . . To lie is foreign and alien to a
Turk.’30
Barbarian ‘arrogance’ could be depicted in this way so long as the

27 P. Magdalino, ‘The road to Baghdad in the thought-world of ninth-century

Byzantium’, in L. Brubaker (ed.), Byzantium in the Ninth Century: Dead or Alive?
(Aldershot, 1998), pp. 198, 208-10.
28 Priscus, in The Fragmentary Classicising Historians of the Later Roman Empire, ed.
and trans. R. C. Blockley, II (Liverpool, 1983), pp. 268-9; M. Maas, ‘Fugitives and
ethnography in Priscus of Panium’, Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies, 19 (1995),
pp. 146-60.
29 Priscus, in Classicising Historians, ed. and trans. Blockley, II, pp. 274-5.
30 Menander the Guardsman, History, ed. and trans. R. C. Blockley (Liverpool, 1985),
fragment 19.1, pp. 174-5.
 EU R O P E A N D T H E W ID ER W O RLD 219

world still lay at the Romans’ feet. An oration of Agathias maintained

in the 560s that the ‘Ausonian’ traveller could traverse the earth with­
out fear, drinking from a tributary of the Indus or visiting the Pillars
of Hercules: ‘nowhere will you find a region which is foreign . . . but
everywhere you go you will be in the possessions of the wise emperor,
who encompasses the world with his dominion. The Tanais (river
Don) forms a frontier for the continent in vain.’31 A couple of gener­
ations later such bravado would be hard to sustain. Constructing
histories of the emperors’ feats ceased to carry much conviction and
literary representations of diplomatic encounters with barbarians
also went out of fashion: not because they were rare, but because the
improvisation and manoeuvring involved was no longer performed
from a position of strength.
Reports about the borderlands and beyond streamed into the
imperial palace in the tenth century, but focused quite narrowly on
matters of military intelligence and were for the emperor’s eyes only.
It was axiomatic to the emperor’s hegemony that he was better
informed than his subjects about the movements of foreigners in
general. It is no accident that the surviving attempts at panoramas of
foreign peoples emanate from emperors or their research assistants.
The emperor and his staff could pick and choose between incoming
despatches and earlier, ‘canonical’ descriptions of peoples, including
those of Priscus and Menander. But the task of integrating the truths
of the ancients with ephemeral reports was formidable, as witness the
treatise which Constantine VII compiled for his son and heir,
Romanus. The preface sets out his objective—to consider ‘in which
way each nation is able to benefit the Romans, and in which to harm’,
their customs, ‘and the position and climate of the land they
inhabit’.32 Even allowing for Constantine’s deficiencies as a collator,
the gap between design and execution is glaring. No post-sixth-
century overview seems to have been available to supply a framework
and the emperor and his assistants relied on bare narratives of
chronicles for their coverage of such momentous events as the Arabs’
subjugation of the Near East and Spain.
Constantine V II’s De administrando nonetheless reveals how an

31 Agathias, Anthologia Graeca, 4 .3(b), ed. and German trans. H. Beckby, I (Munich,
1965), pp. 248, 250.
32 Constantine VII, De administrando imperio, prooemium, ed. and trans.
G. Moravcsik and R. J. H. Jenkins (Washington, DC, 1967), pp. 44-7.
220 I JON ATH AN SHEPARD

assiduous emperor viewed the world around him. Balkan Slav

groupings liable to come under Bulgarian hegemony receive detailed
coverage. So do northern peoples who have molested Byzantine pos­
sessions recently, the Hungarians, Khazars, and Rus. Special attention
is paid to the Rus, who can be prevented from sailing against ‘this
imperial city of the Romans’ if the emperor courts the Pechenegs.33
The Rus mattered because they could terrorize the capital: peoples
who only harassed outlying possessions were, ultimately, of lesser
consequence. Constantine takes in the length and breadth of the
Mediterranean basin. Little is said about contemporary powers north
of the Alps, and the overall scene is kaleidoscopic. Beyond the
‘imperial city’ and ‘Romania’ swirl motley groupings of marauders.
From a few fixed points their movements are watched and forestalled,
for example, Cherson on the Crimea and strongholds in Armenia.
This defensive stance could involve contacts with faraway peoples,
such as the Alans—potential adversaries of the Khazars—who lived
north of the Caucasus. Extensive mission work had been carried out
among them by Byzantine churchmen earlier in the tenth century.
And Constantine himself oversaw the baptism in his palace of Hun­
garian chieftains and the Rus princess Olga. But developments such
as these could not be smoothly integrated into Constantine’s ideal of
Solomonic kingship and ‘Roman’ dominion, any more than could
the concessions that had, in practice, to be made to outsiders. Con­
stantine’s treatise makes no mention of the treaties with the Rus or
the missionary enterprises which he sponsored.

Christians across the sea: Bishop

Liudprand’s viewpoint
Constantine VII does have positive things to say about one foreign
‘nation’: ‘the Franks’ may at times be brutish or disorderly but
imperial marriages with them were permissible, ‘because of the
longstanding fame and nobility of those lands and peoples’.34 A

33 Constantine VII, De administrando imperio, 2, ed. Moravcsik and Jenkins, pp. 50-1.
34 Constantine VII, De administrando imperio, 13, ed. Moravcsik and Jenkins,
pp. 72-3.
 EU R O P E A N D T H E W ID ER W ORLD 221

comparable sense of affinity was expressed a few years later by a

churchman hailing from Italy. Liudprand of Cremona’s Antapodosis
puts forward a vision of cooperation between the Christian powers of
the Mediterranean world, among whom the emperor to the east is a
distant yet potent figure, sending ships equipped with Greek Fire to
attack one of Liudprand’s bêtes noiresy the Saracens at Fraxinetum.
Liudprand’s work ends with his own visit to the palace ‘surpassing
not only in beauty but also in strength all the strongholds I have ever
seen’,35 and his vignettes of recent imperial history highlight the piety
of the Greeks. Moreover, the compass of his work is not so very
different from Constantine’s De administrando, namely, the Christian
potentates and population centres of the Mediterranean, and the
Saracens and others who harassed them. Nonetheless, to Liudprand
the Greeks are strangers as well as brothers and the details which he
offers serve partly as a kind of background briefing for the Spanish
bishop to whom the Antapodosis is dedicated and for members of the
German elite among whom he is writing. Otto I and his fellow-Saxons
were virtual novices to the power play in the Mediterranean world,
but even magnates further south were probably worse informed about
Byzantium than their Carolingian predecessors had been.
The closure of most land routes to the east by the Hungarians from
the end of the ninth century had compounded the hazards which
travellers anyway faced at sea. The seizure of Byzantine Crete by
Muslim adventurers in 824-827 and the Muslims’ gradual reduction
of Byzantine Sicily and seizure of enclaves along the Calabrian and
Campanian coasts made the Mediterranean more of a Muslim lake
than ever before. The Byzantine reconquest of other portions of
southern Italy from the mid-870s onwards did not really make up for
the higher risks and costs that now beset the traveller. It was from the
later ninth century on that ‘the sons of Ishmael ruled the waves and
preyed on all the gulfs, beaches and promontories’.36 For this epoch
evidence of sea journeys between the Latin west and the Byzantine
lands is sparsest. Thus, Liudprand was writing after the obstacles to
direct east-west contacts had proliferated. Not all the manifold

35 Liudprand of Cremona, Antapodosis, V. 21, in Opera Omniayed. P. Chiesa, Corpus

Christianorum, Continuatio mediaevalis 156 (Turnhout, 1998), p. 135; trans. F. A.
Wright, The Works of Liudprand of Cremona (London, 1930), p. 190.
36 Osios Loukas: O bios tou osiou Louka tou Steiriote (Life of St Luke the Steiriote), 3,
ed. D. S. Sophianos (Athens, 1989), p. 160.
222 JO N ATH AN SHEPARD

strands linking the central Mediterranean with Byzantium were cut.

Senior officials, soldiers, and churchmen made the journey to and
from administrative bases and ecclesiastical centres in southern Italy
in sizeable numbers and the Italian-born Patriarch Nicholas Mysticus
kept up links with friends and relations as far north as Rome. More­
over, the very challenge of the Muslim predators fostered a certain
sense of commonality between eastern and western Christian poten­
tates. Emperor Theophilus was invoking this in 841 after the Saracens
began to seize Sicily, in an attempt to bestir Emperor Lothar to
combined operations against them.
To some extent, then, Liudprand belonged to a series of writers and
statesmen whose sense of the common beliefs of the Christians in
east and west—of ‘Christendom’ —was sharpened by the obtrusive
Muslim presence in the central Mediterranean region. But the
sequence is fitful and on those occasions when joint operations came
close to implementation, mishaps were liable to open up broader
issues of relative status and degrees of romanitas. Thus, Emperor
Louis II and Basil I traded insults concerning a recent debacle at Bari
even while plans were being laid for further liaison against the Sara­
cens. Carolingian accounts of visits to Constantinople such as Ama-
larius of Trier’s are cursory about the place itself, although eloquent
about the sea voyage’s hazards.37 In contrast, Liudprand’s Antapodosis
treats goings-on in the basileus’ court with mawkish fascination,
almost as if he had alighted on a ‘lost world’, half-familiar from
history books. Liudprand and his presumed audience were eager to
update their acquaintance with the Greeks and arrivistes such as his
lord, Otto I, were impatient to exchange respects and formalize rela­
tions. But eagerness and unfamiliarity with the Greeks’ ways could
themselves lead to misunderstandings and reactions such as those
vented by Liudprand after his bid to gain a porphyrogenita for Otto I’s
son was rebuffed in 968. Now the different—‘effeminate’ —clothing,
manners, and lifestyles of the eastern elite became objects of re­
proach, the inverse of the plain-living, soldierly ways of Liudprand’s
Saxon masters.38

37 Amalarius of Trier, Versus maritimi, MGH, Poetae latini aevi carolini I (Berlin,
1881), pp. 426-8.
38 Liudprand of Cremona, Relatio de Legatione Constantinopolitana, 12, 37, in Opera
Omnia, ed. Chiesa, pp. 192-3, 203; trans. Wright, The Works of Liudprand of Cremona,
pp. 225, 256-7.
 EU R O P E A N D T H E W ID ER W ORLD | 223

Views from the fringes: Orosius,

Isidore, Bede
Liudprand’s accounts of Byzantium and the Mediterranean world
were written from the point of view of a royal employee. If Liudprand
was answerable to Otto I, many of the western Christian recorders of
contacts with ‘others’, narrators of travels or expounders of the
‘nature of things’ were neither writing directly in the entourage of a
king nor much taken with the vagaries of the seen world. There is
diversity and fluctuation in the places where they wrote, a ‘polycen­
trism’ which ceased to characterize the eastern empire. This does not,
of course, amount to ‘multiculturalism’ or moral relativism; the out­
look even of those few writers about ‘outsiders’ who were not them­
selves monks or churchmen was unimpeachably Christian. But the
fact remains that there was no lasting western equivalent of the near­
monopoly on ‘higher’ literary activity and political power over which
the basileus presided in Constantinople. In the archipelago of power
clusters and writing- and copying-points which stretched across the
west, there was a multiplicity of shifting affinities, many of them
unarticulated and local or familial, others still casting an eye back at
the overarching framework provided by the emperor’s rule at Con­
stantinople. As late as the mid-eighth century, popes were dating their
letters by the eastern empire’s regnal years, yet by that time the pap­
acy itself was regarded in many of the more influential quarters of the
west as the repository of collections of canon law and arbiter of good
religious teaching. Individual attempts were made to make sense of
current events and to reconcile them with the received wisdom of
privileged texts, the Scriptures and other ‘sacred’ writings, on the one
hand, and what could be culled from the mass of information and
exegesis left by pre-Christian writers, on the other. Considering the
lack of hierarchical supervision and diversity of milieux in which
these attempts were made, the disagreements and rivalries are less
noteworthy than the coherence attained. The Christian consensus
was largely self-imposed, bolstered by respect for written ‘authority’.

This respect is apparent in the first major exegesis of events since the
Creation to be made from a Christian point of view. Orosius, writing
224 JON ATH AN SHEPARD

his Histories against the Pagans in the early fifth century, sought to
show God’s hand at work in current events. In response to the allega­
tion of pagans—‘strangers from the City of God’ —that the Christian
religion had brought on ‘the disasters of the present day’, he sought
to demonstrate that ‘men’s misery started with original sin’.39 Yet he
accepts the organization of space made by ‘the pagan ancients’ and
offers their (not wholly consistent) versions of the world divided into
three parts. The Mediterranean is at the heart of rtia.tters, its towns,
islands, and adjoining provinces being described in some detail;
beyond live ‘the nations’ (gentes), fifty-four of them in Europe which
stretches from the Don in the east to the northern part of the ocean
and thus includes a sizeable portion of the barbaricum.40 Orosius’
outline was not original, save in the way it consistently viewed the
world from east to west, recognizing perhaps the Christian signifi­
cance of this orientation. But this made his exhaustive historical
account more accessible to readers lacking direct experience of the
Mediterranean world, and before long it was being copied and circu­
lated north of the Alps. Northern readers would find little about their
own lands in Orosius’ pages, but the careful sets of directions were of
value for communities and scholars still trying to find themselves and
creating their own ‘micro-Christianities’.
A further reason for Orosius’ resonance lay in his ambivalence. He
was writing only just after serious fissures had appeared in the
imperial order, and his Histories were intended to prove that Christi­
anity brought greater benefits to emperors than paganism had done.
But at the same time, following St Augustine to whom he dedicated
his work, he declared prime allegiance to the City of God, and could
interpret all earthly disasters as corrective measures necessary for
bringing men closer to salvation. The very omissions of Orosius
made his scheme of things more malleable to those seeking to bolster
their own regimes and to Christian apologetics: his survey does not
even mention Constantinople as an imperial city and he does not
treat the empire as key to salvation.

39 Orosius, Historiarum adversum paganos libri vii, Prologue 9, 13; 1. 4, ed. and
French trans. M.-P. Arnaud-Lindet, I (Paris, 1990), pp. 8, 9, 10; English trans. I.
Raymond, The Seven Books of History against the Pagans: The Apology of Paulus Orosius
(New York, 1936), pp. 30,32.
40 Orosius, Historiarum libri vii, 1. 52-4, ed. Arnaud-Lindet, I, pp. 24-5; trans. Ray­
mond, Seven Books of History, pp. 34-5.
 EU R O P E A N D T H E W ID ER W ORLD | 225

Some of the other most effective theorizers as to the meaning of

earthly things and their place in time and space wrote, like Orosius,
on or beyond the fringes of effective imperial dominion, and did not
place much weight on the empire or its bouts of Reconquista. Isidore
of Seville was, like Orosius, combative and his numerous written
works, among them the De natura rerum and the uncompleted Ety­
mologiae, were just one facet of his strivings as bishop of Seville and
counsellor to Visigothic kings in the early seventh century. Drawing
on numerous classical as well as Christian works, he put a Christian
gloss on all objects, observations, and calculations known to man,
supplying diagrams of, for example, the elements, the terrestrial
world (made up, as for Orosius, of Asia, Europe, and Africa) and the
five zones of heaven: ‘let us imagine .. . [the zones] as our right hand
in such a way that the thumb is the arctic circle . . .; the little finger
the antarctic circle’.41 Isidore offered a kind of ‘rule-of-thumb’ guide
to the divine unity behind the apparent confusion of things for per­
sons enjoying little access to stocks of books or conversation about
abstractions. Knowledge is not upheld for its own sake, any more
than is open-ended speculation and not all the data is accurate. But
Isidore allows for inquisitiveness and his assemblage of classical and
biblical concepts and lore intermingled with disquisitions on every­
day things was voluminous enough to function like a kind o f ‘floating
observatory’ in space. It is, so to speak, programmed not only to
answer queries, iron out errors, and set the course but also to supply
checklists against which new and alien-seeming phenomena can be
evaluated and categorized in terms of Christian allegory. The ‘obser­
vatory’ is not tied to a single fixed geographical centre—although it
places the earthly Paradise in Asia—and the intended universality of
its application made it transferable to a variety of milieux, from
king’s courts to bookman’s cells. For all his vaunted intimacy with
the workings of everything and glorification of Spain as ‘queen of all
provinces’,42 Isidore was himself something of a migrant, trying to
provide for the unpredictable. To far-flung scholars and wielders of

41 Isidore, De natura rerum, io. i, ed. and French trans. J. Fontaine, Isidore de Seville:
Traité de la nature, Bibliothèque de l’École des Hautes Études Hispaniques 28
(Bordeaux, i960), p. 209.
42 Isidore, Historia Gothorum, Wandalorum Sueborum, MGH, Auctores Antiquissimi
XI (Berlin, 1894), p. 267; trans. K. B. Wolf, Conquerors and Chroniclers of Early Medieval
Spain (Liverpool, 1990), p. 81.
226 I JO N ATH AN SHEPARD

earthly power, Isidore offered a kind of ‘hitch-hiker’s guide’ to the

cosmos.
One such reader and, in part, copier of Isidore’s works lived on the
outermost fringes of the western lands. The Venerable Bede spent
nearly all his life in Wearmouth-Jarrow, at work on Bible commen­
taries, the computation of sacred time, and the Ecclesiastical History of
the English People. This is basically a story of how ‘outsiders’ became
‘insiders’: Anglo-Saxon leaders, descendants of Germanic invaders,
were one by one converted to Christianity, whether by missionaries
or fellow-kings, and led their people into membership of the ‘uni­
versal Church’ under the headship o f ‘the Apostolic See’ (see Chapter
4). It was not inevitable that the various Anglo-Saxon warrior-elites
would alike accept the form of Christian belief and observance on
offer from so far away, as against the looser-knit ways embodied by
Celtic holy men such as Aidan. Moreover, the seventh century was
precisely the time when the Byzantine-Sasanian symbiosis collapsed
and the eastern Mediterranean lost much of its ‘locomotive’ power,
in political, cultural, and economic terms. There is little doubt that
this had a dulling effect on commerce between the Mediterranean
and lands north of the Alps. Now, centres of political gravity and
trading zones were forming around the North Sea instead, and
although the Christian cult soon gained high-placed adherents after
the arrival of Augustine’s mission in England in 597, this might have
served to aggravate rivalries and consolidate divisions between the
miscellaneous kings and aspirant kings. Bede was, in effect, celebrat­
ing the fact that this did not happen and that the ‘universal’ way
prevailed. One of his History s most dramatic scenes is set at Whitby,
the debate between advocates of the Celtic and Roman positions over
‘the observance of Easter and the rules of ecclesiastical life’. The
speech put into Wilfrid’s mouth invokes the Easter observance main­
tained in various far-away places, besides Rome itself, and witnessed
by Wilfrid with his own eyes.43 His arguments are represented as
carrying the day, and it was Bede’s own De ratione temporum that
would put a scholarly full stop to the controversy.

43 Bede, Historia ecclesiastica, 3. 25, ed. Colgrave and Mynors, Bede, pp. 300-7.
 EU R O P E A N D T H E W ID ER W O RLD 227

Travelling and converting

Travel or communications feature in about a quarter of the chapters
of Bede’s History. Many of the contacts which he records with
approval are to do with the Christian Mediterranean world. But he
also proclaims the moral worth of ‘preaching to the Gentiles’, mis­
sion work among the Germanic peoples on the Continent, ‘from
whom the Angles and Saxons . . . are known to derive their origin’.44
Representing one’s subject matter as a kind of chosen ‘people’ whose
origins lay far away was a commonplace among the historians of
emerging polities in the early middle ages.45 Bede takes the theme
further and devotes several chapters to Anglo-Saxon priests’ ‘apos­
tolic work’ among the inhabitants of Frisia and further inland. Two of
them, both named Hewald, who were put to death are treated as
martyrs by Bede, and their miracles are recorded.
The dynamic for travel could be directed ‘inwards’ or ‘outwards’
more or less interchangeably, the journey itself and the attendant
perils and detachment from earthly commitments being at least as
important as the arrival. Thus, the priest Egbert is depicted as resolv­
ing to sail to the German peoples to see ‘whether he could deliver any
of them from Satan’ or, ‘if this could not be done, to go to Rome
and . . . worship at the shrines of the holy apostles and martyrs of
Christ’.46 The notion of venerating faraway relics and undergoing
trials if not ‘martyrdom’ for their sake was closely allied to that of
conversion work. Such an outlook was not unique to the north­
western islands. It features in the Life of Amandus, who c.630 crossed
to the Slavs on the far side of the Danube ‘greatly hoping that he
might win the palm of martyrdom’.47 He travelled round ‘freely
preaching the Gospel’ in a language which his hagiographer does not
specify. But the sense that a life of constant wandering and depri­
vation was a higher form of devotion pervaded Celtic Christianity
with peculiar intensity. St Patrick expressed it thus: T am a slave in

44 Bede, Historia ecclesiastica, 5. 9, ed. Colgrave and Mynors, Bede, pp. 476-7.
45 See Introduction, pp. 7-8.
46 Bede, Historia ecclesiastica, 5. 9, ed. Colgrave and Mynors, Bede, pp. 476-7.
47 Vita S. Amandi, 16, ed. B. Krusch, MGH, Scriptores rerum merovingicarum V
(Hanover, 1910), p. 440.
228 JON ATH AN SHEPARD

Christ to a foreign people for the ineffable glory of the everlasting life
which is in Christ.’48
Such sentiments found wide resonance and help explain a para­
doxical feature of the north-western approaches of the former
Roman empire. Communications grew more arduous as the north’s
commercial ties with the Mediterranean world frayed and travellers
across the Frankish lands faced hefty tolls from royal officials and
poorly maintained roads and bridges. These obstacles and endemic
risks of violence seem actually to have stimulated a significant num­
ber of individuals, many of them monks, to make a virtue of travel­
ling as being a form of suffering for Christ. The English-born monk
Boniface’s self-identification with the early Christian martyrs was
finally vindicated when he and his companions were put to death by
pagan Frisians in 754. But combining enthusiasm for saving heathens’
souls with a vision of an enlightened order anchored in the Mediter­
ranean world was not the prerogative of activists of Boniface’s stamp
alone. It informs a letter written to him in the early years of his
evangelizing by Bishop Daniel of Winchester (see Chapter 4).49
Daniel writes as a member of this ‘Christian world’, although his own
see lies far from lands yielding olives or, even, vines in abundance.
Such zest for the wider community overrode the geo-political
obstacles and allowed for the inclusion of others, not merely the
Saxons of whom Boniface remarked that ‘we are of one blood and
one bone’,50 but also the Slavs and Avars. In this way, enthusiasm for
ancient, authoritative centres of piety and learning together with the
spiritual interpretation placed upon travel could fuse, and impel
individuals and small groups of monks outwards. The tendency for
the ‘inwards’ —or ‘backwards’ —looking aspirations of the northern­
ers to spawn contacts, not always intended, with other peoples, living
north of the vine line and beyond the old Roman borders, is a
defining characteristic of Latin Christendom in the early middle ages.
The papacy was pre-eminent as a kind of ‘exemplary centre’, exert­
ing allure upon those whose Christianity was relatively new-found

48 Letter, 10, in St. Patrick: His Writings and Muirchus Life, ed. and trans. A. B. E.
Hood (London, 1978), pp. 36, 57. See also Chapter 4, pp. 145-6.
49 Boniface, Epistolae, no. 23, ed. M. Tangl, Die Briefe des heiligen Bonifatius und
Lullus, MGH, Epistolae Selectae 1 (Berlin, 1916), p. 40; trans. E. Emerton, The Letters of
Saint Boniface, 2nd edn. (New York, 2000), p. 28.
50 Boniface, Epistolae, no. 46, ed. Tangl, pp. 74-5; trans. Emerton, p. 53.
 EU R O P E A N D T H E W ID ER W ORLD 229

and who were conscious of the amorphousness of their local church

structures. Popes were ready enough to remind potentates of St
Peter’s standing as ‘prince of the apostles’ and of other churches’ debt
to his successors. Leo II informed the Visigothic king Erwig that
‘from this holy apostolic Church . . . all lands, including your lord­
ship’s, have arrived at knowledge of the Truth and the way of Life’.51
Individual popes showed a feel for the local customs and preoccupa­
tions of converts. Thus, Nicholas I dealt patiently with Khan Boris of
Bulgaria’s anxieties as to whether the Bulgars’ garments were in
keeping with Christian worship and how to reconcile the new
religion with his conduct of war.52 Nicholas and his successors
showed interest in the Byzantine brothers, Constantine-Cyril and
Methodius, who had translated passages of the Scriptures and litur­
gical texts into Slavonic during their mission to Moravia during the
mid-86os: they were invited to Rome in 867. Methodius was later
made archbishop of ‘the Pannonians’. But while these and other
gestures of interest in evangelization carried weight, they were made
largely in response to the initiatives of local rulers such as Boris, or in
competition with the Byzantines, whose claims to Illyricum rankled.
The papacy laid claim to an ‘apostolic’ role in relation to the Slavs as
to other peoples, but there is no evidence of systematic training of
preachers in Rome or a ‘missionary strategy’. On the whole, popes’
perspectives were still orientated along the traditional axes of the
Mediterranean world. When papal apologists sought to formulate a
position in the later eighth century, they concocted it in the form of
an imperial decree. The places allegedly handed over to Pope Syl­
vester by Constantine the Great comprise his palace, the city of
Rome, and ‘all the provinces, districts and towns of Italy and the
western regions’.53 There is no mention of the north, although the
document was drafted while relations between popes and Frankish
rulers were intensifying.

51 Leoni Papae Epistulae, no. 7; PL 96, col. 418.

52 Nicholas I, Responsa, MGH, Epistolae VI (Berlin, 1925), pp. 579-82, 585, 587-8,
590-1, 593.
53 Constitutum Constantini, 17, ed. H. Fuhrmann, M GH Fontes iuris Germanici
antiqui in usum schol. 10 (Hanover, 1968), p. 93.
230 JO N ATH AN SHEPARD

Charlemagne’s ambit
Rome and Constantinople held a place in the thought-world of the
mightiest of Frankish rulers, Charlemagne. His biographer records
that he almost doubled the extent of the realm he had inherited
while a later eulogist observed that peoples ‘whose names the
Romans had not known’ came under his sway.54 At war for much of
his reign, Charlemagne displayed overlordship by sending spoils to
offshore rulers and subsidies to the patriarch and other Christians
living in Jerusalem. The Irish kings who received his ‘gifts’ ‘called
themselves his slaves and subjects’.55 Charlemagne’s building projects
sometimes evoked eastern or ancient imperial monuments. His
church of the Virgin at Aachen had an eastern-style plan while his
bridge across the Rhine at Mainz mirrored Roman emperors’
responsibility for communications. Charlemagne’s testament
bespeaks fascination with two cities. On one of the silver tables
mentioned therein was engraved a map of Constantinople, while
another showed the city of Rome. A third depicting the cosmos was
perhaps the subject of Theodulf of Orleans’ verses on a ‘picture, in
which the image of the earth was rendered in the form of a circle’.56
Charlemagne and his contemporaries supposed a connection
between these cities and the universe: the cities brought focus to
God’s creation, even while gaining significance from it. Not sur­
prisingly, Charlemagne’s own court was sometimes labelled a ‘new
Rome’.
Such belief in the court’s God-given centrality was not absurd
and Charlemagne’s Aachen palace complex remained pivotal through
the reign of his son, Louis the Pious. Their respective sons and other
agents had to forward envoys ‘from outside peoples’ to them, without

54 Einhard, Vita Karoli Magni, 15, ed. G. Waitz, MGH, Scriptores rerum germanicarum
(Hanover-Leipzig, 1911), p. 17; trans. P. E. Dutton, Charlemagne's Courtier (Peterbor­
ough, Ontario, 1998), p. 25; Poeta Saxo, Annalium de gestis Caroli Magni Imperatoris
libri quinque, MGH, Poetae latini aevi carolini IV.i (Berlin, 1899), p. 70.
55 Einhard, Vita Karoli Magni, 16, ed. Waitz, p. 19; trans. Dutton, Charlemagne's
Courtier, pp. 25-6.
56 Theodulf of Orleans, Carmina, MGH, Poetae latini aevi carolini I (Berlin, 1881),
P- 547-
 EU R O P E A N D T H E W ID ER W ORLD 23I

attempting diplomacy for themselves.57 Southern borders in Italy

were demarcated grandly with boundary markers. Religious missions
were sent out, such as Anskar’s to Sweden, while much was made of
Louis’ role as converter. The Danish king Harald’s ceremonial bap­
tism looms large in Ermoldus Nigellus’ portrayal of Louis’ court:
‘Realms of their own accord now seek you, which neither powerful
Rome nor Frankish laws could subjugate. You keep them all in the
name of Christ, father.’58 Charlemagne had nursed a vision of general
‘peace’, enforced by himself alone in fulfilment of God’s will. Charle­
magne’s notion of bringing this about through a single law code—
reminiscent of ancient Rome or Byzantium—failed to take off. But a
standard ‘computus’ was probably compiled soon after consultations
at his court in 809 and it circulated widely. Drawing on Isidore, Pliny,
and especially Bede, it gives instructions on how to calculate Easter,
an account of the six ages of world history, the number of years since
the Creation and Incarnation, and copious astronomical data.
Concerns with time and place were closely allied and several
attempts at describing the world were made at Carolingian courts.
Here, too, the aim was to provide definitive guidelines, creating a
‘canonical geography’ from the welter of information in earlier writ­
ings. Hraban Maur’s On the Nature of Things offered an allegorical
explanation for phenomena, placing Jerusalem at the centre of the
earth and focusing on the reality behind the seen world, much as
Cosmas Indicopleustes and eastern cosmographers did. Other writers
were content to delineate the surface of the earth, reworking author­
ities such as ‘the book of the blessed presbyter Orosius and the book
of the lord bishop Isidore’.59 One or two put old texts to new uses,
notably the Irish-born Dicuil at Louis the Pious’ court in his quest for
precise measurements. His curiosity occasionally led him to cite eye­
witness reports, not only about the ‘barns’ of Joseph (above, p. 213)
but also the ends of the earth, Ultima Thule. Dicuil notes that around
the summer solstice the setting sun ‘hides itself as though behind a

57 ‘ab exteris nationibus’, Ordinatio imperii, c. 8, ed. A. Boretius, MGH, Capitularia

regum Francorum I (Hanover, 1883), no. 136, p. 272.
58 Ermoldus Nigellus, In honorem Hludovici, ed. and French trans. E. Farai, Ermold le
Noir (Paris, 1964), p. 190, lines 2517-19.
59 Situs orbis terrae vel regionum, ed. P. Gautier Dalché, ‘Situs orbis terre vel
regionum: Un traité de géographie inédit du haut Moyen Âge (Paris, B.N. latin 4841)’,
Revue d ’Histoire des Textes, 12-13 (1982-3), p. 162 (praefatio), repr. in his Géographie et
culture: La Représentation de Vespace du Vie au XII siècle (Aldershot, 1998), no. 3.
232 I JO N ATH AN SHEPARD

small hill in such a way that there was no darkness . . . and a man
could do whatever he wished as though the sun were there, even
remove lice from his shirt’. Dicuil corrects earlier writers who main­
tained that the sea was permanently frozen around Thule (probably
Iceland) from the autumnal to the spring equinoxes, although his
clerical informants assured him that ‘one day’s sail north of that
[island] they did find the sea frozen over’.60 Dicuil was far from alone
in his curiosity: he owed these observations to others. He thus lets slip
how much was noted at Carolingian courts yet never placed on the
written record.
Charlemagne’s lead made curiosity about distant goings-on
respectable, although the data was not codified for its own sake. Thus,
in his Commentary on Matthew’s Gospel, Christian of Stablo shows
awareness of the respective conversions of the Bulgars and the
Khazars to Christianity and Judaism in the 86os.&1 A generation later
in Wessex some of the blanks in Orosius’ description of the world
were filled in with information brought to King Alfred’s court by a
Norwegian, Ohthere. At Alfred’s behest, the Anglo-Saxon translator
of Orosius recounted Ohthere’s voyage round the North Cape ‘to
find out how far the land extended due north, or whether anyone
lived to the north of the unpopulated area’.62 Sailing directions and
the peoples and creatures of the White Sea region were thought
worth describing. Such interest was quite compatible with con­
ventional piety and veneration of traditional shrines. Alfred, himself
the translator of Boethius, journeyed to Rome—leaving his name in a
commemorative book in Brescia63—and corresponded with Patriarch
Elias of Jerusalem, seeking his advice about medicinal remedies.64 But
these diverse initiatives also suggest how the Christian west was
developing in permutations unlike those of Byzantium or imperial
Rome. Veneration for older seats of learning and sanctity fused with

60 Dicuil, Liber de mensura orbis, 7 .11,13 , ed. and trans. Tierney and Bieler, pp. 74-5.
61 Christian of Stablo, Expositio in Matthaeum; PL, 106, col. 1456; L. S. Chekin,
‘Christian of Stavelot and the Conversion of Gog and Magog’, Russia Mediaevalis, 9
(1997)» PP-13- 34-
62 Ohthere’s Account in Two Voyagers at the Court of King Alfred, ed. and trans.
N. Lund and C. E. Fell (York, 1984), p. 18.
63 S. Keynes, ‘Anglo-Saxon Entries in the “ Liber Vitae” of Brescia’, in J. Roberts, J. L.
Nelson, and M. Godden (eds.), Alfred the Wise: Studies in Honour of Janet Bately on her
Sixty-Fifth Birthday (Cambridge, 1997), pp. 107-16 .
64 J. Harris, ‘Wars and rumours of wars: England and the Byzantine world in the
eighth and ninth centuries’, Mediterranean Historical Review, 14 (1999), pp. 37-9.
 EU R O P E A N D T H E W ID ER W ORLD 233

explicit admiration for travel and with travellers’ tales as sources of

information. Such tendencies were fostered by the proliferation of
courts and cultural centres in the west in the generations following
Charlemagne. Itinerant kingship and the need for precisely calculated
distances gave rulers different viewpoints from that of the emperor
on the Bosphorus. In the meantime the ‘trickledown’ of literacy
equipped relatively humble writers to commemorate local encounters
with pagans and to record depredations of ‘pirates’ and other raiders
against fellow-Christians further afield.
This commonality of faith and key texts was not coterminous with
a particular regime or dependent on specific frontiers. Nor did it
radiate exclusively from any one city or cultural centre. Nowhere
could the survival of scholarship or learning be taken for granted:
Alcuin could describe himself as ‘battling daily against ignorance in
Tours’.65 Yet the very lack of territoriality of these shifting centres
implied resilience and potential for expansion. Karl Leyser pointed
out that in the later eighth century Europa, a classical term not much
used previously, came to be applied to the dominions of Charle­
magne.66 Its vagueness and elasticity denoted Charlemagne’s ambit
more aptly than references to ‘new Rome’ or any other purportedly
central point. Charlemagne himself allowed for diversity amongst his
subjects even in his Admonitio generalis. While recommending certain
canons from the Dionysio-Hadriana, he also suggested that bishops
use ‘whatever others you know to be necessary’.67 Aiming for Chris­
tian hegemony, he acknowledged in practice the polycentric nature of
his dominions and fostered a unique politico-cultural configuration.
If the liturgies sung in western churches remained strikingly varied
towards the end of the ninth century, Europas approaches were no
less conspicuously exposed to the hit-and-run raiding of Vikings and
others. It was hard to maintain effective control points, not least near
waterways where the Vikings were in their element. This was as true
of peaceful contacts as of defence-works, and such capitularies as that

65 Alcuin, Epistolae, no. 172, ed. E. Dümmler, MGH, Epistolae IV (Berlin, 1895),
p. 285.
66 K. Leyser. ‘Concepts of Europe in the early and high middle ages’, repr. in Leyser’s
Communications and Power in Medieval Europe, ed. T. Reuter (London, 1994), pp. 6-8.
67 Admonitio generalis, ed. A. Boretius, MGH, Capitularia regum Francorum I
(Hanover, 1883), no. 22, p. 54; R. McKitterick, ‘Unity and diversity in the Carolingian
church’, Studies in Church History, 32 (1995), pp. 59-82, at p. 81. See also Chapter 5.
234 JON ATH AN SHEPARD

issued in Thionville in 805 ban the sale of ‘arms and armour’68 to the
Slavs and others. It is likely that these regulations and the raids them­
selves are mere outcrops of diverse contacts towards which few parti­
cipants were inclined to draw attention—exchanges of Europas
manufactures and slaves for goods from far to the north and east.
Tating-style pitchers are found in emporia ranging from England to
Dorestad (where over fifty vessels are attested), Hedeby, Birka, and
Staraia Ladoga. Produced in several kiln centres they represent fairly
high-value exchanges.69 Finds of what seem to be European-made
glass-beads in Scandinavian emporia and east of the Baltic hint at
wider nexuses of exchanges of beads for furs. That trade reached still
further east is shown by finds of swords along such riverways as the
Dnieper and Volga. Some have blades inscribed with western work­
shops’ names, most commonly ‘Ulfbehrt’. Ibn Khurradadhbih
regarded swords as a principal commodity o f the Rus while another
ninth-century Baghdad-based writer, al-Kindi, described in detail
‘Frankish’ swords that seemingly reached the Muslim world via the
Rus lands.70
That Carolingian Europa was far from ‘leakproof’ does not betoken
overall ‘weakness’, any more than finds of Roman weaponry in Dan­
ish peat-bogs diminish imperial Rome. Rather this points to the
repute of manufactures issuing from the Rhineland and the vitality of
exchanges that brought Muslim silver to the Baltic and still further
west in the ninth and tenth centuries. Since much of the carrying
trade was left to Frisian-based vessels or Scandinavians on seaways
remote from writing centres, few clerically minded writers had cause
to describe it. They were more apt to chronicle—for moralizing
purposes—the failures, when the authorities were worsted by
Vikings, flagrant challengers to the Christian order of things. The
effect is to obscure the substratum of regular exchanges and widely
diffused wealth upon which these raiders preyed.

68 Capitulare missorum in Theodonis villa datum secundum, generale, c. 7, ed.

A. Boretius, MGH, Capitularia regum Francorum I, no. 44, p. 123.
69 R. Hodges, The Hamwih Pottery: The Local and Imported Wares from 30 Years'
Excavations at Middle Saxon Southampton and their European Context (Southampton,
1981), pp. 64-8.
70 Ibn Khurradadhbih, Kitab al-Masalik wa’l Mamalik [Book of Ways and Realms],
ed. T. Lewicki, Zródla arabskie do dziejów slowianszczysny I (Wroclaw—Cracow, 1956),
pp. 76-7; A. N. Kirpichnikov, Drevnerusskoe oruzhie, I (Moscow-Leningrad, 1966),
p. 46 and n. 199.
 EU R O P E A N D T H E W ID ER W ORLD 235

The keen interest which Scandinavian ‘kings’, war-bands, and bar-

terers showed in Europa is ultimately a tribute to the magnetism
which it exerted. Their ability to conduct surprise raids presupposed
close familiarity with currents, beaches, and locations of population
centres. This had probably more often been gained from prior trad­
ing contacts than systematic spying. Youthful members of Scandina­
vian elites sought loot, fame, and status from expeditions and the
value of slaves as commodities gave an extra incentive for raiding. But
these enterprises were variants of many less glamorous attempts by
outsiders to partake of the Christian west’s wealth and aura, through
trading or placing their martial talents at the service of western
employers. Louis the Pious’ baptism of King Harald was only
the most feted of numerous receptions of Scandinavian ‘royalty’ at
Carolingian courts: sometimes the newcomers were assigned coastal
districts to defend.71 There were probably many other commen­
dations and deals at lowlier levels.
The missions to Scandinavia formally sponsored by Carolingian
rulers had little immediate impact. More headway was made among
the Slavs of central Europe, aided by the relative ease of access and the
penumbra of Carolingian power. Their leaders sought spiritual as
well as political confirmation from Frankish rulers as the groups of
stone churches excavated in Moravian strongholds bear witness. But
the leaders’ miscellaneous connections with Frankish nobles and
royal malcontents could subvert. Rastislav was placed in charge of the
Moravians by Louis the German in 846, yet he proved wayward and
fended off a punitive expedition of Louis in 855. By the early 860s he
was requesting a bishop successively from the papacy and the Byzan­
tine emperor, and the latter démarche elicited the mission headed
by Constantine-Cyril and Methodius. Rastislav was looking for
an alternative ecclesiastical structure to that provided by the east
Frankish bishoprics. Other ecclesiastical centres were within his
reach. The ‘patriarchate’ of Aquileia, for example, carried out mission
work in Carinthia and the names of Moravian notables feature in the
Cividale monastery’s Gospel Book.72 However, it was Bavarian

71 S. Coupland, ‘From poachers to gamekeepers: Scandinavian warlords and

Carolingian kings’, Early Medieval Europe, 7 (1998), pp. 85-114.
72 O. lu m a, ‘Great Moravia’s trade contacts with the eastern Mediterranean and the
mediating role of Venice’, Byzantinoslavicay46 (1985), pp. 75-6.
236 I JO N ATH AN SHEPARD

churchmen who took the most sustained interest in pacification of

the Danubian basin’s Slavs. The surviving ninth-century translations
of prayers and texts for baptism and confession from Latin into
Slavonic (using Latin characters) probably emanate from their
milieu. It was the archbishop of Salzburg and his suffragan bishops
who protested vigorously at the involvement of Cyril and Methodius
and their pupils in the pastoral care of the Danubian Slavs. In their
eyes, this amounted to intrusion into their sphere of jurisdiction,
aggravated by the novelty of Slavonic used as a formal language of
worship. Under Methodius’ auspices, a Life of his brother was
composed, offering a passionate justification of their preaching
and translation work. Methodius seems, however, to have been
outmanoeuvred by the Frankish-born bishop of Neutra, Wiching,
and after his death in 885 his pupils and associates were dispersed,
some of them finding employment with Boris of Bulgaria. The
Frankish bishops’ line on their past missionary achievements and
present jurisdiction had been set out trenchantly after Methodius’
imprisonment. The Conversio Bagoariorum et Carantanorum rested
the case for the archbishopric of Salzburg’s rights in Carinthia and
Pannonia on copious details of the priests sent out to preach, the
princelings converted, and the churches founded, reflecting the
self-sufficiency and self-confidence of the borderland sees.73 Interest
in neighbouring peoples is also registered by the ‘Bavarian
Geographer” s list of numerous Slav ‘towns’ and groupings,74 and
by the reports of new waves of attacks by nomads from the east.
Regino of Prüm shows awareness that ‘the most ferocious people
of the Hungarians’ had occupied the Don steppes before migrating
westwards under pressure from the Pechenegs and possible over­
population.75

73 Conversio Bagoariorum et Carantanorum, ed. H. Wolfram (Vienna, Cologne, and

Graz, 1979), pp. 34-59 (text with German trans.).
74 Descriptio civitatum, ed. in E. Herrmann, Slawisch-Germanische Beziehungen im
südostdeutschen Raum von der Spätantike bis zum Ungarnsturm, Veröffentlichungen
des Collegium Carolinum 17 (Munich, 1965), pp. 220—1.
75 Regino of Prüm, Chronicon, ed. F. Kurze, MGH, in usum schol. (Hanover, 1890),
p. 131.
 EUROPE AND TH E W ID ER WORLD 237

Ends of empire and Otto III

The irruption of the Hungarians and their confederates into the Pan-
nonian plain dammed the eastwards flow of Frankish Christianity.
Numerous Slav groupings succumbed or came to terms with them.
The differences between the responses of east and west are note­
worthy. To Byzantine statesmen the Hungarians represented just one
of various ‘barbarian’ threats and their diplomacy averted most of
the raids and drew some chieftains into the emperor’s orbit as
religious converts and patrikioi. The looser-knit, poorer structures in
the west bore the brunt of the pillaging and their leaders were mostly
caught off-guard. An exception was Henry ‘the Fowler’, the Saxon
duke elected king of the Germans in 919. He organized strongholds
and well-maintained cavalry units which hindered the Hungarians’
hit-and-run tactics, relaxed their hold over their Slav tributaries and
diverted them into districts not yet enjoying his close supervision.
During the reign of Henry’s son, Otto, the raids grew fitful and Otto’s
victory over a Hungarian host at Lechfeld and subsequent worsting of
the Abodrites and other Slavs at Recknitz broke the habit of raiding.
Otto was, apparently, acclaimed as ‘emperor’ on the battlefield.76
For Otto, as for Charlemagne, it was essentially spectacular victory
over rank outsiders that earned paramount status. But Otto and his
father were ‘borderers’ in a sense that Charlemagne had not been.
What Saxon-based rulers lacked in legitimacy and long-standing pat­
ronage could partly be made up for with a ‘forward’ policy towards
neighbouring pagans. Soon after his accession Otto founded a mon­
astery at Magdeburg and this became a forepost for mission work
beyond the Elbe. Following his victory at Lechfeld, Otto sought papal
approval for a new archbishopric based in Magdeburg. His bid was
initially stymied by the archbishop of Mainz and other senior
churchmen: only in 968 did Magdeburg become headquarters of
an archbishopric. Such episodes suggest both the political ‘clout’
of the established German bishops and the revenues to be raised
from the newly conquered peoples to the east.

76 Widukind, Rerum gestarum Saxonicarum libri tres, 3. 49, ed. H.-E. Lohmann and
P. Hirsch, MGH, SS in usum schol. (Hanover, 1935), p. 128.
238 I JONATHAN SHEPARD

Otto’s martial prowess attracted the attention not only of the

papacy but also of the Byzantine emperor and the Umayyad ruler of
Spain. Exchanges of embassies and gifts were a useful way of showing
off Otto’s ascendancy to his fellow German magnates. He also meas­
ured himself against past masters and imperial landmarks, being
crowned king at Aachen in 936 and making much of his possession of
the Holy Lance, which had associations with Constantine the Great.
In 961 he heeded John XII’s call for help much as Charlemagne had
responded to papal appeals against local enemies. Like Charlemagne,
his reward was coronation as emperor by the pope in Rome. Numer­
ous individuals sought to implicate him in ‘the Old World’. Liud-
prand’s Antapodosis was written partly for this purpose and by 967
Otto was seeking a Byzantine porphyrogenita as bride for his son and
heir, Otto II. Saxon military involvement in Italy was welcome to
many Byzantines and they fancied that ‘the cub’ —Otto—might join
with ‘the lion’ —Nicephorus II—in exterminating the ‘jack-ass’, driv­
ing the Saracens from the central Mediterranean.77 In the event Otto
overestimated his ability to bludgeon the Byzantines into a marriage
agreement on terms of his making and in 972 he had to settle for a
niece of the current, non-porphyrogenitan, emperor, reportedly to
the derision of Italian and Saxon magnates.78 However, an ivory
plaque of Christ blessing Otto II and Theophano shows how the
match could dignify Saxon imperial pretensions. Otto, styled
‘emperor of the Romans augustus’ on the ivory and in charters from
982, regarded his rights as encompassing the entire peninsula and
acted accordingly. He led an army into the Byzantine south in the
name of extirpating Saracen marauders. Near the Messina Straits he
was defeated by Muslims operating by land and sea, lost numerous
commanders and himself only narrowly escaped. The Saxon ‘cub’, for
all his audacity, lacked sea-power. Saracen raiders continued to wreak
havoc on Calabria and within a few months rebellious Slavs had
expelled the Germans from most of their strongholds east of the Elbe,
even sacking Hamburg. The full extent of their eastern holdings was
only regained in the twelfth century.
If expansion in the sense of Germanic emperors’ conquests abated

77 Liudprand, Legatio>40, in Opera Omnia, ed. Chiesa, pp. 204-5; trans. Wright, The
Works of Liudprand of Cremona, pp. 258-9.
78 Thietmar of Merseberg, Chronicon, 2.15, ed. R. Holtzmann, MGH, SS, nov.
series 9 (Berlin, 1935), p. 56.
 E U R O P E A N D T H E W I D E R W O RL D 239

in the late tenth century, the diffusion of Christian worship and

organization gathered pace and the nexuses of Viking trade routes
acquired a culturo-political overlay. It is not wholly accidental that
several prominent potentates adopted Christianity in the generation
following Lechfeld—and not earlier. Otto’s victories over Hungarians
and Slavs gave them reasons for taking the plunge. On the positive
side, it was a matter of joining up with the religion o f ‘winners’, those
structures which had best withstood the outsiders’ raids and made
them unprofitable. Anglo-Saxon missionaries played an important
part in evangelizing among the Norwegians. But apprehensiveness
about the scale of Ottonian striking power was probably influential in
turning potentates towards Christianity. Through gaining the favour
of a God with a proven ‘track record’, a potentate could bind subjects
and confederates more tightly to his cause. At the same time, his
adoption of Christian rites and authority symbols made it harder for
the Ottos to attack him outright. A mixture of motives is discernible
with the Danish king, Harald Bluetooth. Around 965 he staged a trial
of Christ’s powers. After a priest carried red-hot iron in his bare
hands unscathed, Harald ordered his subjects to give up their idols:
‘from then on he gave due honour to the priests and servants of
God’.79While claiming that he had ‘won all Denmark for himself, and
Norway’80 Harald extended earlier earthworks raised against Frankish
aggression, the Danevirke, and built several fortresses to a uniform
design. Other potentates followed suit, notably Miezko, who imposed
Christianity on the more important of his fellow Poles in the 960s
and, in the earlier 970s, the Hungarian, Géza, who gave his infant son
Waik the Christian name of Stephen. German churchmen were
involved in these developments, but they seem to have been invited
in by local leaders and were not acting upon the emperor’s sole
initiative.
Shortly after Lechfeld the Rus princess Olga sought from Otto
a religious mission. Her démarche is a reflection of Otto’s stature at
that time. Nonetheless, he had trouble finding a suitable head for
the mission. His eventual choice, Adalbert, lacked experience, was
reluctant to set off, and soon returned, alleging trickery on the Rus’

79 Widukind, Rerum gestarum Saxonicarum libri tres, 3. 65, ed. Lohmann and Hirsch,
p. 141.
80 Jelling Stone inscription, trans, in E. Roesdahl, Viking Age Denmark (London,
1982), p. 172.
240 I JONATHAN SHEPARD

part. The fiasco suggests a shortage of devoted missionaries, but the

Rus could be regarded as a special case. Olga made her approach to
Otto while leader of a political structure that had been consolidating
along the Volkhov, Lovat, and Dnieper riverways since the early tenth
century. The elite, now based on the Middle Dnieper, was directly
involved in bartering primary produce and slaves for luxury goods
from Byzantium and individual notables adopted eastern Christi­
anity. Olga herself was baptized and became Constantine VITs god­
daughter some time in the later 940s or 950s and probably only after
being denied a full-blown Byzantine mission did she turn to Otto.
However, some Rus questioned her policy and her own son, Sviato­
slav, adopted the guise of a Eurasian nomad and attempted to
relocate to the Danube delta. Nonetheless, Christians of diverse prov­
enance continued to ply the eastern riverways and when Sviatoslav’s
son, Vladimir, tried to legitimize his regime by getting the inhabitants
of Kiev to worship prescribed gods, he encountered resistance. Tury, a
Scandinavian Christian who had lived in Byzantium, would not give
up his son for sacrifice and both were slain.
Vladimir’s bid for a compulsory cult suggests both cognizance of
and reaction against Christianity’s pulling-power. After examining
monotheistic worship practised among the Germans as well as the
Byzantines and Muslims, he eventually opted for a link with Byzan­
tium. In return for sending military aid, he received a porphyrogenita
to wed, and also a religious mission headed by a metropolitan. It was
probably a particular convergence of interests between Vladimir and
Emperor Basil II in the 980s that forged this liaison. But Vladimir
would also have been aware of the baptism of Baltic potentates over
recent decades. He may have aimed to outshine them all through a
deal that brought not only churchmen but also masons, mosaicists,
and strikers of coins.
With the Rus elite’s adoption of Christianity c.988, other outsiders
seeking high status had all the more incentive to profess the cult of
‘winners’. Captains of large predatory war-bands in Scandinavia
could regard propagation of Christianity as an attribute of rulership.
Thus, Olaf Tryggvason, baptized after campaigning in England in
the mid-990S, set about imposing the new religion together with his
own authority upon fellow Norwegians. Against this fast-moving
background was played out an attempt at ordered hierarchy. The
phenomenon of Otto III can be seen as an intensification of the
 E U R O P E A N D T H E W I D E R W O RL D 24I

tendency already discernible in his father to make imperial rule more

palpable in Italy; as the product of an able youth whose quest for
salvation fused with the zeal for spiritual renewal and evangelization
of holy men and scholars; and as a calculated recourse to mystique
and spiritual ties after forcible territorial expansion ceased to be
profitable. These facets of Otto are not mutually incompatible and
one might anyway expect an adolescent ruler to have had intensive
urges, themselves fast-shifting: Otto was dead at 21. He both drew on
ancient hallmarks of imperial and sacred order and made allowances
for the drive for self-improvement manifest among the elites forming
to his east and north. He devoted time and attention both to estab­
lished seats such as Rome and Aachen and to rising powers such as
Venice and Poland. Within this skein of associations he could hope to
wrap the German lands.
The city of Rome was not in itself of overriding importance to
Otto when he paid his first visit in 996. His pressing concern was to
secure the papacy for his cousin, Gregory V and thus be able to count
on papal cooperation in resolving ecclesiastical problems, ranging
from Rheims to Prague and the bishoprics east of the Elbe. However,
to ensure such collaboration Otto had to involve himself more dir­
ectly in Roman affairs. In 998 he deposed and mutilated an anti-pope
and beheaded his chief backer, the ‘prefect of the city’, John Crescen-
tius. By the late 990s Otto was trying to ‘bond’ with the city. Installing
himself on the Palatine, where the Caesars’ palaces had stood from
the time of Augustus, and sponsoring flamboyantly ‘imperial’ cere­
monial, Otto signalled his right to reside within the city walls, in
defiance of the Donation of Constantine. The portentous dignities
bestowed upon officials and sympathizers were partly for Roman
consumption, setting Otto up as arbiter of status and palace-based
master of the city. He promoted the Virgin as its protectress, commis­
sioning a hymn in her honour, and incurred criticism from Bruno of
Querfurt for ‘favouring the Roman people above all others with
money and honours’.81 The pomp was also intended to project Otto’s
bid for hegemony beyond the ancient empire’s confines. This is mani­
fest in his journey to Poland to venerate the relics of his former
confidant, Adalbert, bishop of Prague, slain by the Prussians in 997.

81 Bruno of Querfurt, Vita quinque fratrum, 7, ed. J. Karwasinska, Monumenta

Poloniae Historica, nov. ser. 4.3 (Warsaw, 1973), p. 43.
242 JONATHAN SHEPARD

At Gniezno, Otto prayed before Adalbert’s tomb, declared the church

of Gniezno to be an archbishopric, and exchanged gifts with the
Polish ruler, Boleslaw. In creating a separate archbishopric, Otto
helped bring definition to Boleslaw’s polity. In further ceremonial,
Otto gave Boleslaw a copy of the Holy Lance and set his own crown
on Boleslaw’s head, as being ‘brother and partner in the empire’.82
Regal status and a church hierarchy were the objectives of several
dynasties emerging on the periphery. Otto could'not halt the trends
but he could cap them—literally, in the sense of conferring a crown
together with other authority symbols. In 1000 he sent a crown and
gilded lance to Waik-Stephen, ruler of his grandfather’s foes, while
also approving the creation of a separate archbishopric to encompass
the Hungarians’ land. Such measures were the more resonant thanks
to the collaboration of his new pope, Gerbert, who had assumed the
name of Sylvester. No pontiff had taken this name since Constantine
the Great’s time and the implication was that Otto was a new Con­
stantine. Otto was styled ‘most devoted and faithful propagator of the
holy churches’ in 1001, and other charters termed him ‘servant of
the apostles’, alluding to his missionary activities.83
Otto’s combination of mastery of Rome with ‘hands-on’ mission
work was unprecedented. It struck a chord with potentates ambitious
to partake of the political culture of the Christians while retaining—
in fact consolidating—their own regimes. Boleslaw, ‘friend and ally of
the Roman people’,84 for example, accompanied Otto to Aachen and
witnessed his opening of Charlemagne’s tomb (see Chapter 5). Otto
was harnessing such aspirations to a largely consensual structure, a
‘virtual empire’. He was, at the same time, negotiating a marriage tie
with Byzantium and early in 1002 a porphyrogenita arrived in Italy.
Their wedding would have symbolized accord between the masters of
Rome and Constantinople in flesh and blood and their offspring
might have upheld this equilibrium. Otto died, however, before he
met his bride to be. The prospect of eastern and western Christian
emperors presiding in a kind of partnership over ancient seats of
empire and numerous far-flung peoples faded with him.

82 Gallus Anonymus, Cronicae et gesta ducum sive principum Potoriorum, 7, ed.

C. Maleczynski, Monumenta Poloniae Historica, nov. ser. 2 (Cracow, 1952), p. 20. See
also below, p. 247.
83 See G. Althoff, Otto III. (Darmstadt, 1996), p. 136, n. 36.
84 Gallus Anonymus, Cronicae et gesta, 7, ed. Maleczynski, p. 20.
Figure 12 Hraban Maur, Liber sanctae crucis, with portrait o f Louis the
Pious, emperor o f the Franks (814-840) as miles Christi
Conclusion: into the
eleventh century
Rosamond McKitterick

The identification of the year 1000 as a major divide is primarily a

modern one. For contemporaries, it was just another year. Thus, the
Anglo-Saxon Chronicle recorded that ‘The king went into Cumber­
land and ravaged very nearly all of it; and his ships went out round
Chester and should have come to meet him, but they could not. Thus
they ravaged the Isle of Man. And the enemy fleet had gone to
Richard’s kingdom that summer.’ Ralph Glaber (980-1046), writing
his Libri historiarum at Auxerre in the 1030s, on the other hand, offers
his own conviction of the numerical importance of the year 1000 as
a focus for his history. Around 1000, Ralph tells us
men, especially in Italy and Gaul, began to construct churches . . . it was as if
the whole world were shaking itself free, shrugging off the burden o f the past
and cladding itself everywhere in a white mantle o f churches . . . a multitude
o f people . . . began to travel to the sepulchre o f the Saviour at Jerusalem. At
the same time a great many eminent men o f Italy and Gaul died, among them
bishops, dukes and counts.

How approximate Ralph’s dating is, and how much he exaggerates,

can be gathered from extant evidence of church building in the early
eleventh century and the actual death dates of three of those he
mentions as dying ‘at about this time’, namely Pope Benedict VIII (d.
1024), Robert II, king of the Franks (d. 1031), and Fulbert of Chartres
(d. 1028). All these—the churches, the pilgrimages, the deaths of great
men—are, moreover, portents rather than the consequence of the
year 1000 having been reached. Even so, Ralph regards the signifi­
cance of 1033, the millennium of the Passion, as far greater. He
246 ROSAMOND M CKITTERICK

acknowledges that after the year 1000 in Italy and Gaul, men of both
orders (that is, lay and cleric) emerged whose lives and works provide
an example worthy of imitation by posterity, just as his own history
recounts events and achievements before the year 1000.
Nor was Ralph alone in his anchoring of the events of his own day
in his immediate past. In the cultural sphere in the eleventh and
twelfth centuries there was a lively sense of continuation, if not con­
tinuity. Many eleventh- and twelfth-century historians started their
account of their own day with sections going back to the eighth or the
fifth century or even beyond, though the use by them of their early
medieval past has still not been fully explored. The eleventh and
twelfth centuries, moreover, saw a notable resurgence of the copying
of older histories, such as Einhard’s Life of Charlemagne and Paul the
Deacon’s History of the Lombards, into new books and historical
compilations. The scholars of the eleventh and twelfth century, how­
ever much they were developing new patterns of thought and new
emphases in their theology and philosophy, felt a deep sense of in­
debtedness to the learned scholars of the early medieval and Carolin-
gian period, and list them respectfully among their predecessors
and mentors.
So too, the power and prowess of the rulers of the early middle
ages, as well as the circumstances of their conversion to Christianity
and promotion of the Christian religion, continued to inspire their
later successors and emulators. Certainly Otto III had opened up the
tomb of Charlemagne. But it was in 1165 that Frederick Barbarossa
had the Frankish emperor Charlemagne canonized and a liturgical
cult spread across Europe thereafter. After Otto I until 1531, moreover,
no fewer than thirty German rulers were crowned at Aachen.
By contrast, many modern historians have evoked contradictory
and far too generalized images of disorder, turmoil, and dramatic
change at the beginning of the eleventh century, perhaps too much
influenced by events in a small part of France. It is self-evident that a
complex social, political, and religious system embedded in the accre­
tion of legal rights requires a long slow process of adaptation and
change. Even in the second half of the ninth century, the east and west
Frankish kingdoms differed greatly in their style of government, with
the former making far less use of capitularies or coinage than the
latter. Royal leadership in the east Frankish kingdom moreover may
have been enhanced as a consequence of the Magyar attacks, just as it
 CONCLUSION I 247

was strengthened in England in the face of Viking armies, or so the

Anglo-Saxon Chronicle would have us believe.
That there was change and discontinuity as well as continuity into
the eleventh century, however, is clear, not least in the clearer defini­
tion of the boundaries of the aristocracy in terms of military activity,
the consolidation of local power, and legal entities and the impact
these had on the power of central government. As Chris Wickham
remarks, local building blocks were the basis for new forms of central­
izing government in the twelfth century. These were in the future but
they signal difference. The year 1000, and the decades following, were
the point at which this shift began to take place. Even in England and
Germany, where Carolingian continuities were stronger, many of
these developments took place as well, across the next century or so.
So 1000 in terms of social and political developments is as good
a point as any to stop, at least in these parts of western Europe;
from here on, any lay political actor, and indeed any peasant or ecclesi­
astic, would of necessity take as a starting point the unchallenged
hegemony of local aristocratic power.
The extended process of economic expansion on either side of the
year 1000 is stressed by Jean-Pierre Devroey. As he remarks, it is
essential to take a very long view in investigating medieval economic
institutions, not least because of the very patchy nature of the source
material. Further, Mayke de Jong has reminded us of the many tribu­
taries from far distant sources that were fed into the river of the
eleventh-century church reforms and how useless a landmark the
year 1000 is when it comes to the transformation of religious belief
and practice. Although the reformers of the eleventh century were
quite convinced that they were putting what they regarded as the
decadence of the previous centuries behind them, their rhetoric
should be rejected. It was the very interconnectedness of the sacred
and secular worlds in the early middle ages which provided such a
strong base for the future when those boundaries began to be
redrawn.
Otto Ill’s reign, moreover, as Jonathan Shepard comments, for all
the recognition of change in the political landscape, marked in many
respects the end of an old order. Europa was putting out shoots in a
multitude of directions and on diverse planes. Missionary work car­
ried on in the east. In 1008 Bruno of Querfurt, who had disparaged
Ottos penchant for Rome, attempted to convert the Pechenegs,
248 ROSAMOND M CK ITTERICK

‘cruellest of all pagans’. Bruno took it for granted that the land of the
Rus, from whose ’limit’ he set forth into the steppes, was Christian.
The new polities on Europe’s outer approaches provided a spring­
board for propagating Christianity still further afield. Eastern
churchmen were not yet seen as alien to the process. In the mid­
eleventh century, Armenian bishops were active in Iceland and there
were small churches on Greenland, albeit not in the Scandinavian
outposts along the North American seaboard. ' .
Around the time the earliest churches were being built on Green­
land, in 996, 160 ‘Amalfitan’ traders were reportedly massacred in
Cairo. The figure may well be inflated, but the presence of Italian
merchants having some sort of ‘factory’ well up the Nile suggests a
quickening in exchanges between the central Mediterranean and the
Levant. Amalfitans already had an establishment in Constantinople
by 944. Another hint of activity comes from a Byzantine chrysobull of
992 granting privileges to Venetian merchantmen and the goods of
other peoples carried in Venetian vessels. This suggests burgeoning
demand for access to Constantinople’s markets, as well as a high­
lighting of the ‘leverage’ which Venetian vessels—potential troop
transports—were beginning to exert. The scale of commerce was still
modest and confined to intermediaries such as the Amalfitans and
Venetians. But it would be small, often mutually competitive units of
traders, freebooting adventurers, and penitential pilgrims who would
make the running in the Mediterranean. Europe, though riven by
numerous rival elites, was cross-woven by common cultural and
religious aims, customs and values. By the tenth century’s close,
Europe was germinating forces which no imperial sleight of hand
could have harnessed, and which would soon bear down on Muslim
Sicily and Spain and the eastern empire itself.
This book has stressed the many separate and independent devel­
opments in the transformation of the Roman world and emergence
of early medieval Europe. There was a dynamic interaction between
the ever-expanding horizons of Latin Christendom with its encircling
realms and territories, and with the other world, throughout the six
hundred years we have discussed in this volume. A world of great
richness and diversity, its common elements notwithstanding, was
created. A fuller historical understanding of this period and the
following centuries can only come from a fully integrated study
of political, social, economic, religious, and cultural matters and a
 CONCLUSION 249

recognition of the range as well as the limitations of our evidence.

With all the continuities and discontinuities outlined in our separate
chapters, this period was clearly fundamental for the subsequent
development of Europe. Indeed, it was in the early middle ages that
the Europe we have inherited was formed.
Further reading
General
Although the suggestions for further reading below are mostly o f work in
English, it is important to stress that modern work on the early middle ages,
on which the content o f the chapters in this volume draws, is produced in all
the major languages o f Europe. Detailed bibliographies which give some
indication o f the great wealth o f this modern scholarship are to be found in
the collaborative volumes o f The New Cambridge Medieval History. The
available volumes covering the period o f this book are R. McKitterick (ed.),
vol. II, c.yoo-c.poo (Cambridge, 1995) and T. Reuter (ed.), voi. Ill, C.900-C.1024
(Cambridge, 1999). Vol. I, C.500-C.700, ed. R Fouracre, is in preparation.
P. Garnsey (ed.), The Cambridge Ancient History., vol. XIII (Cambridge, 1998)
covers the period 337-425. Reference works such as E. A. Livingstone (ed.),
The Oxford Dictionary o f the Christian Church, 3rd edn. (Oxford, 1997); A. P.
Kazhdan (ed.), The Oxford Dictionary o f Byzantium (1991); G. W. Bowersock,
Peter Brown, and Oleg Grabar (eds.), Late Antiquity: A Guide to the Postclassi-
cal World (Cambridge, Mass., 1999); Lexikon des Mittelalters, 9 vols. (Stutt­
gart, 1999); and M. Lapidge (ed.), The Blackwell Encyclopaedia o f Anglo-Saxon
England (Oxford, 1999) have useful articles and bibliographies on topics,
events, and individuals. For historical atlases that include the period, see
A. Mackay (ed.), Atlas o f Medieval Europe (London, 1997); M. Parisse (ed.),
Atlas de la France de Van M il (Paris, 1994); The Times Atlas o f European
History, 2nd edn. (London, 1998); The Times Atlas o f World History, 5th edn.
(London, 1999); and J. Engel (ed.), Grosser historischer Weltatlas II Mittelalter
(Munich, 1970). The periodical Early Medieval Europe, established in 1991, is
devoted to the period C.400-C.1100. Political, economic, social, religious, or
cultural issues are most commonly integrated in studies o f this period. Many
o f the items listed for one chapter, therefore, are as helpful for another.

Sources
The New Cambridge Medieval History volumes listed above also include com­
prehensive sections on the source material. For the period before 800, some
have been translated in the Liverpool Latin Texts for Historians. The Frankish
Annals o f St Bertin and Annals o f Fulday trans. J. L. Nelson and T. Reuter,
respectively, appear in a series o f texts in translation by Manchester Uni­
versity Press. Nevertheless, some o f the principal texts available in English
translation may be indicated here. The regional histories o f the various bar­
barian kingdoms include Isidore o f Seville, History o f the Goths, Sueves and
252 FU RTH E R READING

Vandals, in Kenneth Wolf (trans.), Conquerors and Chroniclers o f Early-

Medieval Spain (Liverpool, 1991); Gregory o f Tours, History o f the Franks,
trans. L. Thorpe (Harmondsworth, 1974); Jordanes, History o f the Goths, trans.
C. C. Mierow (Princeton, 1915); Bede, Ecclesiastical History o f the English
People, trans. B. Colgrave and R. A. B. Mynors (Oxford, 1969); Paul the Dea­
con, History o f the Lombards, trans. W. D. Foulke (Philadelphia, 1907);
B. Scholz (trans.), Carolingian Chronicles (Ann Arbor, 1970). The Anglo-Saxon
Chronicle is available in many editions. One o f the most useful, because
accompanied by a host o f other English sources (including'the law codes) in
translation, is D. Whitelock (ed.), English Historical Documents, c.500-1042,
2nd edn. (London, 1979). S. Keynes and M. Lapidge, Alfred the Great: Asser s
Life o f King Alfred and Other Contemporary Sources (Harmondsworth, 1983) is
excellent with very full notes. Compilations o f late-antique sources in transla­
tion include Michael Maas (ed.), Readings in Late Antiquity: A Sourcebook
(London and New York, 2000). The best collections o f Carolingian sources in
translation are P. D. King, Charlemagne: Translated Sources (Kendal, 1986) and
Paul E. Dutton, Carolingian Civilization (Peterborough, Ontario, 1993). Most
o f the early medieval law codes have been translated, including S. P. Scott, The
Visigothic Code (Boston, 1910); K. Fischer Drew (trans.), The Lombard Laws
(Philadelphia, 1973) and The Laws o f the Salian Franks (Philadelphia, 1991).
These can be compared with C. Pharr (trans.), The Theodosian Code (New
York, 1969). Only a small proportion o f the legislative, theological, philo­
sophical, educational, literary, or scholarly texts from the period after
Charlemagne’s reign for anywhere in Europe have as yet been translated into
modern languages, though most from continental Europe, with the notable
exception o f the charters o f the Emperor Louis the Pious, are available in
modern editions o f the original Latin texts, largely in the series Monumenta
Germaniae Historica, Fonti per la Storia d’Italia, Les Classiques de l’histoire
de la France, Corpus Christianorum and Sources Chrétiennes. A taste o f the
literary works, letters, and philosophy can be gained from E. Emerton, The
Letters o f Saint Boniface, 2nd edn. (New York, 2000); Peter Godman (trans.),
Poetry o f the Carolingian Renaissance (London, 1983); S. Allott (trans.), Alcuin
o f York (a small selection o f Alcuin’s letters only) (York, 1974). G. W. Regenos
(trans.), The Letters o f Lupus o f Ferrières (The Hague, 1970); H. P. Lattin
(trans.), Gerbert, Letters with his Papal Privileges as Sylvester II (New York,
1961); E. G. Doyle (trans.), Sedulius Scotus, On Christian Rulers (Bingham­
ton, NY, 1983); I. P. Sheldon Williams and E. Jeauneau (ed. and trans.), John
Scotus Eriugena, Periphyseon (Dublin, 1968- ); J. J. Tierney (ed. and trans.),
Dicuil, Liber de mensura orbis terrae (Dublin, 1967). The selection o f tenth-
century documents made by Boyd Hill, Medieval Monarchy in Action: The
German Empire from Henry I to Henry IV (London, 1972) has a representative
sample. Many saints’ lives, however, have been translated, and two useful
 FU RTH E R READING | 253

collections are Thomas Head and T. F. X. Noble, Soldiers o f Christ (Philadel­

phia, 1995) and Paul Fouracre and Richard Geberding, Late Merovingian
France: History and Hagiography 640-720 (Manchester, 1996). Key texts for
Byzantium and its neighbours are Constantine VII Porphyrogenitus, De
administrando imperio, ed. and trans. G. Moravcsik and R. J. H. Jenkins
(Washington, DC, 1967); Liudprand o f Cremona, Antapodosis and Legatio, in
Opera Omnia, ed. P. Chiesa (Turnhout, 1998); trans. F. A. Wright (London,
1930); Maurice, Strategikon, ed. G. T. Dennis with German trans, by E. Gam-
milscheg (Vienna, 1981); English trans. G. T. Dennis (Philadelphia, 1984);
Menander the Guardsman (Protector), History, ed. and trans. R. C. Blockley
(Liverpool, 1985); Povesf Vremennykh Let, ed. V. P. Adrianove-Peretts and
D. S. Likhachev (Moscow-Leningrad, 1996); trans. S. H. Cross and O. P.
Sherbowitz-Wetzor, The Russian Primary Chronicle (Cambridge, Mass., 1953);
Skirmishing: Three Byzantine Military Treatises, ed. and trans. G. T. Dennis
(Washington, DC, 1985); Theophanes Confessor, Chronographia, ed. C. de
Boor, I (Leipzig, 1883); trans. C. Mango and R. Scott (Oxford, 1997); Theo-
phylact Simocatta, Historiae, ed. C. de Boor and P. Wirth (Stuttgart, 1972);
trans. M. and M. Whitby (Oxford, 1986); N. Golb and O. Pritsak, Khazarian
Hebrew Documents o f the Tenth Century (Ithaca, NY, 1982).

Introduction
Leslie Webster (ed.), The Transformation o f the Roman World, a d 400-900
(London, 1997), an exhibition catalogue from the British Museum and British
Library provides a clear illustrated introduction to many o f the key issues o f
the period. On ethnogenesis, see Walter Pohl and Helmut Reimitz (eds.),
Strategies o f Distinction (Leiden, 1999). An indication o f the wealth o f new
archaeological material is provided in Richard Hodges, Light in the Dark
Ages: The Rise and Fall o f San Vincenzo al Volturno (London, 1997) and
K. Randsborg, The First Millennium a .d . in Europe and the Mediterranean:
An Archaeological Essay (Cambridge, 1991). Rosamond McKitterick and
Roland Quinault (eds.), Edward Gibbon and Empire (Cambridge, 1997);
Donald R. Kelley, Foundations o f Modern Historical Scholarship (New York,
1970); R. Howard Bloch, God's Plagiarist: Being an Account o f the Fabulous
Industry and Irregular Commerce o f the Abbé Migne (Chicago, 1994); and
Simon Keynes, ‘The cult o f King Alfred’, Anglo-Saxon England, 28 (1999),
pp. 225-356, provide various insights on older historical scholarship. Walter
Goffart, The Narrators o f Barbarian History a .d . 500-800 (Princeton, 1982);
Patrick J. Geary, Phantoms o f Remembrance: Memory and Oblivion at the End
o f the First Millennium (Princeton, 1994); and Y. Hen and M. Innes (eds.), The
Uses o f the Past in the Early Middle Ages (Cambridge, 2000) address aspects o f
the construction o f the past by early medieval writers. The contributors to
R. McKitterick (ed.), The Uses o f Literacy in Early Mediaeval Europe
254 FU R TH E R READING

(Cambridge, 1990) address a central issue in early medieval history, closely

related to the themes o f R. Wright (ed.), Latin and the Romance Languages in
the Early Middle Ages (London and New York, 1991). Histories o f early medi­
eval Europe are generally tackled by region, o f which the following comprise
excellent studies: Edward James, The Origins o f France (London, 1982) and
The Franks (Oxford, 1988); I. N. Wood, The Merovingian Kingdoms, 450-751
(London, 1994); R. McKitterick, The Frankish Kingdoms under the Caroling-
ians, 751-987 (London, 1983); Timothy Reuter, Germany in the Early M iddle
Ages, C.800-1056 (London, 1991); Roger Collins, Early Medieval Spain: Unity in
Diversity, 400-1000, 2nd edn. (London, 1995), The Arab Conquest o f Spain,
710-797 (Oxford, 1989), and The Basques (Oxford, 1986); Hugh Kennedy, The
Prophet and the Age o f the Caliphates: The Islamic Near East from the Sixth to
the Eleventh Century (London, 1986) and Muslim Spain and Portugal: A Polit­
ical History o f al-Andalus (London, 1996); C. J. Wickham, Early Medieval Italy:
Central Power and Local Society 400-1000 (London, 1981); James Campbell
(ed.), The Anglo-Saxons (London, 1982); Wendy Davies, Wales in the Early
Middle Ages (Leicester, 1982); A. R Smyth, Warlords and Holy Men: Scotland
ad 80-1000 (London, 1984); D. O Cróinin, Early Medieval Ireland, 400-1200
(London, 1995); R Sawyer (ed.), The Oxford Illustrated History o f the Vikings
(Oxford, 1998); Mark Whittow, The Making o f Orthodox Byzantium, 600-1025
(London, 1996); Simon Franklin and Jonathan Shepard, The Emergence of
Rus, 750-1200 (London, 1996).

Politics
In addition to the chapters in the New Cambridge Medieval History, vols. II
and III, and the regional studies listed above, see John Matthews, The Roman
Empire o f Ammianus (London, 1989). Stimulating interpretations o f govern­
ment and politics in the tenth century are Karl Leyser, Rule and Conflict in an
Early Medieval Society (London, 1979); Communications and Power in M edi­
eval Europe: The Carolingian and Ottoman Centuries, ed. T. Reuter (London,
1994); and Jack Bernhardt, Itinerant Kingship and Royal Monasteries in Early
Medieval Germany, c.976-1075 (Cambridge, 1993). For the British Isles,
Thomas Charles-Edwards, Early Irish and Welsh Kingship (Oxford, 1993);
Wendy Davies, Patterns o f Power in Early Wales (Oxford, 1990); James
Campbell, Essays in Anglo-Saxon History (London, 1986). On the problems of
identity and assimilation in the successor states, see e.g. Walter Pohl (ed.),
Kingdoms o f the Empire: The Integration o f Barbarians in Late Antiquity
(Leiden, 1997), and Patrick Amory, People and Community in Ostrogothic
Italy, 483-554 (Cambridge, 1997). Our understanding o f the political
behaviour and ideologies o f the early middle ages, notably in the ninth cen­
tury, has been greatly enhanced by the seminal work o f Janet L. Nelson, now
in three volumes o f collected studies: Politics and Ritual in Early Medieval
 FU RTH E R READING 255

Europe (London, 1986), The Frankish World, 750-900 (London, 1996), and
Rulers and Ruling Families in Early Medieval Europe (Aldershot, 1999), as well
as her monograph on Charles the Bald (London, 1992). Many o f the most
useful contributions to the politics o f this period are in the form o f collabora­
tive volumes, such as I. N. Wood and R Sawyer, Early Medieval Kingship
(Leeds, 1977); P. Wormald (ed.), Ideal and Reality in Frankish and Anglo-
Saxon Society (Oxford, 1983); Hartmut Atsma (ed.), La Neustrie: Les Pays au
nord de la Loire de 650 à 850, Beihefte der Francia 16 (Sigmaringen, 1989);
P. Godman and R. Collins (eds.), Charlemagne’s Heir: New Perspectives on the
Reign o f Louis the Pious (814-840) (Oxford, 1990); J. L. Nelson and M. T.
Gibson, Charles the Bald: Court and Kingdom, 2nd edn. (Aldershot, 1990);
Regine Le Jan (ed.), La Royauté et les élites dans l’Europe carolingienne (Lille,
1998). On law and charters, see I. N. Wood and Jill Harries (eds.), The
Theodosian Code (London, 1993), Rosamond McKitterick, The Carolingians
and the Written Word (Cambridge, 1989); Matthew Innes, State and Society in
the Early Middle Ages: The Middle Rhine Valley 400—1000. (Cambridge, 2000).
On politics from the ecclesiastical perspective and the involvement o f the
papacy, see T. F. X. Noble, The Republic o f St Peter: The Birth o f the Papal State
680-825 (Philadelphia, 1984) and J. M. H. Smith (ed.), Early Medieval Rome
and the Christian West (Leiden, 2000). On money, see P. Grierson and
M. Blackburn, Medieval European Coinage, Vol. I The Early Middle Ages,
5th-ioth Centuries (Cambridge, 1986).

Society
Averil Cameron, The Mediterranean World in Late Antiquity, 595-600 (Lon­
don, 1993); A. Dopsch, The Economic and Social Foundations o f European
Civilisation (London, 1937); and A. H. M. Jones, The Later Roman Empire
(Oxford, 1964) provide stimulating general surveys. For the most part, an
understanding o f society in this period is gained from a wealth o f specific
regional and thematic studies. Among these can be mentioned: Herwig Wolf­
ram, History o f the Goths (Berkeley, 1988); R. van Dam, Leadership and Com­
munity in Late Antique Gaul (Berkeley, 1985); Ross Balzaretti, The Lands o f St
Ambrose (Turnhout, 2000); T. S. Brown, Gentleman and Officers: Imperial
Administration and Aristocratic Power in Byzantine Italy a .d . 554-800 (Rome,
1984); J. F. Haldon, Byzantium in the Seventh Century, 2nd edn. (Cambridge,
1997); R. M. Karras, Slavery and Society in Medieval Scandinavia (New Haven,
1988); Regine Le Jan, Famille et pouvoir dans le monde franc (VIIe-Xe siècle)
(Paris, 1995); E. Manzano, La frontera de al-Andalus en epoca de los Omeyas
(Madrid, 1991); P. Pastor, Resistendas y luchas campesinas en la època del
crecimiento y consolidación de la formación feudal: Castill y Léon, siglos X -X III
(Madrid, 1980); G. Tabacco, The Struggle for Power in Medieval Italy (Cam­
bridge, 1989); P. Cammarosano, Nobili e re (Bari, 1998). Further, the following
256 FU R TH E R READING

range widely both geographically and over the period in discussions o f key
issues: Wendy Davies and Paul Fouracre (eds.), The Settlement o f Disputes in
Early Medieval Europe (Cambridge, 1986); Wendy Davies and Paul Fouracre
(eds.), Property and Power in the Early M iddle Ages (Cambridge, 1995); and
M. Parisse (ed.), Veuves et veuvage dans le haut moyen âge (Paris, 1993). Note
the extensive glossaries o f technical terms contained in each o f the Davies
and Fouracre volumes. These are also pertinent for matters discussed in the
chapter on the economy. On specific issues, see H. W. Goetz, ‘ “ Nobilis” ’,
Vierteljahrschrift fü r Sozial- und Wirtschaftsgeschichte, 70 (1983), pp. 153-91;
A. Ja. Gurevic, Le origini des feudalismo (Bari, 1982); W. I. Miller, Bloodtaking
and Peacemaking (Chicago, 1990); T. Reuter (ed.), The Medieval Nobility
(Amsterdam, 1979); Susan Reynolds, Kingdoms and Communities in Western
Europe 900-1300, 2nd edn. (Oxford, 1997) and Fiefs and Vassais (Oxford,
1994); Chris Wickham, Land and Power: Studies in Italian and European
Social History, 400-1200 (London, 1994).

Economy
On the early medieval European economy, the best and most accurate general
surveys are provided by the relevant chapters in the New Cambridge Medieval
History, vols. II and III referred to above. Several volumes in the Settimane di
Studio del Centro Italiano di studi sulValto medioevo offer theoretical and
regional contributions within the limits o f Christian and Muslim Europe,
such as the city: 6 (1958) and 21 (1973); money and exchange: 8 (1961); agri­
culture, the rural world, animals and vegetation: 13 (1965), 31 (1983), 37 (1989);
crafts and technology: 18 (1970); markets and merchants: 40 (1992). For a
conceptual approach, see C. J. Wickham, ‘Problems o f comparing rural socie­
ties in early medieval western Europe’, Transactions o f the Royal Historical
Society, 6th series, 2 (1992), pp. 221-46. H. Pirenne, Mahomet and Charle­
magne (New York, 1968; translated from the posthumously published French
edition o f 1937); M. Bloch, Feudal Society (Chicago, 1964; French original
1939); G. Duby, The Early Growth o f the European Economy: Warriors and
Peasants from the Seventh to the Twelfth Century (London, 1974; French ori­
ginal o f 1973) and Rural Economy and Country Life in the Medieval West
(London, 1968; French original o f 1966) are still stimulating. For regional
surveys, see, in addition to those mentioned in previous sections, R. Latouche,
The Birth o f Western Economy (London, 1981); E. Zanini, Le Italie bizantine:
Territorio, insediamenti ed economia nella provincia bizantina dTtalia V I-V III
secolo (San Spirito, 1998); and M. Kaplan, Les Hommes et la terre à Byzance du
Vie au X I siècle (Paris, 1992). On demography, the best survey is P. Toubert,
‘The Carolingian momentum’, in his A History o f the Family (Cambridge,
Mass., 1996; French original 1986). M. Montanari, The Culture o f Food
(Oxford, 1994; Italian original 1994) is a useful general account. An interesting
 FURTHER READING 257

perspective is provided by P. Squatriti, Water and Society in Early Medieval

Italy, ad 400-1000 (Cambridge, 1998). W. Rösener, Peasants in the Middle
Ages (Urbana, 111., 1992; German original 1992), offers a good general intro­
duction on agriculture; see also La Croissance agricole du haut moyen âge, in
Flaran 10 (Auch, 1990) and G. Astili and J. Langdon (eds.), Medieval Farming
and Technology: The Impact o f Agricultural Change in Northwest Europe
(Leiden, 1997). On urban aspects, see A. Verhulst, The Rise o f Cities in North­
west Europe (Cambridge, 1999); H. Clarke and B. Ambrosiani (eds.), Towns in
the Viking Age (Leicester and London, 1991); and R. Hodges and R. Hobley
(eds.) The Rebirth o f Towns in the West, ad 750-1050, CBA Research Report
(London, 1988).

Religion
Inspiring introductions are Robert A. Markus, The End o f Ancient Christi­
anity (Cambridge, 1990) and Peter Brown, The Rise o f Western Christendom:
Triumph and Diversity, a d 200-1000 (Oxford, 1996). Judith Herrin, The For­
mation o f Christendom (Oxford, 1987) is invaluable, not least for its full
treatment o f Byzantium. Michael Wallace-Hadrill, The Frankish Church
(Oxford, 1983) is eminently readable, as is Richard Fletcher, The Conversion o f
Europe: From Paganism to Christianity, 571-1386 ad (London, 1997). On
influential individuals see, e.g. Robert A. Markus, Gregory the Great and his
World (Cambridge, 1997); D. N. Dumville (ed.), Saint Patrick a .d . 493-1993
(Woodbridge, 1993); M. Lapidge (ed.), Columbanus: Studies on the Latin
Writings (Woodbridge, 1997). A recent approach to Christian attitudes to
Jews is Jeremy Cohen, Living Letters o f the Law: Ideas o f the Jew in Medieval
Christianity (Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1999). On theology, an excellent case
study is J. Cavadini, The Last Christology o f the West: Adoptionism in Spain
and Gaul, 785-820 (Philadelphia, 1993). The history o f sanctity has yielded a
vast body o f literature since the 1970s: see Peter Brown, The Cult of the Saints
(London, 1982) and J. Howard-Johnston and P. A. Hayward (eds.), The Cult of
the Saints in Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages: Essays on the Contribu­
tion o f Peter Brown (Oxford, 1999). Spiritual parenthood has been investi­
gated by Joseph H. Lynch, Godparents and Kinship in Early Medieval Europe
(Princeton, 1986). On rituals o f death, see F. S. Paxton, Christianizing Death:
The Creation o f a Ritual Process in Early Medieval Europe (Ithaca, NY, 1990).
On celibacy, see M. Frassetto (ed.), Medieval Purity and Piety: Essays on
Medieval Clerical Celibacy and Religious Reform (New York and London,
1998). Sacred space being claimed by royal power is explored by Barbara
Rosenwein, Negotiating Space: Power, Restraint and Privileges o f Immunity in
Early Medieval Europe (Ithaca, NY, 1999) and M. de Jong, C. van Rhijn, and
F. Theuws (eds.), Topographies o f Power in the Early Middle Ages (Leiden,
2000). On pastoral care and councils, esp. in England, see John Blair and
258 I FU RTH ER READING

Richard Sharpe (eds), Pastoral Care before the Parish (Leicester, London, and
New York, 1995) and C. R. E. Cubitt, Anglo-Saxon Church Councils, c.650-850
(London and New York, 1995). Recently, the impact o f the Old Testament on
early medieval religious practice, discussed by German historians such as
Raymund Kottje and Arnold Angenendt, has been taken up elsewhere: see
e.g. M. de Jong (ed.), The Power o f the Word: The Influence o f the Bible on
Early Medieval Politics, in Early Medieval Europe, 3 (1998), pp. 261-357, and see
also R. Gameson (ed.), The Early Medieval Bible: Its Production, Decoration
and Use (Cambridge, 1994).

Culture
The collaborative volume R. McKitterick (ed.), Carolingian Culture: Emula­
tion and Innovation (Cambridge, 1994) has essays on the Frankish reform,
literature, grammar, philosophy and theology, art, music, book production,
historical writing and political thought, all with bibliographies. Books with
many colour reproductions o f sculpture, buildings, artefacts, and painting
from the period include: J. Hubert, J. Porcher, and W. Volbach, Europe in the
Dark Ages (London, 1969) and Carolingian Art (London, 1970); L. Grodecki,
F. Miitherich, J. Taralon, and F. Wormald, Le Siècle de Van M il (Paris, 1973). On
buildings, see R. Krautheimer, Early Christian and Byzantine Architecture, 2nd
edn. (Harmondsworth, 1975) and Rome: Profile o f a City, 312-1308, 2nd edn.
(Princeton, 2000). Interpretative studies primarily concerned with art are
Henry Mayr-Harting, Ottoman Book Illumination: An Historical Study (Lon­
don, 1991); H. Hoffmann, Buchkunst und Königtum im ottonischen undfrüh-
salsichen Reich, Schriften des M GH 30 (Stuttgart, 1986); Lawrence Nees, A
Tainted Mantle: Hercules and the Classical Tradition at the Carolingian Court
(Philadelphia, 1991); and Mireille Mentre, Illuminated Manuscripts o f M edi­
eval Spain (London, 1996). On early medieval intellectual life, see P. Riché,
Education and Culture in the Barbarian West from the Sixth through the Eighth
Century, trans. J. J. Contreni (Columbia, SC, 1978); R. Crocker and D. Hiley
(eds.), The New Oxford History o f Music, Vol. II, The Early M iddle Ages to 1300,
2nd edn. (Oxford, 1990); Donald Bullough, Carolingian Renewal: Sources and
Heritage (Manchester, 1991); J. Marenbon, From the Circle o f Alcuin to the
School o f Auxerre: Logic, Theology and Philosophy in the Early M iddle Ages
(Cambridge, 1981); J. J. Contreni, Carolingian Learning, Masters and M anu­
scripts (Aldershot, 1992). The master o f the study o f early medieval script and
book production was Bernhard Bischoff. Some o f his essays are trans.
M. Gorman, Carolingian Manuscripts in the Age o f Charlemagne (Cambridge,
1994). Many lavishly illlustrated recent exhibition catalogues offer interpret­
ative essays and new research as well as useful syntheses, such as L. Webster
and J. Backhouse (eds.), The Making o f England: Anglo-Saxon Art and Cul­
ture, ad 600-900 (London, 1991); C. Stiegemann and M. Wemhoff (eds.), 799:
 FU RTH E R READING 259

Kunst und Kultur der Karolingerzeit (Paderborn, 1999); A. von Euw and P.
Schreiner (eds.), Kaiserin Theophanu: Begegnung des Ostens und Westens um
die Wende des ersten Jahrtausends (Cologne, 1991); and K. van der Horst,
William Noel, and W. C. M. Wüstefeld (eds.), The Utrecht Psalter in Medieval
Art (Utrecht, 1996).

Europe and the Wider World

On visual perceptions o f the world, see J. B. Harley and David Woodward
(eds.), The History o f Cartography, Vol I. Cartography in Prehistoric, Ancient
and Medieval Europe and the Mediterranean (Chicago, 1987) and P. G. Dalché,
Géographie et culture: La Représentation de Vespace du Vie au X lle siècle
(Aldershot, 1997). A useful atlas in addition to those mentioned above is P. R.
Magosci (ed.), Historical Atlas o f East Central Europe (Toronto, 1995). On
communications, see R. Chevalier, Roman Roads, rev. edn. (London, 1989);
J. H. Pryor, Geography, Technology and War: Studies in the Maritime History o f
the Mediterranean, 649-15/1 (Cambridge, 1988); E. D. Hunt, Holy Land Pil­
grimage in the Later Roman Empire (Oxford, 1982); Evangelos Chrysos and
Ian Wood (eds.), East and West: Modes o f Communication (Leiden, 1999); and
(in terms o f writing) M. Mostert (ed.), New Approaches to Medieval Com­
munications (Turnhout, 1999). On science and time, D. Gutas, Greek Thought,
Arabic Culture (London and New York, 1998); Faith Wallis, Bede: The Reckon-
ing o f Time (Liverpool, 1999) (an edition o f Bede’s text with extensive intro­
duction and commentary); and P. Butzer and D. Lohrmann (eds.), Science in
Western and Eastern Civilization in Carolingian Times (Basel, 1993), which
includes Arno Borst on the Carolingian encyclopaedia o f time o f 809. On
knowledge o f Greek in the west, see Walter Berschin, Greek Letters and the
Latin Middle Ages, trans. J. Frakes (Washington, DC, 1988). On Byzantium,
see J. F. Haldon, Byzantium in the Seventh Century: The Transformation o f a
Culture, 2nd edn. (Cambridge, 1997); Robin Cormack, Writing in Gold: Byzan­
tine Society and its Icons (London, 1985); and N. G. Wilson, Scholars o f Byzan­
tium (London, 1983). On relations between Byzantium and the west, there is a
host o f excellent collaborative volumes, such as J. D. Howard-Johnston,
Byzantium and the West, c.850-1200 (Amsterdam, 1988); J. Shepard and Simon
Franklin (eds.), Byzantine Diplomacy (Aldershot, 1992); B. McGinn and
W Otten (eds.), Eriugena: East and West (Notre Dame, Ind., 1994); and
A. Davids (ed.), The Empress Theophano: Byzantium and the West at the Turn
o f the First Millennium (Cambridge, 1995). On the Sasanians and other
peoples further east, D. Sinor (ed.), The Cambridge History o f Early Inner Asia
(Cambridge, 1990) and B. A. Litvinsky (ed.), History o f Civilisations of
Central Asia, 3 (Paris, 1996) are comprehensive and see also the papers in
Averil Cameron (ed.), States, Resources and Armies (Princeton, 1996) and
D. M. Dunlop, The History o f the Jewish Khazars (Princeton, 1954). On the
2Ó0 I FU RTH ER READING

Slavs and their conversion to Christianity, see F. Dvornik, Byzantine Missions

among the Slavs (New Brunswick, NJ, 1970); A. R Vlasto, The Entry o f the
Slavs into Christendom: An Introduction to the Medieval History o f the Slavs
(Cambridge, 1970); and I. Sevcenkô, Byzantium and the Slavs in Letters and
Culture (Cambridge, Mass., and Naples, 1992). On the Balkans and central
and eastern Europe, apart from the relevant chapters in The New Cambridge
Medieval History, Vols. II and III, see D. Obolensky, The Byzantine Common­
wealth: Eastern Europe, 500-1453 (London, 1971); Walter Pohl, Die Awaren: Ein
Steppenvolk in Mitteleuropa 567-822 n. Chr. (Munich, 1989); J. V. A. Fine, The
Early Medieval Balkans: A Critical Survey for the Late Sixth to the Early Twelfth
Century (Ann Arbor, 1983); and Johannes Fried, Otto III und Boleslaw Chobry,
2nd edn. (Stuttgart, 1999). Moravia remains a source o f contention: for a
useful discussion, see M. Innes, ‘Franks and Slavs, 700-1000: The problem o f
European expansion before the millennium’, Early Medieval Europe, 6 (1997),
pp. 201-16. For the north, see R Sawyer, Kings and Vikings: Scandinavia and
Europe ad 700-1100 (London and New York, 1982) and S. Franklin and
J. Shepard, The Emergence ofRus, 750-1200 (London, 1996). On aspects o f the
south and west, see B. Kreutz, Before the Normans: Southern Italy in the Ninth
and Tenth Centuries (Philadelphia, 1991) and T. C. Lounghis, Les Ambassades
byzantines en Occident depuis la fondation des états barbares jusqu’aux
Croisades (407-1096) (Athens, 1980).
Chronology

341 Bishop Ulfilas converts the Goths to Arian Christianity

358 Salian Franks in Toxandria
376 Goths settled in Thrace
378 Battle of Adrianople
C.390 Jerome embarks on a new translation of the Old Testament
400 Erection of Arcadius’ column in Constantinople
410 The Visigoths, led by Alaric, sack Rome
418 Foundation of the Visigothic kingdom of Toulouse
C.418 Orosius, Seven Books of History against the Pagans
426 Augustine, City of God
429 The Vandal kingdom is established in North Africa
436 Destruction of the first Burgundian kingdom
438 Theodosian Code
439 The Vandals seize Carthage and dominate central
North Africa
449 Priscus’ embassy to Attila the Flun’s camp, later written up in
Priscus’ History of Byzantium
451 Defeat of Attila the Hun at the Battle of the
Catalaunian fields
Council of Chalcedon reaffirms the definitions of the
Catholic faith made at Nicaea (325) and Constantinople (381)
and repudiates the teaching of Nestorius and Eutyches
453 Death of Attila the Hun of a massive nosebleed
456 Second Burgundian kingdom established at Lyons after a
protracted series of federate arrangements with the Romans
in Gaul
476 Deposition of Romulus Augustulus ‘last Roman emperor in
the west’ and accession of Odoacer
480 Death of Julius Nepos, also western emperor in Dalmatia
481 Clovis the Frank becomes the ruler of northern Gaul
2Ó2 I CHRONOLOGY

493 Theodoric the Ostrogoth defeats Odovacer and rules Italy

496-508 Conversion of Clovis to Catholicism
506 The Visigoths promulgate the Breviary of Alarie, an epitome
of the Roman law Theodosian Code
507 The Franks defeat the Visigoths at Vouillé
C.511 Lex Salica issued
511 Death of Clovis and first partition of the Merovingian
kingdom among his four sons
C.524 Boethius, Consolation of Philosophy
524 Execution of Boethius in Italy
526 Death of Theodoric the Ostrogoth
527-565 Reign of Justinian I, Byzantine emperor
C.532 The Easter Tables of Dionysius Exiguus are dated from the
(supposed) year of the Incarnation of Christ and thus
promote the Christian era
533 Death of Gelimer, king of the Vandals
534 Byzantine army under Belisarius reconquers Vandal Africa
Conquest of Burgundian kingdom by the Franks
Justinian publishes the Corpus Iuris Civilis
535-536 The Byzantine general Belisarius recovers Sicily and invades
southern Italy
536- 561 Ostrogothic wars in Italy
537 Consecration of Justinian’s church of Flagia Sophia in
Constantinople
537- 538 Cassiodorus compiles the Variae
C.540 St Benedict, Rule
Silkworms brought to Byzantium from Central Asia, India,
or China
c.540-565 Barbarini panel carved
540s Franks rule lands north of the Po in Italy
542-543 Plague spreads west from Constantinople
C.550 Cosmas Indicopleustes’ Topographia Christiana
552 Justinian’s army, commanded by Narses, destroys Totila, the
Gothic leader
C.552 Jordanes, History of the Goths
553 Totila’s successor Teias is defeated
 CHRONOLOGY | 263

554 The last Ostrogothic military resistance collapses though

some revolts in the north continue for a few more years
Justinian issues the Pragmatic Sanction with measures to
restore Italy as the westernmost province of the empire
C.560 Western Turks in alliance defeat Hephthalite Huns, become
masters of Sogdia, continue migration westwards
561 The Byzantine general Narses occupies the north of Italy
Second partition of Merovingian kingdom between the four
sons of Chlothar I
563 Saint Columba founds the monastery of Iona on the island
Hy given by the local Scottish king
567 Death of King Charibert and the redivision of the
Merovingian kingdom, as a result of which the sub-kingdoms
which became known as Neustria, Austrasia, and Burgundy
emerged
568— 569 The Lombards enter Italy
569- 573 Byzantine embassies to western Turk Khagan in central Asia
(described in Menander the Guardsman’s History)
570 The Avars enter Pannonia
c.570-585 Leovigild conquers most of Spain for the Visigoths
582 Accession of Emperor Maurice in Byzantium
584 The Lombards establish permanent kingship
589 The conversion of the Visigoths to Catholicism from
Arianism; Third Council of Toledo
590 Columbanus leaves Ireland bound for Gaul. There he founds
the monastery of Luxeuil and inspires many Franks with his
ascetic rigour
591 Gregory of Tours, Histories
597 Augustine of Canterbury converts the English king Æthelbehrt
of Kent to Christianity
603-628 War between Byzantium and Sasanian Persia
610 Accession of the Emperor Heraclius in Byzantium
611 Persians capture Antioch
612 Foundation of the monastery of Bobbio
613 Chlothar II reunites the Merovingian kingdom with the
assistance in particular of Arnulf, bishop of Metz and Pippin
I. From the marriage later between Arnulf’s son Ansegis and
Pippin’s daughter Begga the Carolingian family is descended
2Ó4 I CHRONOLOGY

618/619- Persians occupy Egypt

628/629
622 Mohammed leaves Mecca for Medina, beginning his hijra
(emigration); beginning of Islamic calendar
623 The Frankish king Chlothar II creates the sub-kingdom for
his son Dagobert in Austrasia
c.625-636 Isidore of Seville writes the Etymologiae
626 Avars, Slavs, and Persians besiege Constantinople
627-628 The Emperor Heraclius invades Persia and overthrows
Chosroes II
632 Death of Mohammed. Abu Bakr becomes caliph
633-641 Arabs overrun Byzantium’s Middle Eastern provinces and
destroy the Persian empire
636 Arabs overrun Syria
637 Arabs overrun Iraq
Arabs capture the Sasanian capital Ctesiphon
638 Arabs capture Jerusalem
639 Death of Dagobert, king of the Franks
642 Arabs conquer Egypt and begin conquest of North Africa
643 Rothari, king of the Lombards, issues his law code
651 Final defeat of Persians at Merv
654 The Visigothic king Recceswinth revises the Liber Iudiciorum,
which includes many laws compiled by his father
Chindaswinth
664 The Synod of Whitby resolves the Easter Question within the
English church in favour of the Roman practice (namely, the
cycle devised by Dionysius Exiguus)
674—678 Arab blockade of Constantinople
678-683 Câin Fhuithirbe: earliest datable Irish law code proclaimed,
dealing with the relationship between the church and kings
679 Barontus’ journey to heaven and back
680 Bulgars cross lower Danube and occupy land between the
river and the Haemus (Balkan) range
C.680 Peace concluded between Byzantium and the Lombards
681 The Visigothic king Ervig revises the Liber Iudiciorum
687 Battle of Tertry and Pippin II, mayor of the palace
in Austrasia, assumes control of the Merovingian
kingdom
 CHRONOLOGY 265

690 Willibrord the Anglo-Saxon missionary leaves Ireland bound

for Frisia
692 Completion of Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem,
demonstrating Umayyad piety and power
695 On 21 Nov., Willibrord is consecrated bishop by Pope Sergius
and thereafter establishes his see at Utrecht
Wihtred, king of Kent, issues a law code, at about the same
time as Ine, king of Wessex, issues his. Both are in English
698 Arabs capture Carthage
711 Arabs invade Visigothic Spain
713 Liutprand, king of the Lombards (712-744) makes the first of
many additions to the Lombard law code
714 Death of the Carolingian Pippin II, mayor of the palace. His
bastard son, Charles Martel, makes a bid for power in Francia
against the Neustrian Franks, led by Ragamfred, and the
Frisians
716 Duke Theodo of Bavaria asks the pope for help in the
reorganization of the church in Bavaria
716-718 Arab assault on Constantinople
718 Charles Martel establishes control in Francia and thereafter
rebuilds Frankish power in a series of military campaigns
At the ‘Battle of Covadonga’ the Arabs are defeated by the
Christian ruler of the Asturias and his army
722 The English missionary Boniface is sent to Germany as a
newly consecrated bishop by Pope Gregory II
725 Bede completes his On the Reckoning of Time, which becomes
a highly influential guide to calculation in the schools of
western Europe
726 Emperor Leo III of Byzantium comes to the throne
730 Emperor Leo III orders the destruction of all icons in the
Byzantine empire, allowing only crosses to remain, as being
symbols, not images
731 Bede, Ecclesiastical History of the English People
732—734 Battle of Poitiers (which actually took place between Tours
and Poitiers); Charles Martel defeats the Arabs and forces
them to retreat southwards
735 The Franks conquer Frisia
C.736 Brude, king of the Piets, establishes Pictish rule over the
Scottish kingdom of Dal Riata
266 CHRONOLOGY

737 Danevirk constructed across the Jutland peninsula by Danish

rulers
741 Death of Charles Martel; Pippin III and Carloman succeed
Charles Martel as mayor of the palace
Euloga law code in Byzantium
741/742 Bishoprics established in Erfurt, Buraburg, and Würzburg
742/743 Concilium Germanicum, presided over by the Englishman
Boniface, archbishop of Mainz and Carloman, Frankish
mayor of the palace in Austrasia, takes the first steps to
reform the Frankish church
743 Carloman, mayor of the palace in Austrasia elevates the last
Merovingian king, Chilperic III, to the throne
746 The Franks defeat the Alemans at Cannstadt
King Ratchis of the Lombards promulgates additions to the
Lombard law code
747 Synod of Cloveshoe in Mercia and reforms, closely resembling
the Frankish measures, are introduced into the English
church
749 Liutprand, king of the Lombards, invades the Pentapolis.
Pope Zacharias persuades him to leave
C.7 50 First wooden structures built at Staraia Ladoga on the River
Volkhov; the settlement serves as a trading post, where
Muslim silver was bartered for furs
Chrodegang, bishop of Metz, establishes a school for
ecclesiastical chant at Metz which it is claimed is modelled
on that of Rome
750 Abbasid caliphate established
751 Lombards capture Ravenna from Byzantium
Battle of Talas River establishes boundary between China and
Abbasid caliphate in east
Pippin III, the Carolingian mayor of the palace, usurps the
Merovingian throne
754 Pippin III, his wife Bertrada, and two sons Charles and
Carloman, are anointed as the ruling family by Pope
Stephen II (III) in Francia
Boniface, bishop of Mainz, is murdered by brigands at
Dokkum in northern Frisia
Iconoclast council in Heireia
755 Capitulary of Herstal and reform of Frankish coinage by
Pippin III who promotes the use of the new silver penny
 CHRONOLOGY 267

756 The Umayyad ‘Abd-al Rahman I seizes power in Cordoba

757 Tassilo, duke of Bavaria, swears fidelity to Pippin III at
Compiègne
Byzantine embassy to the Frankish court presents an organ to
Pippin III
767 Gisela, daughter of Pippin III is betrothed to the Byzantine
heir to the throne (later emperor) Leo IV. The marriage does
not take place
768 Death of Pippin III
Carolingian conquest of Aquitaine is completed by Charles
and Carloman, sons of Pippin III, who succeed Pippin as
kings of the Franks
771 Death of Carloman; Charlemagne is left as sole ruler of the
Franks
773-774 Conquest of the kingdom of the Lombards by Charlemagne
776-798 Completion of the palace complex and baths at Aachen
778 Charlemagne’s expedition to Spain. Roland, count of the
Breton March is killed at Roncesvalles and is celebrated in the
Old French poem, first written down in the eleventh century,
the Chanson de Roland
782 Charlemagne has 4,000 Saxon prisoners executed after the
Frankish defeat in the Siintel hills
780s and Scholars from Francia, England, Ireland, Italy, and Spain
790s gather at Charlemagne’s court
c.783 Paul the Deacon, History of the Lombards
785 Surrender of Widukind the Saxon to Charlemagne produces
a temporary subjugation of the Saxons to the Franks
786 The papal legates report on the state of the church in England
Lichfield is (temporarily) elevated to an archbishopric
Beatus of Liebana, Commentary on the Apocalypse
c.786 Completion of great Mosque of Cordoba
787 Second council of Nicaea anathematizes the iconoclasts and
defines the veneration to be accorded images
788 Annexation of Bavaria; Duke Tassilo and his family
imprisoned in monasteries in west Francia
789 Admonitio Generalis of Charlemagne advocates an extensive
reform programme for the Frankish church, with a stress on
correctio
268 I CHRONOLOGY

Brihtric, king of Wessex, marries Offa of Mercia’s daughter

Eadburh
Egbert of Wessex takes refuge at the court of Charlemagne
791 Defeat of the Avars by the Franks
792 Revolt of Pippin the Hunchback against Charlemagne
793 Theodulf of Orleans, Libri Carolini on the use of images in
religious worship
Charlemagne attempts to link the Danube and Rhine/Main
rivers by a canal dug between the Rednitz and Altmühl
rivers. Napoleon also failed. This was a project not achieved
until the late twentieth century
Viking sack of Lindisfarne
794 Council of Frankfurt. Charlemagne reforms the coinage and
regularizes weights and measures. Adoptionism and
Iconoclasm are condemned, but, due to a misunderstanding
of the Greeks’ arguments and definition of veneration, so are
the acts of Nicaea II (787)
c.795-835 Viking hit-and-run raids on Ireland
796 Destruction of the Avar Ring by the Franks, and the
plundering of the Avars’ enormously rich treasure
Charlemagne writes to Offa, king of Mercia, concerning
trading links and political exiles
798 Final subjugation of the Saxons by Charlemagne and the
Franks after many years of campaigns
799 Charlemagne meets Pope Leo III at Paderborn
Anon., Carolus Magnus et Leo Papa
Theodulf of Orleans, Contra Judices
800 Charlemagne captures Barcelona
Charlemagne’s letter, De litteris colendis is circulated
concerning the encouragement of education in the schools
of monasteries and bishoprics
The Capitulare de villis is issued by Charlemagne, concerning
the organization of the royal estates
Charlemagne crowned emperor in St Peter’s, Rome by Pope
Leo III on Christmas Day
802 Caliph Haroun al Rashid of Baghdad sends an elephant, Abul
Abaz, to Charlemagne
Charlemagne issues his programmatic capitulary on the
administrative reorganization of the empire
 CHRONOLOGY 269

806 Frankish control over Barcelona and the Spanish March, and
(briefly) Pamplona, established
Divisio regnorum: Charlemagne makes provision for the
division of his realm, between his then three living sons,
but not for the continuation of the imperial title, after
his death
808 Further fortifications of the Danevirk in the Jutland
peninsula
810 Pippin of Italy captures Venice and attacks Dalmatia
Death of the elephant Abul Abaz while on campaign in
Germany
811 Byzantine expedition against the Bulgars ends disastrously:
the Emperor Nicephorus I is slain and his skull is turned into
a drinking cup
New ecclesiastical provinces are created, with Besançon,
Tarentaise, and Embrun becoming archbishoprics. Cologne’s
metropolitian status is restored
812 Byzantium concludes a peace with the Franks in relation to
Dalmatia and recognizes Charlemagne as emperor
812-814 Bulgars overrun Thrace and Macedonia
813 Charlemagne crowns his son Louis as emperor
Reform councils of the Frankish church
814 Death of Charlemagne and accession of Louis the Pious
816 Peace concluded between Byzantium and Bulgaria
816/817 Aachen reform decrees promote the Rule of Benedict in
monasteries of the Frankish empire
817 The Ordinatio imperii of Louis the Pious divides his empire
between his three sons, Lothar, Louis, and Pippin, and makes
the eldest, Lothar, co-emperor
Pactum Ludovicianum: Louis the Pious confirms the pope in
the possession of his papal states and patrimonies and
guarantees the freedom of papal elections
Revolt of Bernard, king of Italy. It fails; he is blinded and dies
817— 824 Pope Paschal I builds the church of Sa Prassede in Rome
818— 847 During the episcopate of Bishop Theodemir of Iria Flavia,
the relics of St James are discovered at Compostela. Santiago
subsequently becomes a major cult and pilgrimage site
C.820 Plan of St Gallen
822 Redaction of the polyptych of the abbey of Saint-Germain-
des-Prés on the orders of Abbot Irmino
270 CHRONOLOGY

823 Birth of Charles the Bald to Louis the Pious’ second

wife Judith
824 Constitutio romana restores the role of the people of Rome in
papal elections
Independent kingdom of Pamplona established
824-830 Muslim raiders seize Crete and begin seizing strongholds
in Sicily
825 Synod of Paris reiterates the Franks’ condemnation of Greek
views on images
Dicuil, De mensura orbis
826 The Danish king Harald Klak is baptized at the court of the
Frankish emperor Louis the Pious
827 Byzantine gifts to Louis the Pious include the works of
pseudo-Denys the Areopagite
829/830 Historia Brittonum attributed to ‘Nennius’
830s Hungarians move into steppes north of the Black Sea
830 Revolt against Louis the Pious led by Counts Hugh
and Matfrid
830-831 Anskar’s mission to Sweden
C.831 Hamburg-Bremen becomes an archdiocese
833 Deposition of the Frankish emperor, Louis the Pious
Public penance of Louis the Pious
834 Restoration of Louis the Pious
834—837 Annual raids by Vikings on the trading settlement
of Dorestad
839 ‘Rhos’ form part of a Byzantine embassy to the court of Louis
the Pious
840 Death of Louis the Pious. Civil wars ensue between his
surviving sons, Lothar, Louis the German, and Charles
the Bald
840- 841 Vikings establish a base at Dublin
841- 843 Stellinga revolt in Saxony
841—871 Muslim emirate in Bari
842 Strasbourg oaths between Louis the German and Charles the
Bald. In the record made of them by Nithard (d. 844), History
of the Sons of Louis the Pious, writing soon thereafter, the oath
sworn in ‘Romance’ is the earliest extended example of Old
French
 CHRONOLOGY | 2J1

843 Treaty of Verdun and division of the Frankish

empire between Lothar, Charles the Bald, and Louis
the German
Vikings attack Nantes. Many other places in the Frankish
kingdoms are raided over the next 50 years
Restoration of icons in Byzantium and Feast of
Orthodoxy established
845 Vikings sack Hamburg
847- 852 Pseudo-Isidorean canonical collection forged
848- 849 Kenneth I, king of the Piets and Dal Riata by 842, makes
Dunkeld his new ecclesiastical centre and places the relics
of St Columba in the church there
855 Death of the Emperor Lothar. His ‘Middle kingdom’ is
divided between his three sons, Lothar II, Louis II (in Italy),
and Charles
856 Rhodri, king of Gwynedd, kills the Viking leader Horm
857 Æthelwulf of Wessex visits King Charles the Bald of the
west Franks and subsequently marries Judith, Charles’
daughter
858 Louis the German invades his brother Charles the Bald’s
kingdom
860 Rus attack Constantinople
Gottschalk’s views on predestination are condemned at the
Synod of Tusey
C.861 Conversion of Khazars to Judaism
863 The missonaries Constantine-Cyril and Methodius sent
to Moravia
Otfrid of Weissenberg, Evangelienbuch
864 Conversion of Khan Boris of Bulgaria to Byzantine
Christianity
Subsequently he turns to Pope Nicholas I for spiritual
leadership and accepts priests from the east Franks
Edict of Pitres: Charles the Bald reforms the west Frankish
coinage
867 Mission of Ermanrich of Ellwangen to the Bulgarians
869 Constantine-Cyril dies in Rome. Methodius later returns to
central European Slavs as papal emissary and continues
with pastoral and translation work, championing the use
of Slavonic as the language of the liturgy
272 CHRONOLOGY

Death of Lothar II, king of Lotharingia; his kingdom is

claimed by his uncle Charles the Bald, king of the west
Franks, who is crowned king at Metz
869-870 Council of Constantinople. Khan Boris accepts loose
religious affiliation with Byzantium
Conversio Bagoariorum et Carantanorum
870 Treaty of Meersen: Charles the Bald and Louis the German
divide Lotharingia between them
Rastislav is deposed as ruler of Moravia and is succeeded by
Zwentibald/Svatopluk
C.870 Beginning of Norse settlement in Iceland
873-874 The magnificent Westwork at Corvey is built
874 Peace concluded between east Franks and Moravians
875 Charles the Bald, king of the west Franks (840-877), is
crowned emperor in Rome by Pope John VIII. The pope is
presented with the Cathedra petri (a throne of oak with ivory
panels depicting the labours of Hercules) and a life-size
silver crucifix
875/876 Byzantines reoccupy Bari, and regain other strongholds in
southern Italy
876 Death of Louis the German
8 Oct. Battle of Andernach, Charles the Bald, king of the west
Franks is defeated by his nephew Louis the Younger of the
east Franks. Eastern Lotharingia is divided between Louis
and his brother Charles III the Fat
877 6 Oct. Death of Charles the Bald. He is succeeded by his son
Louis the Stammerer
Death of Rhodri Mawr, major king in Wales
878 Syracuse falls to Muslims
Battle of Edington; King Alfred defeats the Viking leader
Guthrum and establishes his chain of fortified burhs
Vikings winter in Dyfed, Wales
879 Boso becomes king of Provence
880s Ohthere the Norwegian rounds the North Cape and reaches
the White Sea
Later (c.890) he recounts his journey to King Alfred
of Wessex
880 Death of Carloman, king of the east Franks, whose territory
is acquired by his brother Louis the Younger
 CHRONOLOGY 273

Louis the Younger, king of the east Franks, invades the

kingdom of the west Franks and is conceded western
Lotharingia by the treaty of Ribemont
Louis the Younger defeats the Vikings at Thiméon on the
Sambre river
881 Louis III, king of the west Franks, defeats Vikings at a battle
at Saucourt
Ludwigslied (a poem in Old High German) celebrates the
victory of a Frankish king called Louis over the Vikings
Eulalia Sequence. The oldest extant poem in Old French
882 Death of Louis the Younger
884 Æthelred, king of Mercia submits to Alfred of Wessex
Carolingian empire briefly reunited under Charles the Fat
885 Death of Methodius. His pupils are oppressed by east
Frankish clergy; some flee to Bulgaria
885-886 Viking siege of Paris
886 Photius, patriarch of Constantinople is obliged to vacate his
office for the second time. He dies some years later
King Alfred of Wessex occupies London
887 Charles the Fat relinquishes throne (and dies the following
year). He is succeeded by Arnulf in east Francia
888 Arnulf acknowledges Odo, Rudolf, and Berengar, elected
kings of the west Franks, of Burgundy, and of Italy
respectively. Only Berengar is a Carolingian family member
894 Pechenegs defeat Hungarians
Baptism of Borivoj, ruler of the Bohemians
895 Council of Tribur
Haesten’s army of Danes ravages south Wales
896 Arnulf crowned emperor by Pope Formosus
897 Pope Stephen VI has the rotting corpse of his predecessor
Formosus exhumed and tried for perjury, breaking canon
law, and coveting the papacy. Formosus is declared guilty and
the body is flung into the Tiber
898 Odo, king of the west Franks, succeeded by the Carolingian
Charles the Simple
899 8 Dec. Death of Arnulf; he is succeeded by Louis the Child
C.900 Rus establish themselves on Middle Dnieper and thereafter
trade regularly with Byzantium
902 The Vikings are driven from Dublin
274 CHRONOLOGY

904 Leo of Tripoli, Muslim pirate chief, sacks Thessalonica

905 Magyars/Hungarians begin to raid western Europe
907 The Magyars defeat a Bavarian army at the Marchfeld
near Bratislava
c.907 First written trading privilege granted by Byzantium to Rus,
followed by more elaborate treaties
910 Foundation of Cluny
911 County of Rouen ceded to Rollo the Viking by Charles
the Simple, king of the west Franks. Over the next 8o
years the territory expands and becomes the duchy
of Normandy
Death of Louis the Child, the last Carolingian king of the
kingdom of the west Franks
Conrad of Franconia elected king of the east Franks
914 A Viking fleet arrives in the Severn estuary from
Brittany, ravages Wales and captures Bishop Cyfeiliog,
who is ransomed
C.914 Byzantine religious mission to Alans, nomads living to the
north of the Caucasus
915 Berengar of Friuli, great-grandson of Louis the Pious,
crowned emperor by Pope John X
917 Sitric the Viking king reoccupies Dublin
918 Death of Conrad I; Henry I ‘the Fowler’ of Saxony
elected king
919 The Viking leader Ragnall from Dublin takes York and
becomes king of Northumbria
922 Ibn Fadlan’s visit to the middle Volga
929/925— Czechs dominate the Bohemian plain
972
929 Boleslav I, king of Bohemia, kills his brother Wenceslas. The
latter is later recognized as a saint and becomes the Czech
national saint
Abd-ar-Rahman III establishes caliphate at Cordoba
930 Otto, son of Henry I ‘the Fowler’, marries Edith, sister of
Æthelstan of Wessex
936 7 July. Death of Henry I
His son Otto I succeeds him and on 8 Aug. is crowned at
Aachen
937 Foundation of monastery of St Maurice, Magdeburg
 CHRONOLOGY 275

Battle of Brunanburh: the kings of Scotland and Strathclyde

ally with the Norse to fight King Æthelstan of Wessex. The
battle is celebrated in a poem incorporated into the
Anglo-Saxon Chronicle
948 Bishops appointed to sees at Schleswig, Ribe, and Aarhus in
Denmark
940s and Various northern leaders visit Constantinople and are
950s baptized, including the Hungarian chieftain Bulcsu and
Princess Olga of the Rus
949 Liudprand of Cremona’s first embassy to Constantinople,
later described in his Antapodosis (‘Tit-for-Tat’)
c.950 De administrando imperio compiled under the direction of
Constantine VII Porphyrogenitus
951 Otto I crowned king of Italy and marries Adelheid, widow of
Lothar, king of Italy
953 Otto I’s brother Bruno is made archbishop of Cologne
954 Death of Eric Bloodaxe, Viking ruler of York
955 Otto I of Saxony defeats the Hungarians at the Battle of the
Lech. He executes their leaders, including the Christian
Bulcsu
957 Division of the English kingdom between Edgar and Eadwig
958 Gorm, king of the Danes, buried at Jelling
959 England reunited under King Edgar
961 Byzantium reconquers Crete
962 Otto I crowned emperor in Rome by Pope John XII
Ottonianum confirms the donations of Pippin III and
Charlemagne and the freedom of papal elections
965 Conversion of King Harald Bluetooth of the Danes to
Christianity
966 Baptism of Miezko I, king of Poland
967/972- Prague is made a bishopric during the reign of
999 Boleslav II
968 Establishment of Magdeburg as a new archbishopric in
eastern Germany
Poznan in Poland becomes a bishopric
Liudprand of Cremona’s embassy to Constantinople on
behalf of Otto I, described immediately afterwards in his
Relatio de Legatione Constantinopolitana
969—971 Prince Sviatoslav tries to establish a new centre of Rus power
on the lower Danube
2J6 \ CHRONOLOGY

c.970 Regularis Concordia

972 Death of Prince Sviatoslav of the Rus and many of his
warriors at the Dnieper Rapids
Marriage in Rome of Otto I’s son Otto II to Theophano,
niece of the Byzantine Emperor John I Tzimisces
973 Death of Otto I
982 Otto II is defeated by the Saracens in Calabria
983 Death of Otto II
Slav uprising east of Elbe and the destruction of the German
missionary churches there
C.985 First Scandinavian settlements in Greenland
987 Death of the last Carolingian king of the west Franks,
Louis V. Accession of Hugh Capet
Godfrid the Viking ravages Anglesey and takes 2,000
prisoners. This raid is one of many over the preceding
15 years
C.988 Prince Vladimir of Kiev adopts Byzantine Christanity. Mass
baptism of citizens of Kiev in the river Dnieper
989 Maredudd ab Owain, king of Dyfed, pays a poll tax of a
penny to the Vikings
990 Miezco I of Poland annexes Silesia and Little Poland
C.990 First church built at Roskilde in Denmark
991 Death of the Empress Theophano. Her mother-in-law
Adelaide is left as sole regent for her grandson Otto III
992 Byzantine chrysobull granting privileges to Venetian vessels
995 Waik (Stephen) of Hungary marries Gisela of Bavaria
996 Otto III pays his first visit to Rome and has his cousin Bruno
elected as Pope Gregory V
Otto III crowned emperor in Rome
997 Adalbert of Prague is martyred by the Prussians
998 Otto Ill’s second visit to Rome. He deposes the anti-pope
John Philagathus
999 Otto Ill’s former tutor, Gerbert, archbishop of Rheims
becomes Pope Sylvester II
Death of Olaf Tryggvason king of Norway who promoted the
conversion of his people to Christianity
Unsuccessful revolt of Sitric Silkenbeard, Viking king of
Dublin, who is defeated by Brian Boru, king of Ireland
 CHRONOLOGY 277

1000 The Icelanders accept Christianity

Otto III and Boleslaw of Poland venerate relics of St Adalbert
at Gniezno
Gniezno elevated to an archbishopric
Coronation of King Stephen of Hungary with a crown sent
by the pope
Otto III visits Aachen and opens the tomb of Charlemagne
C.1000 Earliest churches built on Greenland
First landings of Scandinavians on the North American
seaboard
1002 Death of Otto III
 Maps

-lap 1 Europe c.400: The late Roman empire

28 o MAPS

M ap 2 Europe c.526: The early m edieval successor states

MAPS 281
282 MAPS

M ap 3 Europe c.732: Arab expansion

MAPS 283
284 I MAPS

M ap 4 Europe .c814: The Carolingian em pire

MAPS I 285
286 MAPS

Map 5 The division of the Frankish empire in 843

 MAPS 287

Map 6 Early medieval Europe: Monastic and cathedral centres of

learning and culture
288 MAPS

Map 7 The ecclesiastical provinces of Latin Europe (reflecting changes

made in 811)
MAPS 289
290 MAPS

Map 8 Europe c.1000

MAPS 291
Index
Aachen 40,110,196, 230, 238, 241, 242 Aldebert, heretic 144
baths at 35 Alexandria 205, 209
building of palace of 50 Alfred the Great, king of Wessex 6,78,
coronation site 246 195, 232
palace chapel of 17,172,190 Alphonso II, Spanish king 185,194
reform councils of (816/817) 15L 188 Alphonso III, Spanish king 185
Abbo of Fleury 196 Althing 41
Abd al-Rahman I 183 Amalasuintha, Ostrogothic princess
Abd al-Rahman III 183 3i> 175
Adalbert, bishop of Prague 239-40,241 Amalfitan traders 248
tomb of 242 Amandus, missionary 227
Adelaide, German Empress 32 Ambrose, archbishop of Milan 148,170
Admonitio generalis (789) 139,186,188, America 104
194>233 amphitheatre 13
Adoptionism 41,145 Anastasius of Sinai 211
Adrianople, battle of (378) 10 Anastasius, emperor 12
adventus 54 Angilram, bishop of Metz 38
Æfric of Eynsham 195 Anglo-Saxon Chronicle 245, 247
Æthelberht, king of Kent, Anglo-Saxon England, society of 76-8
conversion of 133,135 animals 115
laws of 29,77 Annales metteuses priores 192
Æthelwold, bishop of Winchester 126, Annals of St Bertin 170
163,196 annals 32
Aetius, Roman general 23 anointing of kings 55
Africa 202, 225 Ansfrid, count and bishop of Utrecht
Agapitus, Pope 176 163-4
Agathias, historian 178, 219 Anskar, missionary 231
Agilolfings 13 Antioch 60
Agilulf, Lombard king 173 Aquileia, patriarchate of 235
Agobard, archbishop of Lyons 83 Arab conquests 14,15,16
agriculture, early medieval 115-17 raiders 205-6, 209, 215, 221, 222, 238
Aidan, missionary 181, 226 Arcadius, column of 202
al-Hakam II 183 arena 13
al-Kindi 234 Arianism 13, 29,134,137,171
al-Mansur 183 aristocracies
al-Maslama 183 Byzantine 72-3
Alans 10,11, 220 civilian 61, 64, 68-9, 74
Alaric, leader of the Visigoths 10,11, 24 early medieval 64-74
Alberic II, duke of Spoleto 163 military 64, 67
Alboin, Lombard king 31 power bases of 71
Alcuin 139,186,189, 233 Roman 60-94
294 IN D EX

of service 65 Basil I, Byzantine emperor 15, 85

status of 65 Basil II, Byzantine emperor 240
Aristotle 172 Basil, bishop of Caesarea. 170
Armagh 135 baths 62
Armenian bihsops 248 Bavarian Geographer 236
army 28,49, 50, 61 Beatus of Liébana 184
private 69 Bede 8,77,135,136,138,143,145,186,193
artisans 59-60 accounts of conversion by 133,139
Asia 202, 225 commentaries 181
assemblies 41-3,70,78,79, 82-3, 91, 92, Historia ecclesiastica 174,177-8,181,
110 195, 226, 227
assimilation 13 Life of Cuthbert 181
Astonomer, Life of Louis the Pious On the reckoning of time (De ratione
192 temporum ) 181, 226
astronomy 217-18, 231 on political structures 26
Ateliers Catholiques 6 Belgica secunda 172
Athalaric, Ostrogothic king 31 Benedict Biscop 181
Athaulf, Lombard king 173 Benedict, Rule of 150-1,154,163,176,
Athelstan, king of England 195 181,186,188
Attigny, council of (762) 152 life of 151
Attila the Hun 23,111, 218 Benedict VII, Pope 245
Augusta 31 beneficia 49, 90
Augustine, bishop of Hippo xii, Fig. Beowulf 179
10,170 Bertha, Frankish princess 135
City of God 224 Bertram, bishop of Le Mans 66
Augustine of Canterbury 135, 226 Bible 161,169-70,180,189,190,196,197
Ausonius 175 exegesis of 143
Austrasia 16 influence on law in Ireland of 25
Auvergne 105 inspiration of 139,140,198
Avars 16, 50, 214, 228 model for Christian behaviour 186
treasure of 53 text for teaching 175
Avitacum 62, 63 Birka 111,112, 234
Avitus, bishop of Vienne 173 bishops 62,134, 237
Avitus, Roman emperor 12, 63, 65 Bloch, Marc 97, 98
Bobbio 180
Baghdad 217 Boethius 232
Baldwin I, count of Flanders 126 Consolation of Philosophy 172,195
Balkans 101 Bohemians 18
Balthild, Frankish queen 32 Bois, Guy 98
Baluze, Etienne 6 Boleslaw, Polish king 242
banda 40 Boniface IV, Pope 175
baptism 157 Boniface, archishop of Mainz 138,144,
formulas 147 145,146,186,190, 228
barbarian, definition of 10 Bonnassie, Pierre 98
Barberini diptych 203 border controls 201
Barontus, vision of 212 borderlands 22, 202, 204-5, 228
 INDEX I 295

Boris, Bulgar khan 38, 229, 236 Charlemagne 16,19, 29,169,193,194,

Bracciolini, Poggio 6 196,197, 201, 230
Brescia, San Salvatore 192 compared with David 233
Breviary ofAlaric 44 compared with Josiah 139
Britain, fate of 26 coronation of as emperor 17,34,
Christians in 134-5 138
Brittany 82-3 cult of 246
Brunhild 32, 71 emulation of 237, 238
Bruno, archbishop of Cologne 196 exhibition 7
Bruno of Querfurt 241, 247-8 imperial coinage of 4-5
buckles 170 imposes tithe 118
Bulgars 18,160, 215, 220 impressed by San Vitale, Ravenna
conversion of 232 172,190
Burchard, bishop of Worms 44,147 legal decision on work services
Burgundians 11,13 119
burial 158,160 legislation of 140
Byzantine reconquest, see Justinian military success of 49
Byzantium 15-16,188-9,196 as pater europae 1
religion in 141-2 religious interests of 144
religious reforms of 188,189
Caesarius, bishop of Arles 175 swimming 35
canal between Rhine and Danube 50 tomb of 242, 246
canon law collections 223 Charles Martel 16,49
canons 151 Charles the Bald, Frankish king 20,
Canterbury 5,191 27,126,191,192
Capetians 18 Bible written for 190
capitula episcoporum 155 compared with David 186
Capitulare de villis 122 capitulary of 156
capitularies 41, 45, 46, 233 court of 145
Cappadocia 176 enthroned xii Fig. 3
Caroline minuscule xii Fig. 10; see also portraits of 54
script Charles the Simple, Frankish king 34
Carthage 11, 209 charters 5, 8,38, 41, 46
Cassiodorus 172,175-6,177,181 Chelles xii Fig. 8,32
Castelseprio, S. Maria foris portas 192 Chester-le-Street 195
Castile 13 Chifflet, Jacques 4
castles 93 child oblation 154
Catalaunian plains, battle of (451) 11, Childebert II, king of the Franks
23 207-8
Catholics, persecution of 29 Childeric, father of Clovis 4, 24
celibacy 156-7,161 grave of 14
cereals 115 Chilperic I, Frankish king 172
fossilized seeds of 106 China 205, 214
ceremonial, imperial 241; see also Chlothar III, Frankish king 32
adventus Chosen People 143
chapel, palace 38 Chosroes 204
296 I INDEX

Christ, iconography of 197 Constantine I, Roman emperor 17, 54,

Christian of Stablo 232 135>173>174>229, 238
Christiana religio coinage 52 at Nicaea 137
Christianity, errant 147; see also vision of 132
heretics Constantine V, Byzantine emperor 214
in Ireland 135-6 Constantine VI, Byzantine emperor
Chrodegang, bishop of Metz 186 32,188
chrysobull of 992 248 Constantine VII, Byzantine emperor
church and government 43 216, 219, 22:0
church building 82,111, 230, 240 godfather to Olga, Rus princess 240
cingulum 64 Constantine-Cyril, missionary 229,235
circulation and exchange 109,111-13, Constantinople 60,73,168,170,173,201,
121,125-6 202, 203, 205, 220, 223, 224, 232
cities, decline of political role of 68 concept of 230
Cividale 235 glazed ware of 107
church of Santa Maria ii, 192 map of 230
civitas, see diocese Conversio Bagoariorum et
classics, survival of 216, 217, 219 Carantanorum 236
Claudian 169 conversion 147, 232
claustrum 150,151,163 royal 132-4,139
clergy 154-5 Coptic 171
clienteles, aristocratic 90-1 Corbie 180
climate 100,104 Cordoba 36, 75,183,184
closeness to the king, see Königsnähe calendar of 183
cloth, see textiles Corpus Iuris civilis 44
Clothar II, Frankish king 66 correctio 137,141
clothing, rhetoric of 67-8 corruption 23, 40
Clovis I, Frankish king 4,13,14, 24, 65, Corvey 190,198
172 Cosmas Indicopleustes 204, 217, 231
conversion of 7,133,134 cosmography 225, 231
Clovis II, Frankish king 32 councils, church 37
Cluny 105,162,195 countryside
Cnut, Danish king of England 54 Byzantine 101-2
Coifi, pagan priest 133,145 early medieval 115-20
coinage 48, 50-1, 207 late antique 113-14
Cologne 197,198 counts 36,39
cathedral 5 county 27
St Pantaleon 196 courts 110, 233
Columbanus 136,180 Frankish 230-1, 235
Columella 114 imperial 215
communications 23,121, 201, 209-10, Crispinus, merchant 81, 82
211, 227, 228, 230 Crith Gablach 53
confraternity books, see libri Crypta Balbi 107,108
memoriales cult, uniform 137
consanguinity 160-1 curiales 60, 61
consensus 32-4 Cuthbert 195
 IN D E X I 297

Dagobert, Frankish king 67 Ecdicius 63

Damascus 183 Ecgfrith, king of Northumbria 181
Damasus, Pope 174 Echternach 182
Danevirk 239 Edgar, English king 196
Daniel, bishop of Winchester, on Edwin, king of Northumbria,
pagans 145-6,228 conversion of 133,174
Danube 10 Egbert, priest 227
David, Hebrew king 140,186 Egica, Visigothic king 29
De Administrando 219, 221 Egypt 176
De litteris colendis 188 Einhard 190,193
death 154,158, 212 Life of Charlemagne 190,192, 246
Defensor of Ligugé, Liber Scintillarum Elftrude, daughter of Alfred the Great
176 126
Denmark 23 Elias, patriarch of Jerusalem 232
dependants 72, 85 Eligius, bishop of Noyon 67
Desiderius, bishop of Cahors 173 embassies 22, 204, 205, 207, 214, 230-1,
Desiderius, Lombard duke 192 238
Dicuil, geographer 213, 231-2 literary accounts of 218, 219
Digines Akritis 73 Emeterius, artist xii Fig. 5
diocese 23, 27, 28 Emma, English queen 54
Dionysio-Hadriana 44, 233 empire
diplomacy 209, 217, 230-1, 236; see also idea of 21,138,139,202,203,206,207,
embassies 211, 213, 233, 241
diseases 100-2; see also plague symbols of 206, 207, 215, 242
Doctrine of Jacob the Newly Baptised vocabulary of 201
206-7, 2.09 emporia 111
documentation, methods of 24,36-9 Ende, artist xii Fig. 5
Donation of Constantine 241 Ennodius of Pavia 175
Donatus 189 episcopal office 140
Dorestad 111,112, 234 Epistulae Austrasiacae 173
Drythelm, vision of 212 Ermoldus Nigellus 231
Dublin 4 0 ,111,112 Erwig, Visigothic king 229
dukes 36 estates 50
Dunkeld 40 Carolingian 99,117-120
Dunstan, archbishop of Canterbury early medieval 114,117
126,163 late antique 103,113-14
dynastic succession 30-1 ethnogenesis 7, 26, 27, 69, 70
ethnography 214, 217, 219
ealdordom 28 Eucherius, son of Stilicho xii, xviii,
earth, image of 230 Fig. 2
sphere 217 Eugippius 176
Easter 136-7,159 Eulogius 183
calculation of 226, 231 Euric, Visigothic king 14, 24
Ebbo, archbishop of Rheims 85-6,191 Europa /Europe 202, 225, 233, 234, 235>
Ebroin, mayor of the palace in 247
Neustria 208 definition of 1, 7, 201, 224
298 I INDEX

Europe, formation of 23, 248-9 Gelimir, Vandal king 205, 207, 217
single currency of 52 Genesis in Old Saxon 193
Eusebius, bishop of Caesarea 132, Genoa 109,127
133 geography 217, 219, 223-4, 225, 231-2,
Ecclesiastical History 54 236; see also Dicuil
Life of Constantine 54 Gerald, count of Aurillac 91-2
exchange 10 9 ,111-13,121,125-6 Gerard of Brogne 126
exegesis, biblical 143,144,145 Gerard of Cambrai 97
Gerbert of Aurillac, see Sylvester II
fairs 126,127 Germanic languages 193
familia 154 Gernrode 196
families, peasant 87 Gervasius, martyr 149
famine, see food Géza, Hungarian king 239
Farfa 5,104 gifts 34,47, 53, 72,79, 80, 82, 88, 90, 91
Farmer’s Law 86 Gildas 177
Fathers, Church 131,132 Girona, Museu de la catedral di Girona
federates 10 ,11 Num. inv. 7(4) xii Fig 5
Felix IV, pope 174,192 Gisela, Charlemagne’s daughter 32
Fertile Crescent 204 Gisela, Charlemagne’s sister 32, 215
fiefs 90 Gniezno 242
Fleury 163,195 goâar 39, 79
food 61,100,104,106,115-16 Gododdin 178, 80
fortifications 93,125, 203, 233 godparenthood 157-8,160
Francogallia 5 Godric of Finchale 126
Frankfurt 40 Goiswintha, Visigothic queen 31
Council (794) 41,144,189 Gorze 163, 195,198
Franks 11,13 Gospels 167,181-2,188,191,197
as Chosen People 7 Gothic wars, see Justinian I
conquests of 21, 22 Goths 10
Franks Casket xii Fig. 7,179 Gottschalk of Orbais 145,191
Fraxinetum 221 grammar 188,189,193
Fredegar 177,191 Greek 61, 203
Fredegund, Frankish queen 71 Greek fire 221
Frederick Barbarossa 246 Greenland 248
Frisians 16 Gregorian reform, see reform
frontiers 22, 206; see also Gregory I, the Great, Pope 135,138,161,
borderlands 174, 210, 212, 213
Fulbert of Chartres 245 Dialogues 151,178
Fulda xiii Fig. 12, 5,143,190,191,198 Dialogues, in Greek 210, 212
Pastoral Care 195
Galbert of Bruges 97 Gregory IV, Pope 192
Galla Placidia 168,171,173 Gregory V, Pope 241
Gandersheim 32 Gregory, bishop of Tours 7, 62, 65, 71,
gastald 39 100,133,134,177-8
Geismar, sacred oak of 146 family of 70
Gelasian Sacramentary xii Fig. 8 Histories 29
 IN D E X I 299

Grimoald, Frankish mayor of the Honoratus of Lérins 176

palace 53 Honorius, emperor 11
growth 98-100,123,126-9 Honorius, Roman emperor 168
Gundobad, Burgundian king 24, 29 Honorius I, Pope 174,175,192
Gundeperga, Lombard queen 31 horses 115,127
Gundulf 70 horse collar 116
Hotman, François 6
Hadrian I, Pope 188,194 Hraban Maur, archbishop of Mainz
Hadrian, missionary 208, 210 xiii Fig. 12,143,144
hagiography 149 Liber sanctae crucis 191
Halsall, Guy 87 On the Nature of things 231
Hamburg, sack of 238 hundred 28
Hamwic 111 Hungarians 236, 237; see also
Harald Bluetooth, Danish king 239 Magyars
Harald, Danish king, baptism of 231, Huns 10 ,11
235 hunting 35-6, 40
Hautvillers xii Fig. 4,191 Hydatius 177
Hâvamâl 79
heaven 212-14 Ibn Habib 183
letter from 144 Iceland 18,41,78-9, 248
Hebrides 18 Iconoclast controversy 41,141-2,188-9,
Hedeby 111, 234 211, 215
Helena, mother of Constantine 135 icons 188-9, 211
Heliand 193 identity 3, 6, 7, 26, 27, 70
helmet, Sutton Hoo 208-9 Imma 77
Henry II, German emperor 197 immunity 49,150
Henry the ‘Fowler’, German king 237 incest 160,161
Heraclius, Byzantine emperor 15, 205 Indian Ocean 204
heretics 142,144 Indians 203
Herodotus 218 ships 204
Hesdin, count of 125 Ine, king of Wessex 149-50
Hewald, missionary 227 intelligence 214, 219
Hildebold, archbishop of Cologne 38 invasions 13
Hildebrandslied 193 Iona 194
Himerius, bishop of Tarragona 156 Ipswich 111
Hincmar, archbishop of Rheims 43, Ireland 18
156,191,192 conversion of 135
Hispana 44 Irene, Byzantine empress 32,188
history Isidore, bishop of Seville 31,149
‘national’ 6, 7,32 De natura rerum 225
as political theory 29-30, 55 Etymologies 176, 225
writing of 7-8 History of the Goths, Vandals and
Holy Lance 197, 238 Sueves 30,173
copy of 242 influence of 226
Holy Land 213 Islam 141,143
Homer 61 Israel, children of 7
300 I INDEX

itinerary, royal 32, 40-1 kingship 25,33 53-6; 70, 79,140

ideal of 220
Jarrow, see Wearmouth itinerant 233
Jelling 40,195 Königsnähe 34-6, 64, 66, 68
Jerome io, 170,190
Jerusalem 209, 230 L’Anse aux Meadows 5
Holy Sepulchre 190 labour, see services; taxation
New 213 laity 157-8,160
place of 231 land tenure 78
sack of 10 landowning 69
Jews 138,142-4 Last Judgement 154,158
John Cassian 176 Latin 9, 25, 46, 61,170,171,177,178,189,
John Crescendus, prefect of Rome 192-3,195
241 law 9, 43-7» 23i
John Scotus Eriugena 191 canon 44
John the Grammarian 217 Roman 44, 46, 54
John Tzimisces, Byzantine emperor written 45
196 lawbooks 46
John XII, Pope 238 law codes 29,37
Jonas, bishop of Orleans 131 law courts 82-3
Jordanes 8, 26,177 Lechfeld, battle of 237, 239
Josiah, Hebrew king 139,186 Legatine synod of 786 194
Jouarre xii Fig. 8 leges, Germanic 44,45
Judith, daughter of Charles the Bald Lent 159
126 Leo I, Pope 138
Judith, Frankish empress 31 Leo II, Pope 229
Julian of Toledo, Life of King Wamba Leo III, Pope 17,138,189
173 Leo III, Byzantine emperor 141,
Julius Nepos, emperor 12 211
justice 28 Leo V, Byzantine emperor 215
Justinian I, Byzantine emperor 14,15, Leo VI, Byzantine emperor 216
101,172, 203, 204, 205 Leo of Narbonne, Gallo-Roman
Corpus iuris civilis 44 official 24
reconquest of 14,106,109 Leodegar, bishop of Autun 178
Leovigild, Visigothic king 68,173
Kells, Book of (Dublin, Trinity College Lérins 176
Library MS 58 (A.I.6) 194 letter writing 173,189
Khazars 220 Leudast of Tours 85
conversion of 232 Lex Alamannorum 118
Kiev 18 ,111,112 Lex Baiuwariorum 118
conversion of 240 Lex Romana Visigothorum 44
king Liber Pontificalis 174
Lombard election of 33 Libri Carolini 189
presence of 40-1 libri memoriales 152
role of 28-30 Lichfield 38
relationship with church 28-9 Liège 197
 INDEX I 3OI

Liguria, Byzantine control of 109 mallus 83

Lindisfarne 181 Mamertus, bishop of Vienne 63, 64
linguistic boundary 102 Man, Isle of 18
literacy 8-9,39,156,193 manorial system 120
liturgy 9,152,188,197-8 mansus 81,103,117-19,122,123,125
Liudprand of Cremona 196, 222, 223 Mantai 204
Antapodosis 221, 238 manumission 84
Lombards 12,13 manuscripts, copying of 210
London (Lundenwic) 111,112,126 markets 51
London, British Library Stowe MS marriage 70,156,160
944 (Liber Vitae of New Marseilles 101,109, 207
Minster) 55 Martin of Tours 176
London, British Library, Harley 3012 Martynovka 207
xii Fig. 10 martyrs 148,149
Lorsch xiii Fig. 10, 5,190,191 mass 152
Lothar I, Frankish emperor 27,190,222 votive 152
Lothar II, Frankish king 152 matrilinear succession 30
Louis II, Frankish emperor 222 mayor of the palace 16
Louis the German, Frankish king 27, Melania, Roman aristocrat 60
51»235 Melchisedek, Old Testament priest 186
Louis I, the Pious, Frankish emperor memory, social 8
xiii Fig. 12, 35, 85,140, 235 Menander the Guardsman 218, 219
coinage of 52 merchants 59,125,203,204,207,208,218
court of 231 Merovingian kings 172-3
as miles Christi Fig. 12 Methodius, missionary 229, 235, 236
Louvre 4 Metz 87,111,191
Lucca 71, 81, 82, 86,108,113,127 Micy 191
Lucullanum 176 Miezko, Polish king 239
Ludwigslied 193 Migne, Abbé 6
Lunata 81 Milan 113,121,127,168,175
Lupercalia 146 miles Christi xiii Fig. 12
Lupus of Ferrières 122,189,188,191,192 military service 85,123
Luxeuil 136,180 millennium 245-6
Lyons 111 ministerium 56,140
minsters 151
Maastricht 101 Miracles of St Demetrius 73
Mabillon, Jean 6 mirrors of princes 55
machtiern 39, 82 missaticum 39
Madinat al-Zahra 183 missions 18,146,201,205,208,220,226,
Magdeburg 7,196, 237 227, 231, 232, 236, 237
Magi, Adoration of the xii Fig. 7 to Moravia 229, 235
Magyars 17,18, 246; see also to Norwegians 239
Hungarians to Rus 239, 240
Mahommed 182 to Slavs 235
Malaia Pereshchepina 207 missorium xii Fig. 9
Malles 192 missus dominicus 37,39
302 IN D EX

monasteria 154,157,158 Novgorod 18,112

monastic reform 126 nunneries, control of 70
monasticism 135-6,150-1,162
money, see coinage oath 34,67,72
Mont-Blandin 126 oblation, child 154
Montreuil-sur-Mer 112 Obodrites 18
Monumenta Germaniae Historica 6 Odo, abbot of Cluny 163
Monza cathedral treasure xii, xviii, Odo, Frankish king 34
Fig. 2 Odoacer, magister militum 12,14
Moravians 18 Offa of Mercia 38, 53, 78,194
Moses 186 coinage of 52
Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek gifts to 53
Clm 4453 xii, xiii, cover, Fig. 11 office-holding 61-2
Clm 14000 xii 20, Fig. 3 Ohthere, Norwegian traveller 232
Muratori, Ludovico 6 Olaf Tryggvason, baptism of 240
music 197-8 Old English 193
Miistair 192 Old High German 147
Old Testament, see Bible
naming practices 70,74 Olga, Rus princess 220, 239-40
Nanctus, ascetic 68 olive oil 111
Nantechild, Frankish queen 32 Onegesius 218
Naranco 185 orders, three 91
Nathan the prophet 140 organ 215
Naturns, church at 192 origin legends 26
negotium 62 Orkneys 18
Nerva Forum 5 Orosius, Histories 195, 223-4, 225
Nestorians 205 Ostrogoths 13,171,172
Neustria 16 Oswald, king of Northumbria 163,181
New Constantine 132 Oswy, king of Northumbria 136,137,
New Israel 138,141,142,143,145,160 163,181
New Jerusalem, see Jerusalem Otfrid of Weissenburg,
New Minster 54 Evangelienbuch 193
New Testament, see Bible otium 62,169
Newfoundland 5,18 Otto I, German emperor 7,18,196,222,
Nicaea I, council of 137 223, 237-8
Nicephorus II, emperor 238 coronation of 138
Nicholas I, pope 160, 229 female kin of 32
Nicholas Mysticus, Patriarch 222 victories of 239
Nithard, historian 192 Otto II, German emperor 196, 238
Nivelles 70 Otto III, German emperor 169,196-7,
Normandy 18 240,241
North Sea 109 enthroned xii Fig. 11
Norwegians, conversion of 240 Gospels of 167
notation, musical 197 opens tomb of Charlemagne 246
Notitia Dignitatum 23, 27 reign of 247
Notker Balbulus 192 Ottonian rulers, portraits of 54
 IN D EX I 303

Oviedo 185 in England 78

palace of Santa Maria de Naranco resist Vikings 89
xii Fig. 6 Pechenegs 220, 236, 247
Pelagius II, pope 174
Pactus legis Salicae 65 Pelagius, British theologian 177
Paderborn 40,190 penance 159,161
exhibition 7 penitentials 159,180
Paderborn Epic 1 peripheries, see borderlands
paganism 134, 142,145-8,160,179 Persia 203
pagus, see county Christians in 205
palaces, royal 35-6, 4 0 -1,110 ,111; see merchants 204
also chapel Peter, St 138
Palaiseau 80 Photius, patriarch 215
Palladius 135 Piets 30
papacy 4,17,189, 235, 238, 241, 242 piece-work 118
authority of 138, 228-9 Pieve San Paolo 81
dating 223 pilgrimage 148, 213
and Franks 214-15 ideal of 136
and Iconoclasm 211 to Rome 138
reform led by 161 Pillars of Hercules 216, 219
and Rome 174 Pippin II, Frankish mayor of the
papal legates 37 palace 53
in 78637 Pippin III, Frankish king 16,17,186,
Paradise 225 214-15
Paris 71, 80,111 anointing of 55
parishes 155 Pippinids 71
partible inheritance 30 Pirenne, Henri 99,106,125-6
Paschal I, pope 192 Pisa 113,127
Paschasius Radbert 39 Pia de Nadal 68
pastoral care 151-2 placitum 36,41, 45, 70, 83, 91, 92, 93
Patrick, St 177, 227; plague 101, 205; see also diseases
Confession 135 plebs 86
Patrologia Graeca 6 Pliny, Natural History 106
Patrologia Latina 6 Pliska 40
Paul, St 132 plough 116
Paul Alvar 184 plunder 47
Paul the Deacon 8,33, 65-6,173,177, Poitiers, Hypogée des Dunes 182
192 Poles 18
History of the Lombards 246 political behaviour 32-53
Paulinus of Noia 62,170 political structures 21-8
Pausanias 178 polities, definition of 27
Pavia 40,110,121 polyptychs 5, 80, 81, 87, 93,104,112,121,
peace 28, 215-6 122,124
peasantry 59, 80-90 population 101,103,104-5
Byzantine 112 portraits, royal 54
early medieval 118-123 Praeiectus, bishop of Clermont 178
304 I IN D EX

prayer 150,154 Reccared, Visigothic king, conversion

commemorative 55 of 29,31,137,173
for the dead 158 Recceswinth, Visigothic king 173
networks of 152 Reccopolis 173
Predestination 145 Rechnitz, battle of* 237
prefect 23 Red Sea 204
Primary Chronicle 215 red-slipped tableware 208
Priscian, grammarian 189 Redon 82
Priscus of Panium 218, 219 reform 155
Probus, Roman aristocrat 60, 61 Gregorian 131,161
Procopius, historian 88,178, 207 monastic 162-3
production, agricultural 112-113,120 Regensburg 40,197
Prosper of Aquitaine 114 Regino of Prüm 44, 236
Protasius, martyr 148 Regularis Concordia 163
protection 84 Reichenau xii, xiii, cover, Fig. 11,191,
Psalter 152,175,186 197» 198
Psuedo-Methodius of Patara, relics 197, 215, 227, 241
Apocalypse 206, 211 of St Martin 110
purgatory 154 Remigius, archbishop of Rheims 14,
Purgatory of St Patrick 212 172
purity 156-7,159,161 Remiremont, nuns of 152
Renovatio 167,198
Quran 182 Republic of St Peter 12
Quedlinburg 32 residences, royal, see palaces
queen, role of 30-2, 71 Resurrection 154,154,158
Quentovic 4 ,111,112 ,12 6 Rheims 196
rhetoric 175, 211
rachimburgii 45 Rhine 10,11; see also canal
Ragamfred, Frankish mayor of the Ricimer, magister militum 12
palace 53 rituals, coronation 55
raids, see Arabs; Hungarians; Magyars; roads 201, 205, 209, 214, 221
Vikings Robert II, Frankish king 245
Ralph Glaber 245 Rogations 63
Ramiro I, Spanish king 185,194 Romance languages 193
Raphael, archangel 212 Rome 60,132,138,170,192,196, 202,
Rastislav, Moravian prince 235 211, 232, 241, 242
Ratchis, Lombard king 192 as capital city 106
Ratgar, abbot of Fulda 190 Christian 17
Ravenna 12, 60,168-9,171,174, 175> concept of 230
190 Greek monasteries in 210
annals of 168 inspiration of 17
Arian cathedral 171 legacy of 1,3,17,2 5,4 4
Arian Baptistery 171 map of 230
Mausoleum of Galla Placidia 168 and Otto I 241, 242
Orthodox Baptistery 185 Pantheon 175
San Vitale 17 pilgrims to 138
 IN D EX I 305

and popes 174,175 Saint-Remi of Rheims 104,119

rulers of 201 St Sophia, church of 203
San Adriano 175 Saint-Victor of Marseilles 104
Sta Agnese 174,192 Salic law 86
San Lorenzo 174 salt 109
San Marco 192 salvation 138,139,158, 211, 212, 224,
San Paolo fuori le mura 174 241
Sta Cecilia 192 Salzburg 236
Sta Maria Antiqua 174 Samarkand 205
Sta Prassede 192 San Ambrogio, Milan 24
St Peter’s 174,190 San Apollinare Nuovo, Ravenna 172;
SS Cosmas and Damian 174,192 see also Ravenna
synod of (745) 144 San Giovanni Evangelista, Ravenna
survival of as city 107-8 168,171-2; see also Ravenna
Rome, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana San Juan de Banos 173
reg. lat. 124 xiii Fig. 12 San Vincenzo al Volturno 5, 40-1,104
reg. lat. 316 xii Fig. 8 San Vitale 172,190; see also Ravenna
Romerée 124 sanctity 148-9
Romuald of Benevento 197 Santa Maria de Melque 184
Romulus Augustulus, Roman Saximund, landowner 82
emperor io, 12,14, 25 Saxons 16; see also Stellinga
Rosamond, Lombard queen 31 conversion of 139
Rotrud, Charlemagne’s daughter 32 Scandinavia 78-80,104, 201, 207; see
routes 209 also Vikings
royal office, see kingship schismatics 142
Rufinus, translator 54 science, ancient 217
Rule of Benedict 154; see also Benedict script 47,180,186
runestones 35 Scripture, canon of 132
rural priests 154-6 sculpture 194-5
Ruricius of Limoges 173 senatorial families 60
Rus 216, 220, 234 Senior, scribe xii Fig. 5
conversion of 7 Serena, wife of Stilicho xii, xviii,
emissaries 214 Fig. 2
serfdom 98,118-20
Sacramentarium Gregorianum 188 services 118-21,124
St Bavo 163 servus 81, 84; see also slavery
Saint-Bertin 105 settlement
Saint-Denis in Byzantium 102
fair of 126 in early medieval Germany
monastery 5, 71 102-103
St Gallen 119,162,197 in early medieval Gaul 102 -3
archive of 5 settlers, new law on 86, 87
Plan of 40 Shetlands 18
Saint-Germain-des-Prés 71,80,82,104, shire 28
120,124 Sidonius Apollinaris 14, 24, 62-3, 64,
Saint-Martin 146 65,173
306 I IN D EX

silk 203, 204 Tacitus 179

Silk Road 205 Tain Bó Cualinge 180
silver, Muslim 234 Tamworth 36
single European currency 52 Tara 40
Siricius, pope 156,157 Tavigny 117
skaldic verse 195 taxation 47-9, 69, 7% 118-21,124
Skirmishing 215 terra rossa 102,116
slavery 79, 98,118-20, 235, 240 textiles 112
Slavonic 229, 236 production of, masculinized 127,
Slavs 201, 227, 228, 237 128
of Danube basin 236 Thegan, historian 85,192
Slovenes 18 theme 28, 40
Snorri Sturlason 179 Theodahad, Ostrogoth 88
social mobility 85-6 Theodelinda, Lombard queen 31
Solon 25 Theodore of Tarsus, archbishop of
Sorbs 18 Canterbury 210
Southampton 111 Theodoric the Ostrogoth 12,14, 24,171,
space 224,225 172,175
sacred 49,148,150-1,163 Theodosian Code 44, 46, 54
Spain, praise of 225 Theodosian empresses 31
spiritual parenthood, see Theodosius I, Roman emperor 17, 24
godparenthood missorium of xii, xviii, Fig. 2,167,
Sri Lanka 204 169,170
Staraia Ladoga 18, 234 Theodulf, bishop of Orléans 39,157,
state 189, 230
late antique 105-6 Theophano, German empress 32,196,
Byzantine 122 238
Stellinga uprising 89 Theophilus, Byzantine emperor 222
Stephen, king of Hungary 239, 242 Thessaloniki 73
Stilicho, magister militum xii, xviii, St George 185
Fig. 2 ,11,12 , 24,168,170 Theudebert I, Frankish king 172
stirrups 2214 Theudebert II, Frankish king 32
Strategicon 214 Theuderic II, Frankish king 32
strategos 40 Thiais 124
Sueves 10 ,11,13 Thietmar of Merseburg, historian 158,
Sulpicius Severus 146 197
Sutton Hoo 208 thing 39,79, 83, 86
Sviatoslav, Rus prince 240 Thionville 36,40
swimming 35 capitulary of (805) 234
swords, export of 234 Thule 231-2
Syagrius, Gallo-Roman official 24 time, Christian 158-9
Sylvester I, Pope 229 tithe 118
Sylvester II, Pope 196, 242 Toledo 40,110,137,173
Symmachus 169 tolls 51
Syria 176 tools 116,120
Syriac 171, 203 tourmai 40
 IN D EX 307

Tours no, 190,197, 233 Venantius Fortunatus 173,178

towns 97, 202, 203, 204, 206 Venetians 18, 248
fortified 202 Venice 52,109,112,121, 241
late antique 106-7 Verdun, Treaty of (843) 16-17, 27-8
Byzantine 107,128 Verhulst, Adriaan 51
early medieval 110-11 vernaculars,
medieval 125-8 eastern 9
trade 204, 206, 226, 228, 234 European 9
agreements 201 Vetus Gallica 44
cross-border 202 Victor of Vita 29
traders, see merchants victory, cult of 203
transformation of the Roman world Vienna, Österreichische
13» 14» 21 Nationalbibliothek MS 449
translations 210, 211, 213, 229, 232, (Codex epistolaris carolinus) 4
236 Vikings 16,34, 79,193,194-5
transport of goods 121 raids of 233, 234, 235, 246
travel 227, 233 trade routes of 239
records of 212, 213, 223 tribute payments to 52
treasure villa 62; see also estates
family 52-3 Villance 117
Avar 53 Villeneuve 80
treaties 220 Virgil 61, 62
Trier, Domschatz MS 61 (Trier Virgil’s vision of empire 202
Gospels) 182 Virgil, bishop of Salzburg 181
Trier, Porta nigra 170 virtues, royal 54
Trinity, definition of 145 Visigoths
tuatha 53 in southern Gaul 11,12 ,13 ,14
Turk leaders 204, 218 in Spain 12
see also Goths
Uldida, Spanish bishop 31 Vision of Paul 213
Umayyad dynasty 75,182-3 visions 154, 212
uniformity 137,139 Vita Pardulfi 69
unity, see uniformity Vivarium 176
urban centres, see towns Vladimir, prince of Kiev 214, 240
urban life 62
Utrecht 163,164 Wademir, landowner 66
Utrecht, Bibliotheek der Wala, cousin of Charelmagne 39
Rijksuniversiteit MS 32 Walafrid Strabo 191
(Utrecht Psalter) xii Fig 4, 42, Wanley, Humphrey 6
191 Wearmouth-Jarrow 181, 226
weather 83
Valentinian III, Roman emperor 168, weights and measures 51
169 Weland the Smith xii, Fig. 7,179
Valle Trita 89 Whitby 136,137, 226
Vandals 10 ,11,13, 29 Wiak, Hungarian prince, see
vassalage 72 Stephen
308 I IN D EX

Wiching, bishop of Neutra 236 wine 113

Widukind of Corvey, historian 198 women
wik, see emporia aristocratic 70-1
Wilfrid, bishop of Hexham 226 ascetic 152
William, duke of Aquitaine 162 peasant 87-9 -
Willibald, bishop of Eichstätt and writing office, royal 38-9
pilgrim 210
Willibrord, bishop of Utrecht York 40,112,186
and abbot of Echternach 138,
182 Zacharias, Pope 210
Winchester 40,196,197 Zeno, Roman emperor 12
 Short Oxford History of Europe
General Editor: T.C.W. Blanning

The complete Short Oxford History of Europe provides a concise, readable,

and authoritative point of entry for the history of Europe from the Ancient
Greeks to the present day in eleven volumes. In each chapter a leading expert
offers focused and penetrating insights into the major themes and
influences of the period.

From the diverse Roman world of late Antiquity to the emergence of strong
successor states in the more disparate world of early medieval Europe, the
period between c.400 and c.1000 is one of the most dynamic and formative
in Europe’s history. This book charts the principal developments in the
ever-expanding region of Europe in this period. Rosamond McKitterick and
five other leading historians have collaborated to produce a set of thematic
interpretations covering politics, society, economy, culture, religion, and
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structures of this period.
Including maps, illustrations, and a detailed chronology, this book provides
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Edited by Rosamond McKitterick, Professor of Medieval History, University
of Cambridge and Fellow of Newnham College.
c o n tr ib u to r s : Mayke
de Jong, University of Utrecht; Jean-Pierre Devroey,
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Chris Wickham, University of Birmingham; Ian Wood, University of Leeds.

Cover picture: The personification of the provinces, Sclavinia,

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