[This is the text of a paper I gave in Frankfurt a couple of weeks ago to an interesting conference on 'predation'; my thanks to Laury Sarti and Rodolphe Keller for the invitation. The argument is essentially that although one could take considerable wealth in early medieval warfare this was not in general done through 'plundering warfare' but through battle and the taking of tribute (brought about by the threat of battle). It then moves on to argue that in fact the principal rewards in early medieval warfare were not physical ('loot') but intangibles such as prestige, honour and patronage. It's still very rough round the edges, but see what you think.]
Introduction
The terms of this conference ‘Looting,
tribute paying, and the taking of captives: Predation…’ are haunted by some
important assumptions. One is an
implicit opposition between predation and some other type of warfare,
presumably, following usual military historical typologies, based around
set-piece battles. Is any sort of
warfare not predatory? Also possibly implicit in the conference
rationale is a concentration on what we might term the physical or the material,
on the economic uses of the things taken during such warfare. In that analysis the focus remains on the
deliberate, human manipulation of objects.
This paper aims to rake up those presuppositions, bring them to the
surface and swirl them about.
My first point concerns the
diversity of early medieval warfare. One
cannot take the whole era from 450-900, across all of Western Europe, and treat
it interchangeably as far as warfare is concerned. The sixth century differed from the seventh
in many areas, one of the clearest of which was the organisation and practice
of warfare. The late seventh century and
the decades around 700 saw further important economic developments. Finally, there were more changes in the ninth
century, many of which were at least exacerbated by the Vikings, the way in
which they practised warfare, particularly raiding and predation, and by the
responses to it. In Warfare and Society in the Barbarian West I found it helpful to
discuss the raising of armies century by century. To do otherwise obscured many important
changes, although of course these generally remained in the sphere of
hypothesis. Separating the data according
to date and place usually left one with little evidence but did reveal
potentially important differences between various times and places.
In assessing the role of plunder
and booty in medieval warfare, the composition of armies, their size and how
they were raised are all issues of crucial importance. One might expect the distribution and
circulation of plunder to differ significantly in small armies composed
essentially of aristocrats and their retinues, compared with that in large
armies with a greater percentage of small-holding farmers, or ones raised on
more of a levy basis. The ease with
which armies might have been raised might have been closely related to issues
of remuneration through booty.
Historiographically, the clearest example of the exploration of such a
possibility would lie in the late Tim Reuter’s theories about the ends of
Carolingian military expansion. We
cannot speak of a general early medieval culture of predatory warfare, in any
detail at least. The shortage of data
makes precision difficult and aggregation almost unavoidable, but what we say
should be inflected by this point.
Economic Background
One particularly important
variable that underlines this point is the economic context within which warfare
was waged. The nature of early medieval
evidence is such that we can say far more, in far more detail, about the
economics of different regions at particular points in time than we can about
the armies that operated in those contexts.
This in turn means that this knowledge must govern what we suggest about
armies and warfare, not the other way round.
Historiographically, this seems like an insultingly obvious point, but
it must be remembered that the most prolific writer on early medieval warfare,
Bernard S. Bachrach has adopted the diametrically opposite approach.
Working from these data further
underlines regional diversity and chronological change. If fifth- and sixth-century north-west Europe
is a particularly clear point of economic regression, more southerly regions
cannot exactly be said to have been experiencing economic growth at that time. The northern economy picked up, as is
well-known, in the seventh century, but by the end of that century other
regions, like the south of Gaul, were undergoing economic decline. The eighth and especially ninth centuries saw
further growth, especially in towns and markets, in the north. The economic possibilities of warfare – of
predation – were not constant across early medieval Europe, even within the same
century. If warfare was for plunder,
what were they plundering?
Settlement archaeology implies
that for much of the period there was little by way of wealth to be gained from
looting settlements – even the larger commercial centres that began to emerge
from the seventh century – until perhaps the ninth century. Fifth- and sixth-century northern Gaulish and
English settlements are pretty ephemeral.
It has taken fairly detailed work with the pottery of the period even to
identify certain periods in the excavated record. Such is the decline in the complexity of the
pottery industry and its transportation.
Much of the period which concerns me was
incompletely monetised. It might, then,
not be coincidental, that the fortification of such settlements only begins to
look significant from late within my period, the fortification programme of
Alfred of Wessex, for instance. The
exception, of course, would be furnished by churches and monasteries. This is the obvious reason for their targeting
by Vikings, but it might also explain why even Christian armies were incapable
of always leaving them entirely untouched.
Related to this is the decline in
fortification and siege warfare. Roman
towns, of course, retained their walls but numerous sources suggest that these
were not always kept up in a very good state of repair. Indeed some stories suggest their deliberate
dismantling – at Reims and at Mainz for example – in the eighth century. Fortified rural settlements are rare, outside
Ireland from the seventh century onwards.
The processes of incastellamento
are a matter of debate but they certainly do not span the whole early medieval
period. As with the forts of Scotland,
the purpose of even these fortifications might be debated. What size of threat did they protect
against? What other social factors might
have led to their appearance? Again, it
seems no coincidence that the true aristocratic fortified settlement is
something that generally appears at the end of the period that I am talking
about, in the ninth century.
The Strategic Consequences of the Economic Background
This archaeologically-revealed material
poverty has several important implications, which begin to stir up the
sedimented assumptions with which I began.
Where is the wealth that we know existed? This wealth may have been rather less than
was accumulated by Roman senatorial aristocrats or later medieval noblemen but
it existed. Some fairly spectacular
archaeological finds have suggested this (although it is always worth reminding
ourselves how small the value of even the greatest finds is, compared with the
treasures alluded to in the written sources).
Yet the very context of such finds points us at an answer. It seems to me that the disjuncture between the
settlement archaeological record and the written sources is best explained by
the assumption that early medieval wealth went into adornment and other,
essentially portable, items. People wore their riches. When one looks at some of the costume adornments
found in burials like Sutton Hoo Mound 1, or many others, this conclusion does
not seem very surprising. It can easily
be set alongside considerable written evidence for the importance of costume in
competitive status display.
If we pursue this possibility
into the military sphere it gains further credibility. The lavish burials of the first part of the
period make clear that weaponry and other military accoutrements were one of
the main foci for the expenditure of wealth.
Almost every surface that could practically be decorated was decorated. Look at the helmets of the period as
examples. Even spurs were frequently
inlaid with precious metals, and the belts by which they were attached to a
rider’s boots had similar, intricate inlaid patterns. Bridles and elements of horse-harness, too,
show similar attention. The
Staffordshire Hoard underlined much of what we knew already about this aspect
of early medieval warfare, but did so spectacularly. Elements of over eighty decorated swords were
found in the hoard. Much of the gold in
the treasure was incorporated in their hilts and fittings.
That, of course, is to limit the
discussion to the things which are in general archaeologically visible. Written texts tell us of the provision of
clothes for a retinue. One imagines that
the appearance of one’s followers was as much a source of competition as that
of the warband leader himself. The
horse, too, a sine qua non of the
early medieval warrior, was costly.
Although horseflesh was highly vulnerable on campaign and a warrior
would need more than one horse if he could afford it, it is clear from charter
evidence that horses were not cheap – they could be exchanged for pieces of
land. The cost of a decent horse appears
to have remained fairly constant at about ten solidi (whatever that might have meant in practice) throughout the
period, and that could equate with the cost of the rest of the warrior’s
equipment.
In addition to all of the above,
it is clear that kings and their aristocrats took their treasure with them on
campaign. The social élite stayed in
costly tents. What all this means, when
placed alongside the general poverty of the archaeological record in terms of
the settlements and economy of the period, is that, in fact, looting in early
medieval warfare was best focused not
upon raiding and harrying but upon battle. This erodes the frequently-assumed opposition
between raiding or plundering warfare and the warfare of fixed battles. Battle does seem to have been comparatively
common between the mid-fifth century and the end of the ninth. Its size may not have been great when
compared with other eras but its importance is best measured in terms of stakes
fought for. Quite apart from loss of
life – and the numbers of early medieval aristocrats killed in battle are high
throughout the era – there were the political consequences of a defeat in terms
of the instability that would follow the deaths of a portion of the realm’s
royalty and aristocracy. A king’s defeat
could and did frequently lead to deposition and assassination.
Why did early medieval leaders so
frequently play for such high stakes, when even people at the time (such as
Sedulius Scottus) knew that battle was a complete lottery? One reason is the importance of warfare and
battlefield prowess in the construction of especially élite masculine
identity. I will return to this but for
now as good an illustration as I know can be found in Paul the Deacon’s account
of a catastrophic Friulian Lombard defeat against the Slavs. One Lombard leader accused another of
cowardice, which resulted in the latter challenging him to follow him in a
charge uphill against the fortified Slavic camp. The rest of the army followed because, in Paul’s
words, ‘they considered it base not to’.
So many were slaughtered that the next duke had to set up a sort of
orphans’ home for the children of the aristocrats who had been killed.
Apart from the demands of honour,
the other reason for the frequency of battle must have been that it was the
best way of taking treasure or increasing one’s wealth from warfare. This sort of context is, I think, probably the
best mechanism within which one might imagine the assembly of the collection of
objects found in the Staffordshire Hoard.
The Strategic Role of Harrying
All that being said, it cannot be
denied that early medieval armies did harry and raid their enemies. One must, therefore, ask why. If the movable objects to be found in the average
settlement were unlikely to oil the cogs of early medieval politics – unless
fairly undiagnostic common wares were more sought after than we have hitherto
imagined – what was at stake? One might
envisage the taking of cattle and other livestock. Perhaps this is where we touch upon the theme
of slave-taking. And yet I do not find
either possibility particularly convincing.
Obviously there are exceptions. Cattle
were effectively the units of currency of early medieval Ireland, held as much
as signs of status as for any actual economic value. The slave-raiding of the Vikings is
well-enough documented, and so is that of Franks on their eastern
frontier. But we might be cautious about
generalising from these examples.
The importance of cattle within
the Irish political economy is particular to the island. Do we really think that an aristocrat like
Robert the Strong was really that interested in livestock? The Vikings struck across the sea and were
able to carry captives, quickly, far away from their homelands. For similar reasons, sea-borne attack
remained the principal mechanism of slave-taking in Europe and the Mediterranean
(and beyond) into the sixteenth and seventeenth century. The Franks appear to have established a solid
military superiority over their Slavic neighbours by the tenth century. Absolute military dominance (as with
Europeans or European-backed Africans in Africa, or with the early Roman
expansion) or the capacity for rapid transportation overseas seem to be the essential
requirements for significant slave-taking.
Most early medieval warfare was small-scale and waged against enemies of
roughly equal military capacity. Trains
of slaves and herds of captured cattle would slow down an invading army making
it vulnerable to attack.
But perhaps that was the
point. In my reconstruction, the main
objective of early medieval raiding was to provoke battle – partly of course
for the economic reasons just set out. Harrying
territory, burning houses and crops, killing or dispersing livestock, ripping
up vines (Gregory of Tours gives a good account of what was involved in Book II
of the Histories) struck at the
political legitimacy of the opposing realm.
A king or lord, after all, was supposed to defend his subjects,
followers or clients and their property from these sorts of depredations. A ruler who shut himself up in his fortresses
might well see off an invading army, given the risks of disease and the usual
inadequacy of early medieval logistics and siege techniques – but the efficacy
of this strategy was strictly limited over time. Repeated plunderings that went unchallenged
could produce political crisis. One
early ninth-century Slavic leader faced down the Franks for several years by
avoiding battle but eventually was assassinated by his followers. One could stop the plundering by paying
tribute: the other means by which considerable wealth might be transferred from
one early medieval western polity to another.
The advantage of tribute, of
course, was that it diverted resources used to maintain political support and
military effectiveness away from one ruler and towards his overlord. Further light might be shed on this by the
Staffordshire Hoard with its dozens of sword pommels and other fittings. Some look like they have been snapped off
their swords with minimal care. This
might of course have taken place on the battlefield during looting of the dead
but it might also have taken place in the context of tribute taking, with the
enemy army forced to give up the decorations from their weaponry. With the concentration of precious metal in
these items it is not difficult to suppose that items like this could have been
the currency of such transactions. It would
also, of course, remove from the enemy army much of the display and show that
was so important, as discussed: a very visible means of shaming an enemy.
Important quantities of wealth
could be obtained in early medieval warfare but not – I suggest – simply by raiding. More important was battle, either through the
destruction and looting of an enemy army, or through strategies that turned
upon battle’s very real possibility.
The Other Purposes of Harrying
Nonetheless, raiding and harrying
operations were common in the early medieval west, and often produced neither
battle nor tribute. Sometimes one might
wonder what sort of tribute might be forthcoming in any case. Visigothic armies appear to have fought in
Basque territory frequently, often it seems as part of the process of
establishing a new king. According to
Julian of Toledo’s account, the new king Wamba spent a week ravaging Basque
territory before the Basque leaders submitted and paid tribute. But what booty, I wonder, could one take in
the Pyrenean foothills? Sheep?
One might furthermore suppose
that, in the cattle-raiding that took place in Ireland, Wales or Scotland or
the cross-border raiding that, to judge from the treaties signed between the
Doges of Venice and the Carolingian Kings of Italy, formed a sort of background
noise to early medieval politics, much of the booty taken by one side in one
raid would be taken back by the other next time.
Plunder flowed in other
directions than from king to follower.
One is suggested by the story of John, a warrior on the Franks’ Spanish
march who sent the loot he took from a defeated Moorish warrior up the political food-chain to his lord,
Louis the Pious – who in turn bestowed lands upon him. Other stories contain some admittedly
problematic indications that loot might actually be returned to the people from whom it had been taken. Gregory’s story of the Vase of Soissons and
Felix’s tale of Guthlac returning a third share of the loot he took in his
warrior days both come from hagiographic contexts that should make us hesitate
before accepting them. Nonetheless there
are reasons why such a thing might be plausible.
Thus we can suggest that the flow
of objects in raiding warfare was not always or exclusively in the direction
that one might expect. What I want to
stress, though, are the non-material rewards of raiding: the moral rewards as
opposed to the physical. I will suggest that
these were, given the economic realities discussed earlier, often actually
rather more important than the material rewards. I have alluded to the importance of warfare
in the construction of identities. It
was also, warfare, specifically, rather than violence or fighting in general,
that was important to these identities.
In the fifth and sixth centuries in particular, military service was
important in the construction of ethnic identities. Attendance in the ranks (and the acceptance
of one’s attendance) when the army was called out was, one imagines, a very
important way of underlining a claim to a particular ethnic identity. Later, involvement in military activity was a
sign of belonging to a particular stratum of the free population. By the ninth century this was so important
that aristocrats were known to attack lesser freemen who presumed to take up
arms. Both mechanisms required, one
imagines, fairly frequent mustering of the army. Not only does this explain why, in some times
at least, we can see the army being assembled without any significant military
activity ensuing – it was the assembling of the force that was important, with
the consequent selection of who was and was not deemed to be of military rank. Military assemblies on 1 March seem thus to
have been annual events in Merovingian Gaul and in eighth-century Lombard
Italy. Theoderic of Italy is known to
have held regular assemblies of the Goths, the army.
The importance of warfare in the
construction of royalty must also have led to frequent mustering of the
army. Few ere the times and places were
kings did not feel the need to place themselves at the head of their armed
forces on a regular basis. The
Merovingian realms during the reigns of Clovis’ grandsons seems to be one such
moment, but more typical, one might suggest, is the kingdom of Mercia, where,
between 600 and 850, military action on such a scale as to be recorded in the
later Anglo-Saxon Chronicle took
place within four years of a king’s accession at the latest. We can imagine that smaller-scale actions
might have been brought about rather sooner.
Wamba’s harrying of the Basques seems like another example.
A further reason for military
assembly of course was that it was the closest thing that a king had to a
parliament. It was thus a prime occasion
to expose the political and military élite to royal ideology. It was an occasion, documented in several
contexts, for the bestowal of royal patronage.
Warriors who had done well were rewarded; those who had not were
punished. Such seems, for instance, to
have been the case at Theoderic’s military musters. If military assemblies were important for
all these reasons it is not surprising that some sort of military activity
might follow. It is probably not
coincidental then that the three recorded Marchfields of Childebert II of
Austrasia in the 590s all took place on his Rhine frontier – convenient for
some sort of display of strength in the trans-Rhenan areas of the Merovingian
hegemony.
Thus I want to suggest that the
assembly of an army was itself a crucial – if not the crucial – political and even political-economic aspect of
military activity, more important, I propose, than any material wealth obtained
on campaign.
That leads me to what might be my
main point, that for most warriors warfare’s primary purpose was as a means of
coming to the attention of their socio-political superiors. Performing well on campaign was a means by
which pueri could come to the attention
of their lords, by which their lords could come to the attention of the
magnates of the kingdom, or of the king himself. Such attention could bring patronage in the
form of offices and of gifts, whether of lands or of movable objects – not
necessarily or even, perhaps, very often those taken on campaign. To be granted lands, titles or honores was probably far more
economically valuable than anything that might be taken on campaign – but
warfare was the principal means by which one showed that one deserved such
patronage. The Hispanus John’s despatch of loot to Louis of Aquitaine in return
for land illustrates this well. Thus it
might be that whatever was stolen during raids in effect served more as tokens
or even as proxies for more important gifts, of intangible things like
patronage, of titles, or of lands and movables that were actually transacted afterwards. If you look at it in that perspective, the
returning of the ‘loot’ taken on campaign seems less bizarre than it might
otherwise appear.
My thesis is also supported by the
events of the first crisis of Louis the Pious’ reign. The actions of Hugh and Matfrid, sent away to
campaign on the Spanish March, make it clear that campaigning, even with the
chance of loot, was less important than being close to the king at the centre
of politics. Remember too that the
possibilities of real loot were more likely in campaigns in Spain than on
perhaps any other of the Franks’ borders.
Hugh and Matfrid’s actions make no sense at all if booty and predation
were as essential to early medieval politics as we have been given to believe.
Predatory warfare might then have
been like hunting was at this point in time.
The assemblages from high-status sites, where they exist show
startlingly low percentages of hunted animals, compared with those from the end
of the first millennium and later. Set
alongside a story towards the end of Gregory of Tours’ Histories the suggestion can be made that hunting was more about
training, teamwork and prowess, and about the simple killing of animals – not
then taken home to be eaten. Similarly,
much low-level warfare might have been an exercise that served more to
demonstrate skill and bravery than to produce valuable treasures.
Different Ways of Seeing Objects
Finally, I want to look again at
the material gained on campaign. The
standard way of seeing predatory warfare in the early middle ages, which I have
been at pains to disturb, sees the personnel involved taking material and
exchanging it with each other, with these transactions embodying various
political relationships. Then it is a
natural tendency to match the value of the relationship to an assessment of the
value of the objects which established the relationship: a richly adorned
sword, for example, might well embody the loyalty of a powerful magnate to his
king. Clearly this is reasonable enough,
given the early medieval obsession with precious metals and stones.
In putting this forward for rethinking,
I don’t want just to point out that the biography of an object – to whom it had
belonged, the events in which it had participated in the past – might be more
valuable than its adornment. Nor do I
want solely to repeat the point that an object’s value transcended its simple
cost in terms of labour and materials. A
sword’s value in some early medieval texts, vis-à-vis other items such as
cattle or bread, is derived not from its relative cost, a frequent mistake, but
from what we might loosely term its use value – the fact that its possession
enabled participation in particular social circles.
Following on from that I want to
open up the possibility of seeing particular types of plundered or looted object
as ‘actants’, according to ‘object theory’.
Perhaps certain objects – ones that we might not now immediately detect
– had such a link with the essential
political activity of warfare that they shaped relationships between
individuals in a way that seems both to transcend their material value and not
to fit what one might expect to be their rational use by human agents. The case of the gold plate given by Sisenand
to the Franks, and then asked for back as a result of Gothic outcry, might be a
good example of an actant object.