The ‘Ideal’ Sorceress: Gender Ideology and the Stereotypical Witch.

Why is it that on hearing the word ‘witch’, I immediately think of scary old ladies? If you are anything like me and have seen one too many Disney films, it’s not hard to see where the stereotype is reinforced in our modern society. J K Rowling has done a good job at making witches a little less hunchbacked and wart-covered, but it is the image of the old, decrepit widow with a vendetta against society is what will always endure. This image of a witch became prevalent in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, and it is possible to glean some insight into how people thought about women at the time when such an image became deeply rooted in the common psyche. In religious terms, women were complete contradictions (how could they be both Eve and the Virgin Mary?) and so were regarded as inconstant and suspicious. This might be the reason why, at a basic level, women were the ones accused of witchcraft.

The primary concern of a community was maleficia. This type of magic had long standing associations with the cunning-folk who were a constant in English communities from the Middle Ages. They are described as possessing a multitude of skills, including healing and love magic, and interestingly counter-magic for those who believed themselves bewitched. Obviously these cunning folk had a place within the community, albeit ambiguous and open to suspicion as their quasi-pagan practices were both strange and invaluable. Cunning-folk were often older, widowed women, whose ‘magical’ services provided income, thus reinforcing the image of a witch as a marginalised female in popular thought. When the post-Reformation push to rid society of these cunning folk began a programme of persecution, these marginalised women were the first in the firing line.

Maleficia, natural misfortunes without obvious explanation, were additionally more prevalent in spheres naturally attributed to women, such as cooking, midwifery or nursing. It was generally recognised that these particular roles offered women better opportunities to practice malign magic; thus inviting accusation. For example, in 1661, a lady named Helen Grey was nursing a boy extremely ill with kidney stones. The pain made him hallucinate, and as a result he accused Helen of witchcraft. To back this up, a neighbour said that it was Helen who had made her bread go sour using maleficium. Helen’s involvement in the care of the sick and preparation of food, vocations natural to her sex, left her vulnerable to charges of witchcraft. Other professions, such as midwifery or wet-nursing, were exclusively female roles, and thus the male exclusion gave fertile ground for the suspicion of women. Demonological theory, prevalent in the state driven witch-hunts, associated midwives with diabolism through their proximity to unbaptized children as these infants could be acquired for ceremonial sacrifice. High mortality rates in young children only served to ‘prove’ the notion that it was women who caused such suffering. Evidently, the roles attributed to women made then vulnerable to suspicion, demonstrating that gender ideology did contribute to the image of the stereotypical witch.

Women who didn’t sit quietly, as gender ideology dictated, were also open to suspicion. Suspicion also developed over time, explaining why women accused of witchcraft were of advanced age. For example, Jane Wenham is described in 1712 as ‘…and old woman over seventy who had a very unsavoury reputation in the village.’ Age and reputation evidently work against here in this case. And to add fuel to the fire, Jane was a widow. In Kent, 75 per cent of those accused were unmarried women. This is because widows were both estranged from and dependant on the parish, as they had no other means of income. Giving alms was an integral part of society, but doing so became more difficult in the economic downturns of 1550 to 1650. This created a ‘gulf of misunderstanding and suspicion’ between the social orders of a parish, and the resulting guilt and fear of retribution undoubtedly contributed to accusations of witchcraft. This was especially prevalent as old, widowed women were naturally connected to cunning-magic, thereby giving her a vehicle for revenge. That many accusations of maleficia begin with the refusal of alms adds credence to this view.

On the other hand, when the hunt was run by the state rather than the community, the focus was on diabolism. This includes all the gruesome practices like child sacrifice and sexual relations with the Devil. Specialist contemporary writings such as the Malleus Maleficarum and On the Demon-Mania of Witches strengthened the connections between women and witchcraft. According to the Malleus, women were witches because they were weaker, feebler and more impressionable than men, thus falling more easily into the clutches of evil spirits. Although being described as ‘intensely misogynistic’, the Malleus is useful because it overtly expresses the ideas held by many members of the elite concerning the female state and constitution. This undoubtedly bolstered the female witch stereotypes as it drew on her weak and fundamentally wicked nature to explain and justify the presence of witchcraft.

Additionally, there is a focus on female sexuality; a pivotal factor in the demonological stereotype of a female witch. This opinion is reflected in the writings of Jean Bodin who claims that all witches had a sexual relationship with the Devil. As the Devil was male, women were considered his natural mates, so implicating women on their gender alone. This view stemmed from male concerns about female sexuality, particularly highlighted by the carnal image of women endorsed by the clergy. In this respect, it could be argued that widows were accused of witchcraft because their status as experienced women without the restraints of a male patriarch made them sexually threatening to men. This element of the witch stereotype is displayed in the works of Hans Baldung Grien, a German artist who in the sixteenth century depicted witches as the embodiment of female sexual power.

To sum up, this brief assessment of the witch in early modern England demonstrates why it was women, not men, who felt the brunt of witchcraft accusations. There was a polarised view of the world; men were rational and strong whilst women were physically and morally weak. The state’s focus on diabolism reflected these moral concerns. Documents such as the Malleus Maleficarum served to enforce this view, harnessing the classical and religious interpretations of fundamental evil to enforce the female stereotype. Women also became the focus of accusations due to her position within the community, dictated by the gender ideologies of household and a submissive relationship to the patriarchal society. For example, a community’s concern with maleficia became tied to the image of women through her designated roles, buttressed by the traditional interrelation of widows and cunning-magic that had endured for centuries. Undoubtedly elements of misogyny do creep into the stereotype, particularly clear in the Malleus wherein Kramer and Sprenger barely associate women with humanity. This once again reflects the paradoxical nature of womanhood in this period, a key factor in driving gender ideology and creating the witch stereotype of pre-industrial England.

Sources

Amussen, S.D., ‘Gender, Family and the Social Order, 1560-1725’, in Fletcher, A., and Stevenson, J., (eds), Order and Disorder in Early Modern England (Cambridge, 1985), pp.196-217.

Davies, O., Cunning-Folk, Popular Magic in English History, (New York, 2003).

Gaskill, M., ‘Witchcraft and power in Early Modern England: The Case of Margaret Moore,’ in Kermonde, J., and Walker, G., (eds), Women, Crime and the Courts in Early Modern England, (London, 2003), pp.125-145.

Guskin, P. J., ‘The Context of Witchcraft: The Case of Jane Wenham (1712)’, Eighteenth-Century Studies, 15 (1981), pp.48-71.

Holmes, C., ‘Women: witnesses and witches’, Past and Present, 140 (1993), pp.45-78.

King, M. L., Women of the Renaissance, (Chicago, 1991), pp.1-2

Levack, B. P., (2^nd ed), The Witch-Hunt in Early Modern Europe, (London, 1995).

Scott A. R., and Pearl J. L., (trans), Bodin, J., On the Demon-Mania of Witches, (Toronto, 1995),

Summers, M., (trans), The Malleus Maleficarum of Heinrich Kramer and James Sprenger, (New York, 1971)

Zguta, R., ‘Witchcraft Trials in Seventeenth Century Russia,’ American Historical Review, 82 (1977), pp.1187-1207.

A Very Brief Glance at Hair Combs in History

The hair comb can be an item of practically, beauty or ceremony; and throughout history it has been all of these things. Today, we might consider hair combs to be little more than a practical accessory and so we might overlook the diverse history of this item.

As you might expect, it’s impossible to pin-down an ‘inventor of the hair comb.’ Variations of the comb are evident all over the world, an early example hailing from c. 3,200 BC, pictured right. This is an exquisite example of a comb belonging to someone over 5,000 years ago. The function was probably ceremonial, as can be deemed from the intricate animal carvings aligned in rows. In particular the elephants and snakes allude to African mythology, associating these beasts with the creation of the universe. It is no wonder then that Egyptologists have associated this find with funerary decoration.

Ancient combs also served a practical function, as can be seen in China. They were initially created to rid their owner of lice, meaning they were a necessity for both rich and poor. Discovered combs have been carved from wood or ivory, showing great craftsmanship and the range of materials that could be used. As time went on, combs became more ornate and decorative, as can be seen in early modern Japan. This is also an example of women taking up the hair comb as a fashion accessory rather than a practical item.

The comb has continued to be a pretty decoration in modern society, although it might be fairer to say that it has once again become a practical item that we just use every day, and that the ceremonial aspect of combs is unique to the past. On the other hand, headdresses and other ornamentations still hold considerable cultural relevance in many cultures today, such as modern Native American Indians who still use them in weddings and other ceremonies. It may be that the comb is now only a practical necessity, but the story of ceremonial hair decorations is certainly far from over.

Sources

http://barbaraanneshaircombblog.com/

http://www.metmuseum.org/toah/works-of-art/30.8.224

http://www.indians.org/articles/native-american-headdress.html

The Fall of the Aztec Empire

Don Hernándo Cortés, a man described as ‘ruthless, single-minded and ambitious,’ landed at Veracruz with a ‘rabble’ of Spaniards on Good Friday, 22^nd of April 1519. It would take less than two years to conquer the Aztec Empire. The reasons why the Spaniards were able to conquer a ruthless and feared empire that spanned 125,000 square miles has been much debated. Was it the superiority of Spanish ‘military introductions to the New World’or was it the Aztec’s own ‘fatalism and obsession with ritual,’ that allowed the Spanish to destroy them? Undoubtedly the tactical alliance of the Spaniards with the native Tlaxcaltecas was a turning point in the campaign. However there are other factors that will also concern this discussion.

The alliance with the Tlaxcalan Indians was one of the best tactical moves made by the Spaniards after arriving in Mexico. Without the native help, smaller Spanish forces would have been overrun by the greater numbers of Aztec soldiers. The Aztec forces exceeded 300,000 warriors by the time Tenochtitlan was besieged, and the Spanish arrived with less than 840 troops, including 16 horses. But why would the Tlaxcaltecas side with these strange, European aliens? Tlaxcala was a confederacy of around two hundred towns that had been fighting nearly a century of ‘flower wars’ with the Aztecs. These were battles during which the aim was not to kill the enemy, but to capture the opposition’s warriors for sacrifice. This meant the two were in an almost constant state of war without the Aztecs actually moving to take over Tlaxcala. In this respect it’s understandable that the Tlaxcaltecas harboured a great deal of hate and bitterness towards their oppressors. There is also evidence to suggest that the city states of the Puebla-Tlaxcala valley had already loosely aligned together, showing that hostilities were mounting even before the arrival of the Spanish forces. While the Spanish wanted to search for riches and gain personal honour, the Tlaxcaltecas wanted revenge. The mix created a potent fighting force that had sufficient numbers to threaten the Aztec Empire. Without the alliance it would have been close to impossible to defeat the far superior numbers of the Aztec army, who despite having inferior weaponry and tactics, would have been able to overwhelm the Spaniards with numbers. The Tlaxcaltecas also contributed to Spanish success by providing native knowledge of the land, and in one notorious case foiled Motecuhzoma’s plan to send a double of himself to meet the Spanish.

However, if there had not been instabilities in the Empire itself, this alliance would not have been formed at all. Years of expansionist policy had alienated other indigenous peoples, leaving the Aztecs with few allies to unite with them against a common enemy. The fact that they instead joined forces with the invaders who promised an end to Aztec subjugation is clear evidence of the socio-political weaknesses embedded in the Aztec high command. Townsend maintained that it was this rigid high command and inability for the Aztec lords to adapt that allowed the Spanish to manipulate the tense political situation and literally walk into Tenochtitlan.

Aztec religion may also have been an important factor, as it seemed to them that the arrival of the Spanish had a particularly religious connotation – the possible return of Quetzalcoatl. Quetzalcoatl was the God King of the Totlecs, who had left the land and sailed east, promising his return to claim the thrown. It is possible that Emperor Motecuhzoma lived in fear of his return. However, it is conceivable that this legend was a post-Conquest fabrication that gave the Spanish legitimacy. For example, Aztec sources reveal that the Chollolans believed the Spanish would not defeat them as Quetzalcoatl was fighting on their side. However, there is no doubting the significance these strangers would have had to the Aztec leaders. The physiological implications of the legend meant that the Spanish had a special control over their enemy in a way that they may not have immediately realised. It meant that, unlike lesser Mayan war chiefs, the fearsome Aztecs did not act with the immediate hostility that could have saved the empire from destruction.

We’ve already seen that the Spanish were weak in terms of numbers, but did the Tlaxcaltec alliance alone give them the edge? Without a doubt European military innovations gave the Spanish the upper hand, but not in ways you might think. For example, the Spanish guns were actually of little use due to long reloading times compared the quick-fire Aztec slingshots. The Mexican weather was also considerably more humid than Spain, rendering the gunpowder often close to useless, and heavy artillery was only effective against amassed native armies. It was in fact the sword that gave the Spanish the edge (pun intended). The native macuahuitl were clubs edged with razor sharp obsidian, but they could not be used to thrust. This allowed the Spaniards to keep a tight formation whilst the swordsman remained out of reach of the natives slashing weapon. However, it’s the introduction of horses and wolf hounds that some historians believe to be the turning point in the conquest. Horses had never been seen before by the Indians and were powerful tools for destroying morale. In the 1520 Battle of Otumba a whole Aztec army was terrified into fleeing the battle after just twenty three cavalrymen charged against them and trampled down their commander. Similarly, wolf hounds were terrifying devil-beasts to the native eyes; bold, savage and blood thirsty. A contemporary account claimed that a Spaniard was as safe with one hound as he was with 100 men. Another key military factor was that the Spaniards fought to wipe out their enemy; a completely alien idea to warriors who sought glory in individual battles and hostage-taking. Fundamentally the two forces did not understand each other, and that gulf between them sealed the Aztec downfall.

There is, of course, another factor that I will mention briefly (as I hope to write a full post on the subject). The transfer of European diseases to the Americas was utterly devastating, killing many more natives than any other Spanish weapon. Blankets infected with small-pox were circulated throughout the capital, weakening moral and killing huge numbers of warriors and civilians. When Cortes finally claimed his prize, it was a stinking wreck, filled with corpses and death. Had it been worth it?

To sum up, it’s very difficult to attribute the fall of the Aztec empire to a single factor. Religious differences, native alliances, Spanish weaponry and the transfer of disease all played their part in the Empire’s destruction. However, I’ve come to believe that the Aztecs and Spanish simply weren’t on the same page. The Spanish fought for conquest and the Aztecs for honour, and they did not understand each other’s approaches to war. Simply put, the playing field was far from level, and if the legends are to be believed, the Aztec world was nearing another cyclical destruction. This raises the question – did the Aztec’s simply give up?  To find the truth requires a life-time of reading, and maybe I’ll get a little closer to it as I research the even darker side of the conquest; the spread of disease. Fundamentally the conquest changed the face of the Americas forever, and is still subject to fierce debate.

Sources -

Ian Heath, Aztec and Inca Empires, other native peoples of America and the Conquistadores: 1450-1608, (Burlington, Press 1999).

Miguel Leon-Portilla, The Broken Spears, (Beacon Press, 2006).

John Pohl and Charles M. Robinson, Aztecs and Conquistadores, the Spanish invasion and the collapse of the Aztec Empire (Osprey Publishing Ltd, 2005).

Hugh Thomas, Conquest (Simon and Schuster Paperbacks, 2005).

Richard F. Townsend, The Aztecs (Thames and Hudson Ltd, 2^nd revised edition 2000).Michael Wood, Conquistadors (BBC Worldwide Limited, 2000).

Felipe Fernandez-Armesto, writing in The Art of War, edited by Andrew Roberts (Quercus, 2008).

The Trials of Henry IV

At the turn of the fourteenth century, Henry Bolingbroke was about to make the biggest decision of his life. Not only would he regain his Lancastrian inheritance, but the entire kingdom of England would be his – forever altering the course of history. All that stood in his way was his cousin, Richard II. To Henry, Richard was no longer his blood. The king had banished and stolen all his lands from him, sued for peace with France, and in his greatest act of tyranny trialed and executed the Lords Appellant. As Henry stepped upon English sand after the long years spent in France, he knew that it was do or die.

Henry IV, Photo courtesy of Wikipedia

Well, it’s hard to say if Henry really intended to take the throne of England when he returned from his exile, so you must excuse my dramatic spin. But what is undeniable is that Henry’s decision to usurp his cousin was bold, reckless and dangerous. Even if he succeeded, he would be a usurper – generally politically unstable, particularly as Richard’s named heir, Edmund Mortimer, still lived. What I intend to examine here is whether or not all of the issues surrounding Henry’s reign resulted directly from that daring and spine-chilling decision.

The diplomatic situations with France and Scotland suffered at the hands of Henry’s usurpation to varying degrees. As mentioned, Richard had sued for peace with France, essentially stalling the Hundred Years War through better relations and a marriage to the child-bride, Isabella. Richard’s deposition certainly disrupted these terms, and additionally highlighted the fallibility of a king with such a ‘French’ style and attitude to his crown. Henry, unlike Richard, was also regarded suspiciously by the Gascons which meant that the ambitious duc d’Orleans could begin to wriggle into Aquitaine. Piracy was rife in the channel, unchecked by either government, and by 1403 French armies descended on Aquitaine and Calais. The cost of warfare weighed heavily on Henry’s already struggling government, approximately £1,300 per year, and A. L. Brown and H. Summerson relay an anecdote that the treasury could not even pay messengers to deliver urgent summons to bishops, earls, barons and knights across the realm. Ironically, the messages asked them to gather at Westminster to discuss finances. It is true that finance was an endemic problem for a medieval government, but the breakdown in diplomatic relations between England and France were at least exasperated by the usurpation. Similarly, Scotland suffered from the violent change of king. Richard had begun to improve on relations with Robert III of Scotland, whereas Henry (apparently) encouraged the encroachment of the ambitious Percy family into the borders. In both of these cases, the evidence is in favour of Henry’s usurpation directly causing trouble in the realm.

Another problem directly resulting from the deposition of Richard II came in the form of the Percy Rebellion. At one time they had been the most loyal of all the northern baronages to Henry’s cause, and the kingmakers were rewarded smartly for their pains with power and titles, including the position of Constable of England. But was this too much? Richard had recognised that they were a threat, but through Henry’s rewards the consolidation of northern power was dangerous. The relationship between the king and the Percy’s was rocky; amongst other grievances the exchequer rolls show that the Percy’s were only paid peace time wages for their involvement in the Scottish and Welsh conflicts. Teamed with a dispute over the custody of an influential hostage, things came to a violent climax at the battle of Shrewsbury in 1403. The Percy’s had turned their coats and declared for Richard II. This could have been devastating for the usurper who relied so heavily on his northern supporters, and his miscalculation of patronage helped to give them the power to threaten the crown. This was a mistake directly resulting from the usurpation.

The Welsh Rebellion (1400-1408) is a little harder to define. Above all else, it was opportunistic. The fall of Richard II caused a period of political instability which could be seized as a window of opportunity. However, the reasons for the rebellion ran much deeper than the events of 1399-1400. Harsh fiscal policies from the crown and resentment at English settlers had created unrest in Wales. As a considerable Welsh landowner, Henry required the stability of his Welsh estates to supplement his income (already stained by warfare) and therefore disruption in Wales could have been disastrous. This was something Glendower would surely have recognised, speeding the moves towards rebellion. Evidently the usurpation encouraged the problems in Wales but was not the sole cause of them.

In some respects, Henry’s failing health could be seen as the most dangerous threat to the new Lancastrian kingship, and it was a problem completely independent of the usurpation (despite the opinions of some contemporaries). Henry had been an active and warlike youth; a famous jouster, and he even went on a Lithuanian crusade with the Teutonic Knights in 1390. However, by June 1405 something had changed. Evidence suggests that the king may have suffered a stroke, and from then on he was never fully himself again. This could have been the end of the Lancastrian dynasty as a king’s health reflected his political strength, and Henry was still trying to consolidate and legitimise his power. The ‘Thirty One Articles’, closing tightly to support the king, as well as the increased use of the signet seal, show that Henry was absent from court. This created political tensions as power vacuums were fought over; factions even emerged between the princes, Henry’s two sons. However, the succession acts in 1406 secured Prince Henry’s place as heir, and as a result the Lancastrian kingship survived. Amongst other things, news of a physically weak king could have encouraged further rebellions such as those in Wales that relied heavily on opportunity.

So by way of conclusion, Henry IV’s reign was a turbulent one. Many other factors, omitted from this post for the purpose of brevity, can also be studied for a better understanding of this interesting king and his testing time on the throne. The usurpation undoubtedly caused come issues directly, such as the problems with France and the Percy Rebellion, whereas the Welsh Revolt under Owen Glendower was more opportunistic and had been building for years. Finance would always have plagued an already troubled mind, and then the failing of Henry’s health so soon after the usurpation undoubtedly caused tongues to stir. However, this great threat was not caused but the usurpation, and actually Henry ruled almost without opposition in his latter years. His parliament helped to ‘keep up appearances’ and in actuality, Henry V succeeded the throne to a strong and secure government, despite the violent and reckless nature of its conception.

Sources

Biggs, D., ‘The Politics of Health: Henry IV and the Long Parliament of 1406’, writing in Biggs, D. and Dodd, G., Henry IV: Establishment of the Regime, 1399-1406, (Suffolk, 2003), pp 185-202

Arvanigian, M., ‘Henry IV, the Northern Nobility and the Consolidation of the Regime’, writing in Biggs, D. and Dodd, G., Henry IV: Establishment of the Regime, 1399-1406, (Suffolk, 2003), pp 117-137

A. L. Brown, Henry Summerson, ‘Henry IV (1367–1413)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford University Press, 2004; online edn, Sept 2010 [http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/12951, accessed 12 March 2012]

Mortimer, I., The Fears of Henry IV, The Life of England’s Self-Made King, (Vauxhall, 2008)

Guests and Fish – The Famed Hospitality of the Anglo-Saxons

The fires are blazing, the table is laden, and the lord, the ring giver, is surrounded by his comitatus and household. He welcomes all those into his hall who wish to enter. They feast and share news, drinking and warming themselves from the ruddy heat of the flames. But is that really how it would have been, over a thousand years ago? It’s wonderful to consider such a scene and imagine its reality. The good ol’ Anglo-Saxons – it seems they really understood the concept of ‘Eat, Drink and Be Merry.’ However, I recently read an article by Alban Gautier that made me question this preconceived notion of Anglo-Saxon hospitality. Simply put, Gautier points out that the guest, by his nature, was (and I suppose to an extent, still is) something to be regarded with suspicion; so much so that strict rules bound the ideas of guesting and feasting into obligations for both parties.  My gran told me that ‘guests and fish begin to smell bad after three days;’ a quote she stole from Benjamin Franklin, and one he evidently stole from the Anglo-Saxons.

The nature of the guest is a particularly interesting facet of Gautier’s argument. Suspicion of the guest has been rife for thousands of years – Gautier makes reference to Homeric societies that required the guest to be ‘tamed’ through being washed and dressed in new clothes before the host would receive him. Similarly, Beowulf in the famous eponymous poem lays down his weapons in an ‘airlock’ antechamber before being presented to Hrothgar, and entering the encapsulated world of the hall. This way, Beowulf and his warrior band are neutralised both literally and metaphorically, and thus are safe to be allowed into Heorot.

Once inside, the reality of a free and open table is restricted by tight rules and codes of conduct. Hierarchy is the name of the game, and the guest had to prove himself worthy of assimilating into the microcosm. Beowulf proves himself with his heroic actions against Grendel and his Mother, and thus earns the trust and respect from Hrothgar. The lord asks him to become a permanent member of the hall. The warrior has earned his place through displays of valour, and only then is he fully welcomed and assimilated into the group. This is a strikingly different view to the seminal writing of John Thrupp, who in 1862 wrote that ‘all comers, high, low, rich and poor’ were welcome to feast at the kings table. They may have been welcome for a time, but after three days or so, they would have been encouraged on their way. And would they have actually sat at the king’s table? I doubt it.

This is because of the integral notions of obligation and reciprocity; words that interestingly apply to both hospitality and hostage taking. When a guest enters the hall, the host becomes responsible for him and his actions. Similarly, the guest becomes indebted to the host – a circle of obligation that keeps the whole thing stable. All in all, this means that a guest won’t stay for long, and if he does, he must officially enter into the hierarchy, such as in Beowulf. This means that strangers and wanderers become rooted within a group, and thus are no longer a threat as an outsider. To take this idea of obligation further, Gautier comments on William of Malmesbury’s The Life of Wulfstan, wherein the prior breaks Lent to cater for a group of visiting clergymen. This is because he is obliged by strict custom and hierarchy to accommodate for his high status visitors. Despite Bede’s (questionable) story of Bishop Aiden, who freely gave his horse to the peasant who asked him for alms, it is highly unlikely that Wulfstan would have broken Lent to cater for ‘all comers…rich and poor,’ ‘poor’ being the operative word. So despite hospitality being a central and strictly regulated compulsion extended to all areas of society, hierarchy still affected and ruled its heart.

All in all, the subject is broad and exciting, and this post barely even scratches the surface of what hospitality meant to the Anglo-Saxons. But it’s clear to see that the preconceived notions of free and open feasting are rather different from the reality, wherein strict rules and hierarchy formed the basis of a pre-market society. This developed into renders that enriched the king’s revenue, and then the development of wics outweighed the reliance on a ‘system of practical and social interdependencies.’ Alban Gautier’s article is really interesting, and far more comprehensive than this short post, so I recommend that everyone gives it a read!

Sources

Bede, Sherley-Price, L. (ed.), A History of the English Church and People, (London, 1968), pp. 164-5.

Gautier, A., ‘Hospitality in pre-viking Anglo-Saxon England’, Early Medieval Europe, 17 (2009), pp. 23-44.

Hines, J., ‘Society, Community and Identity,’ in Charles-Edwards, T. (ed.), After Rome; Short Oxford History of the British Isles, (Oxford, 2003) pp 69-70.

Lavelle, R., ‘The Use and Abuse of Hostages in Later Anglo-Saxon England’, Early Medieval Europe, 14 (2006), pp. 269–96.