Location of the seventh-century church in York

The first historical reference to York after the end of Roman government in Britain is in April 627, when Bede tells us that Eadwine (Edwin) of Deira/Northumbria was baptised in a newly built timber church in the city. Eadwine later started rebuilding the timber church in stone but was killed before it was finished, and the work was completed by his nephew Oswald:

The king’s baptism took place at York on Easter Day, the 12th of April, in the church of Saint Peter the Apostle, which the king had hastily built of timber during the time of his instruction and preparation for baptism; and in this city he established the see of his teacher and bishop Paulinus. Soon after his baptism, at Paulinus’ suggestion, he gave orders to build on the same site a larger and more noble basilica of stone, which was to enclose the little oratory he had built before/ The foundations were laid and the walls of a square church began to rise around this little oratory; but before they reached their appointed height, the cruel death of the king left the work to be completed by Oswald his successor.

--Bede, Ecclesiastical History, Book II ch.14

Oswald was killed in 642 (Bede Book III ch. 9), so the stone church in York must have been completed some time before then. Where might it have stood?

As Eadwine’s church was dedicated to St Peter, the same dedication as the present York Minster, it is very likely that it stood on or very near the same site. The present York Minster is an enormous building , on the same sort of scale as the headquarters building (principia) of the Roman legionary fortress which it partly overlies, so Eadwine’s small church would have occupied only a tiny fraction of the area of the current cathedral. When the Minster foundations needed underpinning in the 1960s an archaeological excavation was conducted as part of the work (partly displayed in the present Undercroft), which identified massive remains of the old Roman principia under the Minster. For obvious reasons this was the archaeological equivalent of keyhole surgery, but it was sufficient to identify some of the mighty columns of the principia basilica or cross-hall, one of which was later re-erected in the precinct outside the Minster (Ottaway 2004). It was also sufficient to locate the principia precisely in relation to the Minster.




Sketch plan showing the location of the present York Minster in relation to the Roman legionary fortress principia.













There is a much more detailed plan in Tweddle et al 1999 (see references), but this rough sketch should be enough for the purposes of this post. As you can see, the present Minster sits diagonally across the north corner of the cross-hall, with the south transept overlying a corner of the principia courtyard. The Minster is aligned east-west and the principia is aligned north-east to south-west with the entrance on the south-west and the cross-hall occupying the north-east range. Most of the principia courtyard is not under the footprint of the current Minster. The excavations carried out during the underpinning work were in the north corner of the cross-hall and parts of the associated range of offices along its back wall (Ottaway 2004).

Excavations in and around the south transept of the present Minster located a graveyard of Anglo-Scandinavian date (ninth to tenth century) containing large numbers of re-used ‘Anglo-Saxon’ stone sculptures (Tweddle et al 1999). These graves were aligned north-east to south-west, rather than the usual E-W alignment of Christian graves, which suggests that they were aligned on the church associated with the graveyard and that this church was on the Roman principia alignment.

No trace of the church associated with this graveyard or of the small early church built by Eadwine and Oswald was identified in the Minster excavations, but this is not all that surprising. The underpinning work on the foundations provided access to only a small part of the cross-hall, and the rest of the area occupied by the principia remains unexplored. It is quite likely that Eadwine’s church was near the present Minster, but not necessarily directly underneath it.

There have been at least three churches on the site since the one built by Eadwine (counting his timber church and its stone replacement as one): a larger ‘Anglo-Saxon’ church built in the 8th century and sometimes called the Anglian Minster; a Norman Minster built in the Romanesque style in the 11th century; and the present Minster built in the Gothic style between the 13th and 15th centuries. It is quite likely that some of the successive churches were in slightly different locations, partly because if the old church was still standing there is a logic in building the new one on a different site so the old church can still be used while the replacement is under construction, and partly because the degree to which the Roman remains constrained the site will have changed over time as the Roman buildings collapsed and became buried by the rising ground level.

It is not known how long the Roman principia building stood or remained in use after the end of Roman government, but it may have been a considerable time. Say what you like about the Roman military, they could do engineering when it suited them. The west gateway of the Roman fort at Birdoswald on Hadrian’s Wall was still standing until the fifteenth century, dated by the pottery found underneath its collapsed arch (Wilmott 2001 p.137-138), and part of the Roman Multangular Tower at York is still standing now. The principia was a massive building judging from the size of the columns, so it may well have stood for some considerable time if it was not robbed for stone. Ottaway (2004) suggests that it may have been standing and in use until the Danish (Viking, if you prefer) invasions of the late ninth century. If this is the case, the Norman Minster would not have been constrained by its presence, which would explain why it disregards the Roman alignment, but the earlier ‘Anglo-Saxon’ churches would have been.

This being the case, one plausible location for Eadwine’s early church is the courtyard of the Roman principia building. Bede makes it quite clear that the church was a new building, not a re-used or refurbished Roman one (and Bede knew the difference; he specifically says that Augustine in Canterbury at first used an old Roman church dedicated to St Martin, and then repaired another old Roman church in the city; Book I ch. 26 and ch. 33). The principia courtyard may well have been one of the few sites in the vicinity of the York principia in 627 that was not already occupied by standing Roman buildings or Roman ruins and was therefore available for a new build. A story recorded in a Life of Pope Gregory the Great written at Whitby some time in the early eighth century is consistent with this. It describes Bishop Paulinus and Eadwine giving religious instruction in the royal hall, then hurrying across a public square or street to the church (Tweddle et al 1999). Unfortunately the location of the incident is not recorded (chroniclers can be annoyingly remiss about these things), but if it was in York, it is consistent with the principia cross-hall being in use as a royal hall and the church being somewhere in the principia courtyard.

Eadwine’s church was built specifically for his baptism, and this may be another slight clue to its location. Roman forts often contain a well or a water tank in the principia courtyard (Bidwell 1997 p. 71). As the excavated examples are often quite shallow or of limited capacity, they would not have gone far as emergency water supplies during a siege. Paul Bidwell suggests that their purpose was to provide water for religious ceremonies conducted in the principia, and cites the example of the fort at South Shields where the well was built at the same time as the shrine of the standards, before the rest of the building was constructed (Bidwell 1997 p 71). If there was such a well in the principia courtyard at York, possibly there may have been a shadowy tradition that it was a ‘lucky’ or ‘holy’ or ‘powerful’ well (even if no-one remembered why) and therefore an auspicious site for the baptism of a king and the establishment of a new church. This would be consistent with a location for the seventh-century church in York somewhere within the principia courtyard.

Needless to say, other interpretations are possible.

References
Bede, Ecclesiastical history of the English people. Translated by Leo Sherley-Price. Penguin Classics, 1968, ISBN 0-14-044565-X.
Bidwell P. Roman forts in Britain. Batsford/English Heritage, 1997. ISBN 0-7134-7100-X.
Ottaway P. Roman York. Tempus, 2004. ISBN 0-7524-2916-7.
Tweddle D, Moulden J, Logan E. Anglian York: a survey of the evidence. Council for British Archaeology/York Archaeological Trust, 1999. ISBN 1-902771-06-0.
Wilmott T. Birdoswald Roman fort: 1800 years on Hadrian’s Wall. Tempus, 2001. ISBN 0-7524-1913-7.

Map links
Birdoswald
South Shields
York

The Legate’s Daughter, by Wallace Breem. Book review

First published 1974. Edition reviewed: Phoenix, 2005, ISBN 0-75381-895-7. 310 pages.

The Legate’s Daughter is set in Rome and Mauretania (North Africa) in 24 BC, against the background of a fictional political intrigue in the reign of Emperor Augustus. Several secondary characters are historical figures, including Augustus’ wife Livia and daughter Julia, King Juba of Mauretania and his wife Cleopatra Selene (daughter of Cleopatra of Egypt and Mark Antony), and various important Roman senators including Marcus Agrippa. All the main characters are fictional.

Augustus is ill and has no heir, and the senators of Rome are plotting in factions to gain the succession. When a senior Roman legate in distant Spain is killed and his daughter kidnapped, it is a serious embarrassment to Augustus’ government. Curtius Rufus, a failed centurion with a taste for gambling, drink, women and trouble, is despatched by Marcus Agrippa to find and rescue the girl. Together with his friend, a Greek secretary and aspiring poet called Criton, and a reluctant detachment of Praetorian Guards, he arrives at the court of King Juba and Queen Cleopatra Selene in Mauretania. Curtius soon discovers that all is not what it seems, as he uncovers a complex web of intrigue and deceit whose threads reach not only to the highest levels of the Mauretanian court but all the way to Rome itself.

The Legate’s Daughter is a political thriller, and doesn’t have the military setting or the action of Wallace Breem’s famous The Eagle in the Snow. The plot is driven by the slow disentangling of layer upon layer of lies and half-truths, and Curtius Rufus is frequently in the dark and having to guess at what is really going on. People speak in veiled allusions and cryptic references, which may (or may not) become clear in time. As a result, the reader needs to be alert to every detail and nuance to have any chance of following the story. I read the book twice before I pieced some of the plot together, and I suspect there are still intricacies that I missed. This is a book that needs concentration; think John le Carre rather than Simon Scarrow.

The street scenes are superb, both in Rome and North Africa. Sharply drawn vignettes bring the bustle and variety of a big city to vivid life, such as the beggar boys waiting like starlings for the baker to overload his cart so they can grab the spilled bread without being accused of stealing. The political shenanigans in Rome and in North Africa are well, if slowly, brought out (provided you pay attention), and an atmosphere of threat and menace builds gradually to the tense climax.

Despite the title, the legate’s daughter herself is hardly mentioned for the first third of the book, and appears only in a brief and rather pathetic glimpse towards the end. The focus of the story is Curtius Rufus, and although the narrative is in third person it’s mainly his viewpoint that the reader sees. Curtius is intriguing and contradictory, always wanting the opposite of what he presently has. When he has a steady job he is bored and resents its restrictions; when he loses the job he doesn’t know what to do with himself. When on his mission in North Africa he longs for his irresponsible life in Rome; when living on his wits in Rome he yearns for the stability of a respected role. Clearly very able when he chooses, as shown when he has to carry out emergency repairs to an aqueduct in imminent danger of collapse, he has nevertheless managed to fail at every career he has tried. He treats women badly, but somehow remains irresistibly attractive to them. The ending, like the rest of the book, is ambiguous, with more questions than answers: will Curtius make a new start, with a respectable job and the love of a good woman, or will he drift back to his precarious life in the slums?

Tense political thriller set in Ancient Rome, with layer upon layer of deceit, intrigue, plot and counter-plot.

Pictish female names

The king-lists in the Pictish Chronicle provide quite a few Pictish male names, such as Alpin/Elpin, Drust, Talorc(an), Cinad, Bridei/Brude and Nechtan. Unfortunately, there is no comparable source for Pictish female names. Very few Pictish women are recorded in surviving documentary sources. Given that the Picts practiced a form of matrilineal succession according to contemporary writers such as Bede (see article on Pictish matriliny), it seems surprising that so few royal female names were recorded. Can we infer anything useful about the likely form of Pictish female names?

Evidence

Symbol stones

Pictish symbol stones are found in Scotland, mainly north of the Forth and Clyde, and are generally dated to the period of the 6th to 9th centuries AD. The frequency distribution of the common symbols is a fair match for the frequency distribution for the Pictish names recorded in the Pictish king lists, which is consistent with the theory that the symbols may represent names (Cummins 1995). Ross Sansom (1995) has suggested that a specific symbol, a stylised comb and mirror, may indicate that the person named on the stone was a woman. If true, this may shed some light on Pictish female names.

If a special comb and mirror symbol was needed to indicate the sex of a person named on a symbol stone, this implies that the symbols themselves did not convey this information. In other words, if the symbols represent names, either these names could be borne by either sex (i.e. there were not specifically ‘male’ and ‘female’ names), or male and female names were sufficiently similar that they could be represented by the same symbol, perhaps differentiated by adding a male or female ending.

A system of differentiating male and female names by means of a specific ending is familiar from Latin, where the ending –us indicates a male name and –a indicates a female name, e.g. Julius / Julia, Claudius / Claudia. If Pictish names followed a similar pattern, the main symbol would represent the masculine form of the name (e.g. Julius, in the analogy with Latin) and the comb and mirror symbol the element required to turn it into the feminine form (something like –ia or -a, in the Latin analogy).

Annals of Ulster

The Annals of Ulster mention one Pictish royal lady by name, a Pictish princess who died in the late eighth century:

778. Eithne, daughter of Cinad, dies

--Annals of Ulster

The death of Cinad, king of the Picts, is recorded in the Annals of Ulster in 775.

Eithne is, however, an Irish or Gaelic name. This may indicate that the Picts routinely used Irish names for girls, which would be consistent with the colourful origin legend of the first Picts having obtained wives from Ireland (see article on Pictish matriliny for the legend). If the Pictish language (about which little is known) contained a sizeable component of Irish Gaelic, Irish names may have fitted readily into Pictish culture. However, this possibility is not easy to reconcile with the suggestion from the symbol stones that female names were the same as male names, differentiated by a specific feminine name element or ending.

Another possible explanation is that Eithne may be exceptional in having an Irish name, perhaps indicating that this particular Eithne had important Irish ancestry or other connections that the family wished to signal when choosing her name. This would be consistent with her presence in the Annals of Ulster, as strong Irish connections could explain why the Ulster annalist(s) thought it worth recording her death. Unfortunately, with a sample of one it is pretty well impossible to tell whether it represents an exceptional or typical situation.

Interpretation

So, did female Picts use Irish names, like Eithne daughter of Cinad, or did they use the same names as male Picts (such as those recorded in the king-lists), perhaps with a specific element to indicate the feminine form, or indeed something else altogether? I don’t think the available evidence is sufficient to be able to say. The meaning of the symbols on the symbol stones is unknown, and the comb and mirror symbol might convey some other meaning that has nothing to do with gender. Indeed, the symbol stones may not be personal memorials at all. As for Eithne daughter of Cinad in the Annals of Ulster, we know her name but arguing from the particular to the general is perilous at the best of times and doubly so on the basis of a small sample.

For what it is worth, I think it is fair to say that high-ranking Pictish ladies could have Irish names, since Eithne daughter of Cinad did; and that the symbol stones can be interpreted in a way that is consistent with Pictish female names being the same as or similar to Pictish male names. These are not mutually exclusive, of course, since there is no reason to assume that Pictish female names were all of the same type. Name choices could have varied according to region, family, prevailing fashion at the time or simple personal preference.


References

Annals of Ulster, available online

Cummins WA. The Age of the Picts. Alan Sutton Publishing Ltd, 1995, ISBN 0-7509-0924-2.

Sansom R. Power to the Pictish ladies. British Archaeology 1995, available online

The Enchanted Woods of Loch Maree

Happy New Year to everyone. The year has turned, the solstice is ten days past, and the days are - just - perceptibly lengthening towards the distant spring. As a reminder of spring to come, here are some pictures of the woods along the north side of the Kinlochewe River and Loch Maree in the North-West Highlands of Scotland, taken in early May 2009.

For a location map, click here. Starting at the car park near the school in Incheril (south-east corner of the map, if I have got the link right), the path runs along the north bank of the Kinlochewe River and then the north shore of Loch Maree.

Not only is it the approach route to the mountain of Slioch (which was our destination and which I may post more about later), it's a beautiful walk in its own right. All along the north shore of the river and loch are stands of old woodland, cloaked in velvet moss and starred with primroses on a bright spring day. It's an enchanting place, the sort of wood that really ought to have fairies living in it.


Sunlight in the woods














The path climbs to cross a knoll, with the Kinlochewe River below















A not-quite fallen tree leans out over the river


















Cute little pony in the pastures near Incheril

December recipe: Beef pie

This is a warming meal on a cold winter day, especially with crisp roast potatoes, roast parsnips and a green vegetable like Brussels sprouts. You can make it with any type of stewing or braising steak, or with stewing venison if you prefer.

(If you have three-quarters of a turkey to use up, you might prefer the recipe for leek and turkey pie)

Beef pie (serves 2)

Shortcrust pastry

4 oz (approx 100 g) plain flour
1 oz (approx 25 g) butter
1 oz (approx 25 g) lard

Filling

6 oz (approx 150 g) stewing or braising steak
2 oz (approx 50 g) smoked streaky bacon
Half an onion
1 dessertspoon (1 x 10 ml spoon) plain flour
0.25 pint (approx 150 ml) stock, red wine, or a mixture
1 teaspoon (1 x 5 ml spoon) dried rosemary
1 teaspoon (1 x 5 ml spoon) Worcester sauce (optional)*

Rub the butter and lard into the flour until it resembles fine breadcrumbs.
Gradually add cold water until the mixture forms a soft dough. If it’s flaky, add a little more water, if it’s sticky, add a little more flour.
Or you can use ready-made shortcrust pastry if you prefer.
Roll out to fit the top of the pie dish you are going to use, aiming for about 1/8” (approx 2-3 mm) thick. How much pastry you need depends on the size of your pie dish; if you have a lot left over, surplus pastry will keep wrapped in cling film in the fridge for a few days, or can be frozen.

Cut the steak into cubes about 0.5” (approx 1 cm) square. Cut the bacon into narrow strips.
Peel and chop the onion.
Heat about 1 Tablespoon (1 x 15 ml spoon) of cooking oil in a saucepan over a medium heat. When hot, put the steak and bacon pieces in and fry over a medium heat until browned.
Add the chopped onion and fry another minute or two until the onion starts to soften.
Stir in the flour, and mix well so that the flour coats the meat and onion. Pour in the stock or red wine, add the dried rosemary and season with salt and black pepper to taste.
Bring to the boil, then cover the pan with a lid and simmer over a low heat for an hour or so, topping up with water (or more stock or wine) if necessary to keep the liquid level about constant.
Pour the beef filling into a greased ovenproof pie dish.
Cover with the pastry to make a lid. Use the pastry offcuts to make decorations if so inclined.
Brush the pastry with milk.
Bake in a hot oven at about 200 C for about 30-40 minutes until the pastry is set and golden brown.
Serve with crisp roast potatoes and roast parsnips, which need to be roasted at the same temperature and so can share the oven with the pie, plus a green vegetable (or other vegetables of your choice).


*Don’t ask me what Worcester sauce is made of. Here’s a link to the history (or the legend) of its origin. I am told it bears some resemblance to the Roman garum, in which case all I can say is that I take off my hat to the Romans if they consumed it by the amphora-full.

Happy Christmas

Happy Christmas and best wishes for the New Year.

Snow is unusual before Christmas in southern England (despite the traditional pictures on Christmas cards), which is just as well given the transport chaos it causes. It looks very pretty if you're not trying to travel, though :-)

Snow on holly berries












Snowy path through the woods
















.... with many snow-laden overhanging branches bowed down over the path, just waiting to tip snow down your neck if you forget to duck

















Sunlight catching the snow in the canopy













Field covered in snow

Outlaw, by Angus Donald. Book review

Edition reviewed: Sphere, 2009, ISBN 978-0-7515-4208-0. 365 pages. Review copy kindly supplied by publisher.

Set in Nottinghamshire and Yorkshire in 1188-1189, Outlaw is a retelling of the Robin Hood legends. Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine has a walk-on part, and some characters are based on noblemen named in contemporary records but about whom little is known beyond the name (e.g Sir Ralph Murdac, who was Sheriff of Nottinghamshire, Derbyshire and the Royal Forests at the time). The main characters are figures from the legends (Robin Hood, Marian, Tuck, Little John, Alan Dale) or are fictional.

Thirteen-year-old Alan Dale, only son of a poor widow, scrapes a meagre living as a thief and cutpurse in and around the busy town of Nottingham. When he is caught stealing a pie and narrowly escapes the imprisonment and mutilation ordered by the cruel Sheriff, young Alan joins Robin Hood’s band of outlaws in Sherwood Forest. Growing up fast, he is taught swordsmanship by a hostage Knight Templar and develops his natural musical talent under the tutelage of a French troubadour, until he takes his place as a trusted member of Robin’s band. Robin is effectively the feudal lord of Sherwood, and Alan witnesses at first hand the ruthlessness by which Robin controls his territory. When Robin and the evil Sheriff Ralph Murdac become rivals not only for power but for the hand of the beautiful heiress Marie-Anne, Robin decides to challenge Murdac in a pitched battle – but a traitor in the band could destroy them all.

The tag line on the cover says, “Meet the Godfather of Sherwood Forest”, and a sticker on the front proclaims, “As good as Bernard Cornwell or your money back”. Between them they give a pretty good idea of what to expect. Here we have Robin Hood as a sort of twelfth-century Don Corleone, all-powerful within his territory, maintaining a private army and providing protection to those who pay him and brutal punishment to those who challenge or betray him. (Not so very far removed from normal procedure for a feudal lord, except that Robin is outside the law and answerable to – and protected by – no-one). Narrated in first person by Alan Dale, looking back on his life from old age, the structure is reminiscent of Bernard Cornwell’s Uhtred novels or his King Arthur trilogy. Though Alan appears to be shaping up to be an altogether sunnier character than Uhtred, perhaps more like Bernard Cornwell’s Derfel. It will be interesting to see how his character develops as the series progresses.

As well as Alan Dale, the band’s minstrel, all the familiar figures from the legends make an appearance, often with an inventive take on their stories and their association with Robin. Evil Sheriff Murdac is a villain in the Basil Rathbone mould, a well-groomed and fastidious weasel of a man, and his henchman Guy of Gisbourne is here given an unusual provenance (which I won’t spoil by revealing). Little John and Friar Tuck are instantly recognisable, and the famous quarterstaffs-on-the-bridge incident appears, though not quite in its usual guise. Robin’s beloved Marian (Marie-Anne) is here a great lady, heiress to the (fictional) earldom of Locksley, and Robin himself is a disinherited nobleman possessed of a sharp mind, steely determination and a streak of cruelty. My favourite character was the fictional troubadour (strictly speaking a trouvere, as he tells us, since he comes from the north of France) Bernard de Sezanne. A highly talented musician and composer, Bernard is vain, sentimental, cowardly (“I only like to wield my sword in bed,” as he puts it), and hopelessly devoted to wine, women and song, not necessarily in that order. He is also charming and funny and adds a welcome note of comedy to the proceedings. For example, here he is describing the love of his life to Alan, “How I loved her! I would have died for her – well, not died, but certainly I would have suffered a great deal of pain for her. Well, not a great deal of pain, some pain. Let’s just say a small amount of discomfort…..”

Robin Hood stories, like King Arthur stories, have a tendency to attract larger-than-life elements, which is all part of their appeal. In Outlaw there is a thriving secret pagan religion led by a formidable warrior priestess practising human sacrifice according to Iron Age ritual, Little John wears a horned helmet for the climactic battle scene, knights wear chain mail head to foot when attending a party in the Queen’s audience hall, and Marie-Anne, the superlatively beautiful heiress to an earldom, is unmarried at eighteen and can travel the country to meet Robin in his outlaw hideouts with a small escort of men-at-arms and no female companion, apparently without fear either of abduction or losing her reputation. The author says in his historical note that there is little evidence of widespread paganism in twelfth-century England, but that he liked to imagine that it existed, “perhaps fancifully”, which is fair enough.

The plot is an entertaining and easy to follow series of set-piece action sequences, rather like an action film. Skirmishes, training in sword-fighting by a Knight Templar, a hall-burning, a marauding wolf-pack, torture scenes, mutilation scenes, a bloodthirsty pagan rite, a rescue from an impregnable castle, a bit of mild spying on the Queen’s private correspondence, a pitched battle and a single combat. The mystery part of the plot is fairly slight, and the identity of the culprit is strongly signalled early on, so the eventual revelation may not come as a surprise if you pick up the clue. I thought the ending seemed rather abrupt, but as this is the first of a planned series, perhaps the ‘end’ is intended as more of a pause between this book and the next one.

A straightforward modern prose style makes Outlaw a fast, easy read, ideal if you’re tired after a hard day at work. Modern expletives are refreshingly absent, and Little John in particular has a colourful line in invented curses (e.g. “God’s holy toenails,” “Christ’s crusty drawers”, etc).

A sketch map at the front of the book shows the terrain and dispositions for the climactic (fictional) pitched battle at the manor of Linden Lea. There’s no large map, so readers unfamiliar with English geography might like to have an atlas to hand to locate the more distant places, like Winchester, in relation to the sites of most of the action around Nottingham. A historical note at the end briefly reviews the evidence for a historical Robin Hood, and explains why the author chose to place his version of the legend in the late twelfth century.

Entertaining, easy-reading, all-action adventure based on the Robin Hood legends.