Time for a change in pace. I was listening to an RWA tape lately and heard editor Jennifer Enderlin from St. Martins Press talking about two of the signs that a writer is writing for herself, rather than for the reader.
The first of those signs is inserting every bit of research you’ve done into the manuscript. The research grinds the story to a halt while details not necessary to understand the action are revealed.
I’ve seen examples of this myself recently while critiquing historicals. Usually, I’ve noticed, it’s accompanied by a change in voice. The author switches out of whatever character’s POV that section of the book is in and into what I call “professor mode”. All of a sudden, I feel like I’m reading a text book, rather than a novel.
Jennifer Enderlin suggests that authors only put in as much research is necessary to understand that moment of action – no more. She says to use research sparingly, and in small drips.
The most effective use of research I’ve seen is where it’s incorporated into the action. In a work I just critiqued, for example, a character is shown making soap. The steps blend with the other action going on around her, with the other action often interrupting her job. By the time I had finished reading that passage, I knew how they made soap in the middle ages, but I didn’t feel the soap-making had intruded on the story. Very effective.
There are, of course, authors who can pull off big sections of research-exposition and entertain the reader with it. James Mitchner was a master at this. His Space left me breathless at how he could entertain me with highly technical stuff. But Mitchner knew how to turn the background into a character in his book – in fact, it was the essence of his voice. Plus it was a skill he developed over time.
The other sign of a writer writing for himself, according to Enderlin, is over-writing. This is when every detail of a simple action is drawn out in minutia.
Her example went something like, “She got up. She went to the window. She pulled aside the curtains. She pushed open the sash. She looked down. In the garden below she saw a small black dog.”
Her advice was to cut to the chase, which I interpret to be something like, “She pushed open the window and saw a small black dog in the garden below.” (Assuming the dog is important).
Jen’s remark has made me extremely conscious of two-verb sentences in which the first verb is the beginning of an action and the second verbs finishes it . For example, “He reached over and touched her.” Why not just “He touched her?”
Usually the beginning of the action isn’t necessary and slows the pace. You can cut dozens of words from a chapter just by doing a find on “and” and checking the usefulness of the verb that came before it. A real blessing when word count is important, yes, but even more of a blessing in creating that tight prose we all want.
Friday, August 6, 2010
Monday, August 2, 2010
The Saxon Shore -- Evidence of Prospertity?
The Saxon Shore forts are imposing stone fortresses along the southeast shore of England. Dominating the coastline where they are set, the forts are probably the most impressive examples of Roman architecture remaining in Britain today. In my last blog I talked about where their name came from -- the region in a 4th century Roman military document was referred to as “The Saxon Shore”. Popular wisdom has it that the forts were established to ward of Saxon invasions, but scholars today are questioning that theory.
Here are some alternatives that have been put forth. All consider the Germanic threat to have had minimal impact on the decision to build the forts. In other words, they don’t think there was much threat.
Donald A. White looks at the historical context of the dates of construction. Caurausius and Allectus had led the British in a successful rebellion against the Romans in 289-296. White proposes that the forts were actually constructed to prevent a Roman invasion to retake the island.
Also taking into account historical context, John Cotterill proposes that the forts were, in fact, constructed to supply the Roman army on the Continent with grain and products from Britain. Remember, they were built pre-410 AD when the Romans withdrew. Britain was one of the principal “granaries” of the Roman Empire.
The most recent work was done by Andrew Pearson, who examined each of the forts in detail and within their local context. He came up with some startling conclusions.
First, the forts were not built all at the same time, which argues against an integrated defense system. (Francis Pryor in his book Britain AD notes that the Roman military document in which the forts were mentioned was a listing of what was there, not a strategic plan.)
At the beginning of the third century Dover, an older Roman fort, went out of use, while Caister-on-Sea, Reculver and Brancaster were built. This leads us to wonder if there was a need for defensive structures, why was Dover retired? In fact, the deployment of these structures makes no sense militarily, if they were intended to protect the coast from Saxon raiders. They are all way up north, near the Wash, rather than down along Suffolk, Sussex, Essex, Kent and Hampshire, which were closer to the Continent and much more susceptible to Saxon attack.
The remaining forts were built during the last 40 years of the 3rd century. Portchester was abandoned for a period of ten years directly after its construction and at least half line were abandoned when the Romans withdrew, which theoretically would have been the time Britain was most vulnerable.
Francis Pryor provides an account of the archeological evidence for the purpose of the Saxon Shore forts. He notes how different these forts are from the Roman forts along Hadrian’s Wall.
Now, there is no question that Hadrian’s Wall and its chain of forts is a defensive structure. Furthermore, if you examine Birdowald, Housesteads, or Carlisle (my own pet as it’s my heroine’s home “castle”), you’ll discover a similar pattern. The fort is square or rectangular, with a gate centered in each of its four walls. The gates are set opposite each other and a road leads from one gate to its opposing gate. This creates a grid around which a large number of buildings are crammed in a very orderly, logical fashion. The pattern repeats throughout the Roman Empire.
Pearson noted evidence of an orderly military-style grid at Reculver, and that the other two early forts appear to have layouts intended for defense. The layout of the remaining Saxon Shore forts, however, are nothing like that. Portchester, especially, has been subject to intense excavation by archaeologist Barry Cunliffe, who is extremely respected for his meticulous field work. There is no evidence of the cramming with permanent structures set on a well-organized grid. In fact, there seems to be a paucity of structures within these forts. There are large empty areas. Strucures that existed were laid out in a haphazard fashion. Remains found in these structures, including infant burials, give evidence of civilian occupancy, instead. It’s been suggested that large areas of the forts were used to store goods.
Pearson and Pryor both feel that these fortresses, rather than serving as a defense network, may have served as collecting and distribution points for British trade.
Pryor in the vast collection of archeological evidence he references in Britain AD, asserts that rather than collapsing after the Roman withdrawal, Celtic Britain experienced an economic boom instead. His hypothesis is supported by Michael Jones, to whom I referred in an earlier blog, and a number of the scholarly articles collected in The Celtic World, the mammoth, academic tome edited by Miranda Greene.
No longer weighed down by the immense burden of taxes paid to Rome, Britains had more money to spend on themselves and their country. There was a building boom, with the revival and refurbishment of many settlements. And, there was a lot of trade abroad. (Pryor gives a vast amount of evidence in the last chapter of his book Britain AD.) This is where the Saxon Shore forts come in. Pearson has noted that they are almost all located at points like near the mouths of rivers or at road junctions that make them ideal of the collection and distributions of goods.
During Roman times, then, these ports may have been used as Cotterill proposed, to send British products to supply Rome. But upon Rome’s withdrawal, they may have remained as trade centers for Britain’s commerce with the Continent. Not all – remember some were abandoned. But that still leaves the other half.
No matter how you look at it, that leaves the Saxon Shore forts as evidence of a period of prosperity – not of a country hunkering down under prospective Saxon threat.
Here are some alternatives that have been put forth. All consider the Germanic threat to have had minimal impact on the decision to build the forts. In other words, they don’t think there was much threat.
Donald A. White looks at the historical context of the dates of construction. Caurausius and Allectus had led the British in a successful rebellion against the Romans in 289-296. White proposes that the forts were actually constructed to prevent a Roman invasion to retake the island.
Also taking into account historical context, John Cotterill proposes that the forts were, in fact, constructed to supply the Roman army on the Continent with grain and products from Britain. Remember, they were built pre-410 AD when the Romans withdrew. Britain was one of the principal “granaries” of the Roman Empire.
The most recent work was done by Andrew Pearson, who examined each of the forts in detail and within their local context. He came up with some startling conclusions.
First, the forts were not built all at the same time, which argues against an integrated defense system. (Francis Pryor in his book Britain AD notes that the Roman military document in which the forts were mentioned was a listing of what was there, not a strategic plan.)
At the beginning of the third century Dover, an older Roman fort, went out of use, while Caister-on-Sea, Reculver and Brancaster were built. This leads us to wonder if there was a need for defensive structures, why was Dover retired? In fact, the deployment of these structures makes no sense militarily, if they were intended to protect the coast from Saxon raiders. They are all way up north, near the Wash, rather than down along Suffolk, Sussex, Essex, Kent and Hampshire, which were closer to the Continent and much more susceptible to Saxon attack.
The remaining forts were built during the last 40 years of the 3rd century. Portchester was abandoned for a period of ten years directly after its construction and at least half line were abandoned when the Romans withdrew, which theoretically would have been the time Britain was most vulnerable.
Francis Pryor provides an account of the archeological evidence for the purpose of the Saxon Shore forts. He notes how different these forts are from the Roman forts along Hadrian’s Wall.
Now, there is no question that Hadrian’s Wall and its chain of forts is a defensive structure. Furthermore, if you examine Birdowald, Housesteads, or Carlisle (my own pet as it’s my heroine’s home “castle”), you’ll discover a similar pattern. The fort is square or rectangular, with a gate centered in each of its four walls. The gates are set opposite each other and a road leads from one gate to its opposing gate. This creates a grid around which a large number of buildings are crammed in a very orderly, logical fashion. The pattern repeats throughout the Roman Empire.
Pearson noted evidence of an orderly military-style grid at Reculver, and that the other two early forts appear to have layouts intended for defense. The layout of the remaining Saxon Shore forts, however, are nothing like that. Portchester, especially, has been subject to intense excavation by archaeologist Barry Cunliffe, who is extremely respected for his meticulous field work. There is no evidence of the cramming with permanent structures set on a well-organized grid. In fact, there seems to be a paucity of structures within these forts. There are large empty areas. Strucures that existed were laid out in a haphazard fashion. Remains found in these structures, including infant burials, give evidence of civilian occupancy, instead. It’s been suggested that large areas of the forts were used to store goods.
Pearson and Pryor both feel that these fortresses, rather than serving as a defense network, may have served as collecting and distribution points for British trade.
Pryor in the vast collection of archeological evidence he references in Britain AD, asserts that rather than collapsing after the Roman withdrawal, Celtic Britain experienced an economic boom instead. His hypothesis is supported by Michael Jones, to whom I referred in an earlier blog, and a number of the scholarly articles collected in The Celtic World, the mammoth, academic tome edited by Miranda Greene.
No longer weighed down by the immense burden of taxes paid to Rome, Britains had more money to spend on themselves and their country. There was a building boom, with the revival and refurbishment of many settlements. And, there was a lot of trade abroad. (Pryor gives a vast amount of evidence in the last chapter of his book Britain AD.) This is where the Saxon Shore forts come in. Pearson has noted that they are almost all located at points like near the mouths of rivers or at road junctions that make them ideal of the collection and distributions of goods.
During Roman times, then, these ports may have been used as Cotterill proposed, to send British products to supply Rome. But upon Rome’s withdrawal, they may have remained as trade centers for Britain’s commerce with the Continent. Not all – remember some were abandoned. But that still leaves the other half.
No matter how you look at it, that leaves the Saxon Shore forts as evidence of a period of prosperity – not of a country hunkering down under prospective Saxon threat.
Friday, July 30, 2010
Saxon Shore Forts -- Proof of Invasion?
In my last blog I talked about what I’d learned about Saxon longboats from the fifth and sixth centuries. Rowed and not particularly seaworthy, they were incapable of making the rough crossing over the North Sea. As a result, invaders of Britain would have had to follow Europe’s coast and row across where the Channel narrowed. I also noted that each longboat could carry at maximum 50-60 men, and that the numbers of boats recorded don’t seem the equivalent to invading armies. Only 700-900 men spread out over fifty years!
My memory drifts to Jack Whyte’s wonderful Arthurian novels, one of which is titled The Saxon Shore. If there weren’t invaders, what about the forts along the Saxon Shore? Popular wisdom has that these forts were built by the Romans during the 3rd century to ward off Saxon invaders.
The nine Saxon Shore forts curve around southestern Britain, running from Brancaster in Norfolk to Portchester in Hampshire. The other seven are Burgh,Norfolk; Bradwell-on-Sea, Essex; Reculver, Richborough, Dover and Lympne, all in Kent; and Pevensey, Sussex.
The name given to the forts collectively refers to their supposed supreme commander, the Count of the Saxon Shore. The first (and only) reference we have of him comes from a late 4th century Roman military document known as the Notitia Dignitatum. This is one of the few surviving documents that show how Roman forces were actually disposed. It lists a Comes Litoris Saxonici per Britanniam – a Count of the Saxon Shore in Britain – as well as the officers and troops serving in each of the forts.
This certainly sounds like a defensive line, until you look at the other entries in Notitia Dignitatum. There are two similar strings of forts running around Brittany and Normandy and along the Belgian Coast. The officers in charge there are the Dux tractus Amoricani et Nervicani and the Dux Belgicae Secundae – the Duke/Leader of Amorica and Nervica and the Duke/Leader of Second(ary) Belgica. (Belgium)
Plus there are similar forts in Yorkshire and along the Devonshire and Cornwell shores.
If the purpose of the forts on the Saxon Shore were to keep out Saxon invaders, what are the forts doing on the other side of the Channel? We don’t hear about Saxon invaders there. While Yorkshire is a possible landing place, the approach Yorkshire is through the North Sea. As we’ve seen, Saxon ships would not survive a crossing there. Devonshire and Cornwall, on the other hand, are close enough for Saxon longboats to cross. So why wouldn’t they be included in “the Saxon Shore” if this were a defensive appellation?
Even weirder, some of the maps I have show the source of the Saxon invaders/migrants as the area included in Belgicae Secundae. If these are forts built to keep out invaders, what are they doing with the invaders at their backs?
Doing a bit of digging (metaphorically), I’ve uncovered some interesting stuff.
First, the Latin word “Saxonici” is ambiguous. It can mean either Saxon invaders or Saxon settlers. Hmm. Could there have been Saxon settlers in Southeastern Britain as early as the third century? The army of the late Roman Empire consisted of a lot of soldiers recruited from Germanic areas. When their term of service was finished, it was customary to pension them off with their own lands. Lands in Italy were pretty much gone. Is it possible that they were given lands in Britain?
Second, scholars have put forth a couple of alternative explanations regarding the purpose of these forts. I’ll talk about that next blog.
My memory drifts to Jack Whyte’s wonderful Arthurian novels, one of which is titled The Saxon Shore. If there weren’t invaders, what about the forts along the Saxon Shore? Popular wisdom has that these forts were built by the Romans during the 3rd century to ward off Saxon invaders.
The nine Saxon Shore forts curve around southestern Britain, running from Brancaster in Norfolk to Portchester in Hampshire. The other seven are Burgh,Norfolk; Bradwell-on-Sea, Essex; Reculver, Richborough, Dover and Lympne, all in Kent; and Pevensey, Sussex.
The name given to the forts collectively refers to their supposed supreme commander, the Count of the Saxon Shore. The first (and only) reference we have of him comes from a late 4th century Roman military document known as the Notitia Dignitatum. This is one of the few surviving documents that show how Roman forces were actually disposed. It lists a Comes Litoris Saxonici per Britanniam – a Count of the Saxon Shore in Britain – as well as the officers and troops serving in each of the forts.
This certainly sounds like a defensive line, until you look at the other entries in Notitia Dignitatum. There are two similar strings of forts running around Brittany and Normandy and along the Belgian Coast. The officers in charge there are the Dux tractus Amoricani et Nervicani and the Dux Belgicae Secundae – the Duke/Leader of Amorica and Nervica and the Duke/Leader of Second(ary) Belgica. (Belgium)
Plus there are similar forts in Yorkshire and along the Devonshire and Cornwell shores.
If the purpose of the forts on the Saxon Shore were to keep out Saxon invaders, what are the forts doing on the other side of the Channel? We don’t hear about Saxon invaders there. While Yorkshire is a possible landing place, the approach Yorkshire is through the North Sea. As we’ve seen, Saxon ships would not survive a crossing there. Devonshire and Cornwall, on the other hand, are close enough for Saxon longboats to cross. So why wouldn’t they be included in “the Saxon Shore” if this were a defensive appellation?
Even weirder, some of the maps I have show the source of the Saxon invaders/migrants as the area included in Belgicae Secundae. If these are forts built to keep out invaders, what are they doing with the invaders at their backs?
Doing a bit of digging (metaphorically), I’ve uncovered some interesting stuff.
First, the Latin word “Saxonici” is ambiguous. It can mean either Saxon invaders or Saxon settlers. Hmm. Could there have been Saxon settlers in Southeastern Britain as early as the third century? The army of the late Roman Empire consisted of a lot of soldiers recruited from Germanic areas. When their term of service was finished, it was customary to pension them off with their own lands. Lands in Italy were pretty much gone. Is it possible that they were given lands in Britain?
Second, scholars have put forth a couple of alternative explanations regarding the purpose of these forts. I’ll talk about that next blog.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Saxon Longboats: The Mystery Deepens
Having a time period (late 5th – early 6th centuries) on which to hang my story (if I so choose – at this point I’m still framing it in my alternative 12th century), I’m ready to do research. In one of the early drafts of The Deadly Peace, the first book of my trilogy, one of my critique partners challenged the dragon head on the prow of my Saxon longboat.
“All right,” I thought. “I need to be more careful and make sure I don’t get Saxons mixed up with Vikings.”
The trouble is, the Viking period (roughly 800-1200 AD) is rich in resources. The Saxon isn’t. And the two cultures are very close. I wonder how much writers have borrowed from the Vikings to build their Saxon worlds…
Anyway, I’m off to investigate Saxon longboats.
Of course, the most famous of them is the Sutton Hou burial, but it’s a century beyond my period. Scholar Michael E. Jones, in his book The End of Roman Britain (Cornell University Press, 1996) states Britain’s invaders of that period involved a mix of Germanic and Scandinavian peoples. Northern European boats of that period ranged from primitive dugouts to the beautiful lines of ships like that in the Sutton Hou burial. It is the latter which probably would have carried the invaders which I, for convenience, call the Saxons.
Jones describes the characteristics of pre-Viking Scandinavian shipping. They were double-ended and constructed of over-lapping planks of wood which were braced within the hull of the ship, a technique known as “clinker-built”. In this they resembled Viking longboats. But Saxon longboats were different from their Viking cousins in a number of ways:
· They were shorter than Viking vessels. The finds closest to my period were 50-75 feet long.
· They had flat-bottomed keel plank, rather than a pointed T-keel. (I got a chuckle over Jones comment on p.75, “Incidentally, it may seem paradoxical to speak of Anglo-Saxon warships called keels, when they lacked a true keel.”)
· They had no decks. People and goods sat in the hull.
· They lacked a mast and sails, a BIG difference from the square-shaped sail we associate with Viking longboats. The first evidence of sails dates from approximately 800 A.D., 300 years after my target dates.
· Rowing was their sole means of propulsion. They had oarlocks, which implies rowing, not paddling. Finds from my period indicated provision for 20-30 rowers.
· The three vessels discovered in Nydam dating from roughly my period were all narrow-hulled (only one survives today). With narrow beam and flat keel, they would have been susceptible to shipwreck in rough seas.
Experiments with copies of these ships show them unable to withstand the rigors of crossing the North Sea. Jones suggests that invaders would have followed the coast of Europe to the narrow point in the English Channel and crossed there. But rowing from Jutland, for example, to a safe crossing point would have taken 3 to 6 months!
Could these ships have transported an invading army?
Well, first, as I mentioned, it would have been a long trip.
Second, we need to consider the capacity of these ships. Jones suggests that most of the ship would have been taken up with the rowers, leaving little room for passengers (women and children) or troops for an invading army. Remember, they need to carry weapons and provisions for the voyage, too. Jones estimates at most they’d be able to take 20-30 more persons. That’s 50-60 people per ship. If all aboard were warriors, possibly sharing the rowing, that’s 50-60 warriors per ship.
A search of the contemporary accounts of these raids shows that, in fact, not many boats were involved:
· (Gildas pre-497, Anglo-Saxon Chronicles ASC 447.) The “curs” Hengst and Horsa arrive in “three keels”. That would be at most 150-180 men. Hardly an invading hoard.
· Both sources then say more followed, but doesn’t name the number. Although the group is credited with winning some battles, it doesn’t take over Britain, but seems to be confined to the southeast.
· (ASC 477) Aelle and his sons come with 3 ships. Another 150-180 men.
· (ASC 495) Cerdic and Cynric with 5 ships. 200-300 men.
· (ASC 501) Port and sons with 2 ships. 100-120 men.
· (ASC 514) Stuf and Withgar (the Western Saxons) with 2 ships. 100-120 men. This is the last of the “invasions” recorded in the Anglo-Saxon chronicles.
Doing the math, that’s a grand total of 700-900 men. Spread out over 65 years! In fact, most of these “invasions” were 10-20 years apart. While 100-300 men may have been enough to conquer one civitas (the late Roman term for a market district), there are still only 5 groups mentioned. While Britain at that time was heavily populated (I’ll get into that in another blog.)
Curiouser and curiouser, Jones notes that none of the contemporary historic documents from the Continent mention any kind of Anglo-Saxon migration.
On the other hand, their long, thin shape makes these vessels much more suitable for being rowed fast than Viking vessels. Contemporary reports usually stress the speed of Anglo-Saxons raids. Could these ships have been used for coastal raids rather than a mass invasion?
In looking for Gildas’s “curs”, are we barking up the wrong tree?
“All right,” I thought. “I need to be more careful and make sure I don’t get Saxons mixed up with Vikings.”
The trouble is, the Viking period (roughly 800-1200 AD) is rich in resources. The Saxon isn’t. And the two cultures are very close. I wonder how much writers have borrowed from the Vikings to build their Saxon worlds…
Anyway, I’m off to investigate Saxon longboats.
Of course, the most famous of them is the Sutton Hou burial, but it’s a century beyond my period. Scholar Michael E. Jones, in his book The End of Roman Britain (Cornell University Press, 1996) states Britain’s invaders of that period involved a mix of Germanic and Scandinavian peoples. Northern European boats of that period ranged from primitive dugouts to the beautiful lines of ships like that in the Sutton Hou burial. It is the latter which probably would have carried the invaders which I, for convenience, call the Saxons.
Jones describes the characteristics of pre-Viking Scandinavian shipping. They were double-ended and constructed of over-lapping planks of wood which were braced within the hull of the ship, a technique known as “clinker-built”. In this they resembled Viking longboats. But Saxon longboats were different from their Viking cousins in a number of ways:
· They were shorter than Viking vessels. The finds closest to my period were 50-75 feet long.
· They had flat-bottomed keel plank, rather than a pointed T-keel. (I got a chuckle over Jones comment on p.75, “Incidentally, it may seem paradoxical to speak of Anglo-Saxon warships called keels, when they lacked a true keel.”)
· They had no decks. People and goods sat in the hull.
· They lacked a mast and sails, a BIG difference from the square-shaped sail we associate with Viking longboats. The first evidence of sails dates from approximately 800 A.D., 300 years after my target dates.
· Rowing was their sole means of propulsion. They had oarlocks, which implies rowing, not paddling. Finds from my period indicated provision for 20-30 rowers.
· The three vessels discovered in Nydam dating from roughly my period were all narrow-hulled (only one survives today). With narrow beam and flat keel, they would have been susceptible to shipwreck in rough seas.
Experiments with copies of these ships show them unable to withstand the rigors of crossing the North Sea. Jones suggests that invaders would have followed the coast of Europe to the narrow point in the English Channel and crossed there. But rowing from Jutland, for example, to a safe crossing point would have taken 3 to 6 months!
Could these ships have transported an invading army?
Well, first, as I mentioned, it would have been a long trip.
Second, we need to consider the capacity of these ships. Jones suggests that most of the ship would have been taken up with the rowers, leaving little room for passengers (women and children) or troops for an invading army. Remember, they need to carry weapons and provisions for the voyage, too. Jones estimates at most they’d be able to take 20-30 more persons. That’s 50-60 people per ship. If all aboard were warriors, possibly sharing the rowing, that’s 50-60 warriors per ship.
A search of the contemporary accounts of these raids shows that, in fact, not many boats were involved:
· (Gildas pre-497, Anglo-Saxon Chronicles ASC 447.) The “curs” Hengst and Horsa arrive in “three keels”. That would be at most 150-180 men. Hardly an invading hoard.
· Both sources then say more followed, but doesn’t name the number. Although the group is credited with winning some battles, it doesn’t take over Britain, but seems to be confined to the southeast.
· (ASC 477) Aelle and his sons come with 3 ships. Another 150-180 men.
· (ASC 495) Cerdic and Cynric with 5 ships. 200-300 men.
· (ASC 501) Port and sons with 2 ships. 100-120 men.
· (ASC 514) Stuf and Withgar (the Western Saxons) with 2 ships. 100-120 men. This is the last of the “invasions” recorded in the Anglo-Saxon chronicles.
Doing the math, that’s a grand total of 700-900 men. Spread out over 65 years! In fact, most of these “invasions” were 10-20 years apart. While 100-300 men may have been enough to conquer one civitas (the late Roman term for a market district), there are still only 5 groups mentioned. While Britain at that time was heavily populated (I’ll get into that in another blog.)
Curiouser and curiouser, Jones notes that none of the contemporary historic documents from the Continent mention any kind of Anglo-Saxon migration.
On the other hand, their long, thin shape makes these vessels much more suitable for being rowed fast than Viking vessels. Contemporary reports usually stress the speed of Anglo-Saxons raids. Could these ships have been used for coastal raids rather than a mass invasion?
In looking for Gildas’s “curs”, are we barking up the wrong tree?
Friday, July 23, 2010
Bonus Post -- Great Discussion on Authenticity in Historicals
Last week I came across this amazing discussion on the History Hoydens blog on just how accurate does a historical novel have to be? Check out http://historyhoydens.blogspot.com/2010/06/historical-romance-vs-historical.html.
The comments go on forever, but they're well worth reading. If nothing else, you'll pick up all sorts of fascinating historical tidbits. I was going to add my own 2 cents about fine wheat, but someone else got in there first. Come to think of it, I don't think anyone mentioned manchet bread...
The comments go on forever, but they're well worth reading. If nothing else, you'll pick up all sorts of fascinating historical tidbits. I was going to add my own 2 cents about fine wheat, but someone else got in there first. Come to think of it, I don't think anyone mentioned manchet bread...
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Gildas and Arthur's First Battle
Last post, I talked about the two entries in the Annales Cambria that give us our first information about Arthur. I’d been aware of the entries for a long time – had come across them during my post-graduate work – though I couldn’t remember the dates. (My own work in Medieval Studies focused on the 12th century German writers Wolfram von Eschenbach and Gottfried von Strassbourg, who later featured as the heros in an early novel I wrote, one so painfully amateurish it’s long been relegated to the dust bin.) But the words “in which Arthur and Medraut fell” gave me an idea for my trilogy. What if Medraut wasn’t a villain at all? My idealistic hero was born.
I promised I would talk about Gildas…
Our first hint at the Arthurian story comes from a sixth-century monk named Gildas. In his De Excidio Britanniae (On the Fall/Ruin of Britain), he describes a series of battles that culminate with the Battle of Badon. Badon gives a possible date for King Arthur’s life.
Even so, it is hard to put your finger on the exact date. Gildas is both amazingly precise and infuriatingly vague. He tells us that the battle was fought in the year of his birth, exactly 43 years and 1 month before he wrote De Excidio. At last, someone whose parents, at least, would have remembered the battle! But Gildas doesn’t tell us the year in which he is writing! Using a reference from the last paragraph of De Excidio, Mike Ashley calculates Badon must have happened between 492 and 497 AD, which is twenty years before the dates given in the Welsh Annals.
So what I have at this point is a range of somewhere between the last quarter of the fifth century and the first half of the sixth. At least, I’ve got a place to look.
I promised I would talk about Gildas…
Our first hint at the Arthurian story comes from a sixth-century monk named Gildas. In his De Excidio Britanniae (On the Fall/Ruin of Britain), he describes a series of battles that culminate with the Battle of Badon. Badon gives a possible date for King Arthur’s life.
Even so, it is hard to put your finger on the exact date. Gildas is both amazingly precise and infuriatingly vague. He tells us that the battle was fought in the year of his birth, exactly 43 years and 1 month before he wrote De Excidio. At last, someone whose parents, at least, would have remembered the battle! But Gildas doesn’t tell us the year in which he is writing! Using a reference from the last paragraph of De Excidio, Mike Ashley calculates Badon must have happened between 492 and 497 AD, which is twenty years before the dates given in the Welsh Annals.
So what I have at this point is a range of somewhere between the last quarter of the fifth century and the first half of the sixth. At least, I’ve got a place to look.
Monday, July 19, 2010
The First References to Arthur
So we’ve got twenty candidates in our search for Arthur. According to Michael Ashley, the “real” Arthur needs to meet the basic criteria of having fought in the Battle of Badon. This is one of the two battles linked to Arthur’s name in the earliest historical references to him: the texts ascribed to Nennius and the Welsh Annals or Annales Cambriae.
Ninth-century Nennius, who may not have existed at all, is highly problematical and leaves more questions than answers. Among other things, the work is full of self-contradictions. In an appendix, the so-called author lists Arthur’s battles. Although Ashley takes the work seriously, Francis Pryor’s (Britain A.D.) references make me think historians have seriously questioned its authenticity. We’ll leave it aside for another time.
The other work, the Annales Cambriae, is easier to deal with. The earliest copy of this text dates to the end of the tenth century – almost five hundred years, we shall see, after Arthur was supposed to have lived – though it is believed to copied from an earlier document, but not Nennius or his sources.
Earlier documents. Hmmm. As a medievalist, I’m familiar with this ploy. Medieval writers, whether of history or fiction, were always conscious of the credibility of their writing. Think our modern obsession with footnotes and bibliography. Anyway, to make their writing more credible, medievals would quote “sources” whom they called “authorities” -- auctoritas (I may not have the spelling right, I don’t have all my old Medieval Studies notes any more) – many of whom they made up, but who have led modern scholars on merry wild goose chases just the same.
So what I am saying is, just because a medieval cites someone else as his reference, don’t trust him unless you have the manuscript in your hand.
OK. We’ve got our first “real” references to Arthur. But four to five hundred years after his death.
The Annals are basically a chronology of events listed by year. The Arthurian references are as follows:
518 The Battle of Badon in which Arthur carries the Cross of Our Lord Jesus Christ for three days and three nights on his shoulders and the Britains were the victors.
539 The battle of Camlann, in which Arthur and Medraut fell: and there was a plague in Britain and Ireland.
Medraut, by the way, later becomes Mordred in the tales. Interestingly, the Welsh Annals also contain a mention of Merlin, in his name’s earliest form: Myrrdin. But this Merlin figure appears thirty-five years – almost two generations – after Arthur’s death.
575 … Myrrdin became mad.
So what can we learn from these two references to Arthur?
518 reference:
• There is no explanation for who Arthur is. He could be a king, a soldier, a priest, a blacksmith (OK, I’m being facetious).
• Most people have considered him a warrior/leader of some kind.
• Scholars think “carries the Cross of Our Lord Jesus Christ… on his shoulders” is a reference to a shield. I have a problem with this, because the cross on the shield to which they refer is a much later shield, a Crusader shield from the late 11th century onward. Shields of the Celtic and Saxon periods were round and none of the many I looked at had crosses on them.
• If the cross is a reference to a shield, then the battle must have lasted three days. That’s unusually long for a battle in those times.
• Scholars assume because of the juxtapositioning of the clause referring to Arthur and the clause referring to the Britons, that Arthur was a Briton and their victorious leader.
539 reference
• “Fell” could be a reference to their deaths, to their defeats, or both.
• It is not clear whether Arthur and Medraut were allies or enemies. Medraut is a Briton, not Saxon, name. They could have been fighting on the same side.
• Of course, they could have been fighting against each other. However, if you look at other entries in the Welsh Annals and its sister chronicle, the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles, you’ll notice that neither names the defeated enemy leaders.
So there’s our start. Two ambiguous pieces of information, referring to events four hundred or more years before the text was written.
By now, if you know about the development of the King Arthur legend, you’ll be squirming in your chair saying “What about Gildas?”
In my next post I’ll get to that.
Ninth-century Nennius, who may not have existed at all, is highly problematical and leaves more questions than answers. Among other things, the work is full of self-contradictions. In an appendix, the so-called author lists Arthur’s battles. Although Ashley takes the work seriously, Francis Pryor’s (Britain A.D.) references make me think historians have seriously questioned its authenticity. We’ll leave it aside for another time.
The other work, the Annales Cambriae, is easier to deal with. The earliest copy of this text dates to the end of the tenth century – almost five hundred years, we shall see, after Arthur was supposed to have lived – though it is believed to copied from an earlier document, but not Nennius or his sources.
Earlier documents. Hmmm. As a medievalist, I’m familiar with this ploy. Medieval writers, whether of history or fiction, were always conscious of the credibility of their writing. Think our modern obsession with footnotes and bibliography. Anyway, to make their writing more credible, medievals would quote “sources” whom they called “authorities” -- auctoritas (I may not have the spelling right, I don’t have all my old Medieval Studies notes any more) – many of whom they made up, but who have led modern scholars on merry wild goose chases just the same.
So what I am saying is, just because a medieval cites someone else as his reference, don’t trust him unless you have the manuscript in your hand.
OK. We’ve got our first “real” references to Arthur. But four to five hundred years after his death.
The Annals are basically a chronology of events listed by year. The Arthurian references are as follows:
518 The Battle of Badon in which Arthur carries the Cross of Our Lord Jesus Christ for three days and three nights on his shoulders and the Britains were the victors.
539 The battle of Camlann, in which Arthur and Medraut fell: and there was a plague in Britain and Ireland.
Medraut, by the way, later becomes Mordred in the tales. Interestingly, the Welsh Annals also contain a mention of Merlin, in his name’s earliest form: Myrrdin. But this Merlin figure appears thirty-five years – almost two generations – after Arthur’s death.
575 … Myrrdin became mad.
So what can we learn from these two references to Arthur?
518 reference:
• There is no explanation for who Arthur is. He could be a king, a soldier, a priest, a blacksmith (OK, I’m being facetious).
• Most people have considered him a warrior/leader of some kind.
• Scholars think “carries the Cross of Our Lord Jesus Christ… on his shoulders” is a reference to a shield. I have a problem with this, because the cross on the shield to which they refer is a much later shield, a Crusader shield from the late 11th century onward. Shields of the Celtic and Saxon periods were round and none of the many I looked at had crosses on them.
• If the cross is a reference to a shield, then the battle must have lasted three days. That’s unusually long for a battle in those times.
• Scholars assume because of the juxtapositioning of the clause referring to Arthur and the clause referring to the Britons, that Arthur was a Briton and their victorious leader.
539 reference
• “Fell” could be a reference to their deaths, to their defeats, or both.
• It is not clear whether Arthur and Medraut were allies or enemies. Medraut is a Briton, not Saxon, name. They could have been fighting on the same side.
• Of course, they could have been fighting against each other. However, if you look at other entries in the Welsh Annals and its sister chronicle, the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles, you’ll notice that neither names the defeated enemy leaders.
So there’s our start. Two ambiguous pieces of information, referring to events four hundred or more years before the text was written.
By now, if you know about the development of the King Arthur legend, you’ll be squirming in your chair saying “What about Gildas?”
In my next post I’ll get to that.
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