More Brunanburh links

Athelstan

King Athelstan depicted on a Victorian cigarette card.


The Battle of Brunanburh was a great victory for the English king Athelstan over an alliance of Vikings, Scots and Strathclyde Britons. It took place in 937 but its location has long been a mystery.

This blogpost adds four more links to the two I noted in an earlier post relating to the battle.

In a new paper uploaded to his webspace at Academia, Mick Deakin examines the case for locating the battle near Kirkburn in Yorkshire. Using old chronicles alongside place-name data, Mick reminds us that we should not be too quick to place the battlefield west of the Pennines (as many of us do – including myself). Several pieces of information in this paper were completely new to me, and it has certainly got me thinking about my own westward-leaning view of the campaign.

Those of you who follow the comment thread below my previous ‘Brunanburh links’ blogpost will have seen Damian Bullen’s recent comments supporting the case for Burnley. Damian sets this out in more detail at his blog where, among other things, he looks at possible clues offered by local place-names. Lancashire antiquarians of the 18th and 19th centuries were happy to believe that Athelstan’s great victory was indeed won on the moors above Burnley, just as their Yorkshire counterparts thought that its true location lay in the White Rose county. Whatever our own individual views on the location of Brunanburh, the important point is that neither Burnley nor Kirkburn can be ruled out as long as the site of the battle remains a mystery.

It’s good to see these and other theories being brought into the limelight, not least to keep the debate alive, and to remind everyone that the mystery still persists. At the moment, there’s a real risk of the debate being pushed aside by a growing academic consensus that the battle took place at Bromborough on the Wirral. In the paper cited above, Mick Deakin quotes from the recently published Brunanburh Casebook, a collection of articles dealing with various aspects of the topic. The book’s editor Michael Livingston writes: ‘…put simply, the case for Bromborough is currently so firm that many scholars are engaged not with the question of whether Brunanburh occurred on the Wirral, but where on the peninsula it took place…’. While it is true that Bromborough has a strong case on place-name grounds, its identification as the battlefield of 937 remains unproven, and this uncertainty needs to be acknowledged. Alternative theories should therefore be kept in the foreground, to be studied alongside Bromborough, and with equal scholarly vigour.

My third link is to an item by Kevin Halloran, an expert on 10th-century history and the author of two fascinating studies of the Brunanburh campaign (both published in Scottish Historical Review). In a paper recently uploaded at his Academia webspace, Kevin looks in detail at Athelstan’s invasion of Scotland in 934, a military venture that turned out to be a prelude to Brunanburh. Much of the background to the latter campaign was put in place three years earlier, so Kevin’s paper will be useful to anyone with an interest in the wider political context. Some of you will already be aware that Kevin has made a strong case for identifying Burnswark, a prominent hill in southwest Scotland, as the location of Brunanburh.

Finally, a valuable resource is Jon Ingledew’s Battle of Brunanburh website which summarises the respective arguments for Burnley, Bromborough and Broomridge (in Northumberland). Jon has also gathered the various chronicle references, which makes it easier to see the different names given to the battle by medieval writers.

And so the debate continues……

N.B. You’ll need to be signed up to Academia to download the papers by Kevin and Mick.

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Vikings and other things

Dingwall, Easter Ross

A view of Dingwall by I. Clark (1824).


Interesting news from Dingwall in Easter Ross which is soon to get a new visitor centre celebrating its rich Viking heritage. The town is located at the mouth of the River Peffery, hence its Gaelic name Inbhir Pheofaran, and was once a thriving port giving access to the Cromarty Firth. Dingwall is a name of Norse origin meaning ‘field of the thing’ (thing = ‘assembly’) and indicates a public meeting-place where disputes were settled and judgments pronounced. The venue was most likely a substantial artificial mound in the vicinity of the old parish church of St Clement’s. No trace of the mound survives today but archaeologists believe that the site is now occupied by the Cromartie Memorial Car Park.

The recent archaeological survey and the new heritage centre are linked to a wider initiative called the THING Project (the acronym means ‘Thing Sites International Networking Group’). This involves agencies and experts from Scottish regions such as Orkney and Shetland which were intensively settled by Vikings, together with partners from Iceland, the Faroe Islands, the Isle of Man and Norway itself. Among the project’s long-term aims is a nomination for the thing sites as a group entry on the UNESCO list of World Heritage sites.

More information on these interesting developments can be found via these links:

Heritage hub for Dingwall (Highland Council/Dingwall History Society)

Norse heritage and thing site (Dingwall Business Association)

THING Project

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A battle in 952

Vikings

Those of you who are familiar with Kevin Halloran’s articles in academic journals will know that he has a special interest in the political history of 10th century Britain. Kevin recently sent me his thoughts on a little-known event from this period: a Viking victory dated by the Irish annalists to the middle years of the century. In giving a summary of his views Kevin produced a useful and original piece of research which I think deserves a wider audience. As it relates to Scotland I’m publishing it here as a blogpost, with Kevin’s permission.

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A Small Matter Of Identity
by Kevin Halloran

In his excellent overview of early Scottish history, From Pictland to Alba, 789-1070, Alex Woolf considered the identity of the victors in an obscure battle of 952. The event is mentioned in two Irish annals: the Annals of Ulster 952.2 and the Annals of the Four Masters 950.14. The entries are fairly similar, recording that ‘The foreigners won a battle over the men of Alba, the Britons and the Saxons.’ One question at issue is: were the ‘foreigners’ led by the Eric, son of Harold, who took over as king of York that year, by the ousted Amlaib Cuaran and his Irish-based Vikings or were they Vikings from elsewhere?

In both annals the Irish text uses the word Gallaibh to mean ‘foreigners’ and it is evident from many entries in both annals of the period that this term was used to describe the Vikings based in Ireland. The very fact that the event was mentioned in two separate Irish annals suggests strongly in my view that the victors were from Ireland. There is further support for this view. The AFM 940.9 records a battle between Irish-based Vikings and other ‘foreigners who came across the sea’ and is the only entry from either source in the period that refers to Vikings definitely based other than in Ireland. The Irish Vikings are as usual described as G(h)allaibh but their enemies are not, instead being called Goill dar muir. The annal’s use of Goill cannot be simply to differentiate between two groups of Vikings as there are many entries that depict conflicts between Irish Vikings where both sides are described as Gallaibh.

The annals give no context for the battle of 952. The fact that Alba, the Britons (presumably of Strathclyde) and the Saxons (again, presumably of Bamburgh) were in alliance suggests, as Woolf argues, that this was a north British event and also in my view that the alliance was a defensive one as I know of no precedent for such a coalition invading southern Northumbria or elsewhere. Four possibilities come to mind, although there may well be others. Firstly, that Amlaib left York to attack Lothian or Bernicia and Eric usurped the throne in his absence. Secondly, that the ousted Amlaib fought the battle after being driven from York. Thirdly, that supporters of Amlaib fought the battle en route to an attempt at reinstating him in York. Fourthly, that this was simply an unconnected large-scale raid by Irish Vikings into lowland Scotland.

The annal entries give no hint as to the cause of the conflict and, so far as we can tell, there appear to have been no significant or lasting political consequences. There are, however, two events in Ireland prior to the battle that might bear some relation to it. The first took place in 951 and is recorded in AU951.3, AFM949.10, Chronicon Scotorum CS951 and the Annals of Clonmacnoise under 946=951. These all record major raids against Irish churches by the Dublin Vikings under Guthfrith, son of Sihtric, in which 3000 captives and a great spoil of cattle, horses, gold and silver were taken. Similar attacks in Ireland preceded other Viking incursions into Britain and may well have provided the necessary finance for an expedition.

The other event occurred over the winter of 951-2 and is recorded in three of the annals, AU951.7, AFM949.15 and AClon 947=952. The first two refer to an outbreak of leprosy and dysentery among the Vikings of Dublin while the third states that ‘The pox ran over all Ireland’ and describes it as ‘Dolor Gentilium’. It is possible then that the Vikings abandoned Dublin temporarily and crossed over to Britain to escape the outbreak of disease.

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Kevin examines other aspects of the 10th century in these articles:

‘The Brunanburh campaign: a reappraisal’ Scottish Historical Review 84 (2005), 133-48
‘The identity of Etbrunnanwerc’ Scottish Historical Review 89 (2010), 248-53
‘Welsh kings at the English court, 928-956′ Welsh History Review 25 (2011), 297-313

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Clan Galbraith: Part 3 – Viking Britons?

Recently I’ve been wondering what the name Galbraith really means. In an earlier blogpost I mentioned that the Clan surname derives from Gaelic Gall Breathnach which incorporates the words for ‘foreign’ and ‘Briton’. The second element indicates an ancestral connection with the Britons, a people whose identity is represented today by communities in Wales, Brittany and (to a lesser extent) Cornwall. In the second half of the 12th century, the period when the name Galbraith first appears in documents, a ‘British’ identity lingered also in a fourth region – the area around Glasgow. Here, in what had once been the kingdom of Strathclyde, the language of the Cumbri or North Britons had only recently been supplanted by Gaelic. Historians call this language Cumbric to distinguish it from Old Welsh, although the two were actually very similar. Cumbric had almost died out by the mid-1100s but might still have been spoken by a few older folk in remote Clydesdale villages.

It is generally accepted that the ancestors of the Galbraiths were identifiable, in some sense, as ‘Britons’, otherwise they would not have been called Breathnach. When we first encounter them in the earldom of Lennox in the late 12th century they are indistinguishable from other Gaelic-speaking families and seem to be just as ‘Scottish’ as everyone else. Their ‘Britishness’ was therefore bound up with their name but may already have been a distant memory by 1150. How, then, did the name originate?

Loch Lomond

Land of the Galbraiths: Loch Lomond and Ben Lomond (c.1780)

As stated in previous blogposts, I take the view that the Galbraiths are descended from the Cumbric-speaking aristocracy of Strathclyde. The idea that the clan forefathers held land and authority in the old kingdom has been voiced by various people, not least by the Galbraiths themselves in their own histories and traditions. Against this scenario is the possibility that the clan ancestors came to Lennox from Wales, perhaps in the early 1100s, at the invitation of a Scottish king. Either theory could explain the ‘British’ connotation of their surname. The hypothesis of a Welsh origin has the added advantage of easily explaining the prefix Gall, ‘foreign’, because a Welshman in Strathclyde would not have been a Cumbric-speaking Briton but a ‘foreigner’. Otherwise the prefix is hard to explain, for it is unlikely that any indigenous Briton of Strathclyde would be regarded as a foreigner in his homeland.

There is, however, another possibility. This popped into my head a few days ago while I was reading about the Gall-Gáidhil, the mysterious people who gave their name to Galloway. The Gall-Gáidhil first appear in the 9th century as warriors in Ireland, and later as raiders and settlers on the western seaboard of Scotland. In the chronicles of the time their origin is left unexplained but their name, which means ‘foreign Gaels’, indicates that they spoke Gaelic. Their recorded activities suggest that they had much in common with the Vikings. Indeed, they seem to have comprised several Gaelic-speaking groups who prowled the seaways between Scotland and Ireland in the period 850 to 1100, some of whom no doubt claimed Scandinavian ancestry. The first Gall-Gáidhil may have originated in Ireland, or in the Hebrides, or perhaps in both areas at the same time. They were, to some extent, distinguishable from the ‘true’ Vikings whose ancestors had come from Norway and Denmark, but the differences were probably quite blurred by c.1000. The name applied to the original Gall-Gáidhil may have identified them as native Gaels who had adopted a ‘Viking’ way of life, possibly as a result of intermarriage with Scandinavians. This would be the reverse of a situation that had already led many Scandinavian settlers to settle down as ‘Gaelic’ farmers within a few generations of the first Viking raids.

Although the Gall-Gáidhil are usually associated with what is now Galloway – clearly one of their main areas of settlement – their colonies in southwest Scotland evidently stretched northward to Ayrshire, into lands bordering the kingdom of Strathclyde. Much of Ayrshire had been ruled by the Clyde Britons in the 8th century, and again in the 10th, but by c.1000 large parts of the modern county had fallen to the Gall-Gáidhil. By c.1030, when Strathclyde was weakening, Gall-Gáidhil lords probably controlled a continuous band of territory between the Solway Firth and the North Ayrshire coast. In 1034 we hear of a Gall-Gáidhil king called Suibhne (‘Sweeney’) who may have ruled this area as a single realm.

So, where does this leave the origins of Clan Galbraith?

Galbraith tartan

Clan Galbraith tartan

The following questions popped into my head while musing on the Gall-Gáidhil:
1. Could the name of this mysterious seafaring folk offer a clue as to why the Galbraith ancestors were regarded as ‘foreign’ Britons?
2. What did the prefix Gall really mean when applied to a particular group of people in the 10th and 11th centuries?

To answer the second question we need to look at the old Irish chronicles of the period. The authors of these texts didn’t use our word ‘Viking’ but instead referred to a Scandinavian raider as Gall, ‘Foreigner’. Since this term was used without any ethnic qualification we can assume that it conveyed a sufficiently precise meaning by itself, especially in the context of the time. Every native of Ireland in the period c.800 to c.1100 would have understood the connotations and implications of Gall. To them it meant simply ‘Viking’.

The Gall-Gáidhil, then, were not merely ‘Foreign Gaels’ but ‘Viking Gaels’. They behaved like the original Scandinavian Vikings but spoke Gaelic rather than Old Norse. Some may have had Danish or Norwegian ancestry mingled with Irish or Hebridean blood but their primary cultural affiliation or preferred ‘ethnicity’ defined them as Gaels. We can be reasonably certain that Gall-Gáidhil was a nickname bestowed by their neighbours and not a label they adopted for themselves. More than this we cannot say, for history tells us little about who they were and where they came from. But there might be enough here to permit some speculative musing on the origins of Clan Galbraith.

Returning to the first of my two questions, I’ve devised a new theory about the meaning of the clan surname, based on the above discussion. If one possible translation of Gall-Gáidhil is ‘Viking Gael’, might not a possible translation of Gall Breathnach be ‘Viking Briton’? I’m not sure if this is actually a new theory, or if it has already been suggested by somebody else, but I’ll run with it to the end of this blogpost and see how far it goes.

For the theory to have any substance it needs to fit with the circumstances of the period. In this regard it does not seem too preposterous. Everything we know, or can guess, about 10th-century Strathclyde suggests that the kingdom developed close links with several Viking powers. Relations in the previous century had been dominated by a significant event in 870: the destruction of Alt Clut, the ancient capital of the Clyde kings at Dumbarton Rock, by a Viking force from Dublin. By the early 900s, however, these two erstwhile foes were getting along much better. Alliances were forged and combined military expeditions were undertaken, often in co-operation with Scottish kings against mutual enemies in England. Dynastic marriages between the Strathclyde royal family and the Scandinavian dynasties of Dublin and York probably sealed a few of these political agreements. When the last Viking kings of York were expelled by the English in the middle of the 10th century, it is quite possible that some of their henchmen sought sanctuary with the Clyde Britons. This would, at least, provide a plausible context for the Scandinavian-style hogback tombstones at Govan, the main centre of political and religious power in Strathclyde.

Govan hogback

Hogback tombstone at Govan Old Parish Church, Glasgow (photo © B Keeling)

Any Scandinavian exiles from York or elsewhere who made permanent settlements among the Clyde Britons would have assimilated with the native population by adopting Cumbric speech and local customs. Otherwise they could not have thrived in their new home. Within a couple of generations they, too, would have become ‘Britons’, even if there was something noticeably different about their origins, a difference that identified them not as true natives of Clydesdale but as ‘Viking Britons’. Their descendants in the following century would have been caught up in the displacement of Cumbric by Gaelic after the Scottish conquest of Strathclyde (c.1040-1070). But their Scandinavian ancestry might not have been forgotten, even after they adopted Gaelic speech, and a prominent individual among these ‘Viking Britons’ perhaps became known by the nickname Gall Breathnach. Or, in self-recognition of his family’s heritage, he may have coined the nickname himself.

The above scenario would not be inconsistent with the earliest mention of the Galbraiths in medieval landholding documents. In the late 12th century we hear of Gillespic and Rodarcus Galbrait, sons of Gilchrist Bretnach (‘the Briton’), and of their kinsman Mac an Bhreatnaich (‘son of the Britons’). The epithets or nicknames show that these men treasured their ancestral Britishness, with Gilchrist being also keen to highlight the ‘foreign’ aspect by using the prefix Gall. The name Rodarcus, incidentally, looks like a Latin rendering of Radharc or Riderch (Welsh: Rhydderch), a name borne by at least one famous king of the Clyde Britons in former times. The early Galbraiths, of course, were not Britons in any meaningful sense, nor was anyone living in Scotland in the late 12th century. Both Bretnach and Gall Breathnach (=Galbrait) were anachronistic labels in any Scottish context after c.1100. If Bretnach here does not mean ‘Welshman’ – and I presently believe it doesn’t – then its usage by the early Galbraiths was little more than a nod to the past. It was, nevertheless, an important part of their family’s identity and an aspect of their heritage that they wanted other people to know about.

This is about as far as I can take the theory right now. The whole thing is pretty much straight off the top of my head, with minimal consultation of primary or secondary literature. For instance, it hasn’t been tested against current scholarly thinking on acculturation, language acquisition and other relevant topics. As a viable hypothesis it seems to work on a historical level, given what we know of political events in southern Scotland in the 10th and 11th centuries, but it might not stand up to scrutiny by an expert in Celtic linguistics. In any case, I’m not sure how far an ethnonym (Gall Gáidhil) given to a dispersed collection of pirate colonies can be employed as a plausible analogy for the surname of a prosperous Scottish landowning family. It’s a question I’ll leave for another day.

Comments welcome.

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Notes

* As stated above, my idea about ‘Viking Britons’ might not be new, but the only similar thinking I know of at the moment is a footnote by the place-name scholar William Watson: The name Galbraith goes to show, as has been noted, that there were ‘foreign Britons’ as well as ‘foreign Gael’ (Watson 1926, p.174, n.1).

* The usual Gaelic name for the Hebrides recalls their colonisation by Vikings: Innse Gall, ‘Isles of the Foreigners’.

* The Galbraiths call their clan, in Gaelic, Breatanuich (‘The Britons’) or Clann-a-Breatannuich (‘Children of the Britons’).

* I haven’t discussed the possibility that the Galbraith ancestors originated among the Gall-Gáidhil. The latter’s settlements in North Ayrshire were close to the heartland of Strathclyde and probably encroached on the kingdom before 1050 (see Broun 2004, p.139, n.117).

* Some theories on the identity of the Gall-Gáidhil, any or none of which might seem relevant to this blogpost:
‘Gaelic-speakers perceived to be of Norse origin’ (Broun 2004, p.136)
‘renegade Irish associates of the pagan Norse and Danes’ (Kirby 1975)
‘A Gall-Gáidhil, a foreign Gael, was clearly a foreigner who spoke Gaelic’ (Cowan 1991, 72)
‘They are described as Scots and foster-children of the Norsemen, and sometimes they are actually called Norsemen’ (Watson 1926, 172)

* Why did Gilchrist and his sons portray themselves as Britons? Here’s a possible answer from my book The Men of the North: ‘a Gaelic-speaker might identify himself as a Bretnach in contexts where a claim to British ancestry conferred some specific advantage, such as in property disputes over land formerly held by Britons’ (Clarkson 2010, 198)

* And finally, a rather wild shot in the dark… Thinking about Inchgalbraith, a tiny artificial island or crannog in Loch Lomond where the early Galbraiths had their main stronghold, and musing on the idea that Gall Breathnach might mean ‘Viking Briton’, I’m wondering whose grave was marked by the hogback tombstone at Luss Church on the western side of the loch. Could this ‘Viking’ monument, carved in typical Strathclyde style by a Briton of the Govan stonecarving school, commemorate a Gall Breathnach from the island-fortress further along the shore?

Luss hogback

Hogback tombstone at Luss Church (photo © B Keeling)

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References

Dauvit Broun, ‘The Welsh identity of the kingdom of Strathclyde, c.900-c.1200′ Innes Review 55 (2004), 111-80

Thomas Owen Clancy, ‘The Gall-Ghaedheil and Galloway’ Journal of Scottish Name Studies 2 (2008), 19-50

Tim Clarkson, The Men of the North: the Britons of Southern Scotland (Edinburgh, 2010)

Edward J. Cowan, ‘The Vikings in Galloway: a review of the evidence’, pp.63-75 in Richard Oram & Geoffrey Stell (eds.) Galloway: land and lordship (Edinburgh, 1991)

David P. Kirby, ‘Galloway prior to c.1100′ p.22 in P. MacNeill & R. Nicholson (eds.) Historical Atlas of Scotland (St Andrews, 1975)

William J. Watson, The History of the Celtic Place-names of Scotland (Edinburgh, 1926)

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Click here for Clan Galbraith Part 1

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This post is part of the Kingdom of Strathclyde series:

Kingdom of Strathclyde

The Vikings in Scotland and Ireland

The text of Professor Donnchadh Ó Corráin’s 1997 O’Donnell Lecture The Vikings in Scotland and Ireland in the ninth century is available as an online article at the Irish e-journal Chronicon.

Professor Ó Corráin gives an excellent overview of the initial impact of the Vikings. He proposes that the mysterious Lochlainn - a region named in Irish sources – was a large chunk of northern Scotland brought under Scandinavian control before 850. A few topics previously mentioned here at Senchus turn up along the way. The great battle of 839, in which the Picts and Scots were crushed by a Viking army, gets a mention, as does the Pictish marriage of Rhun of Alt Clut. As regular visitors to this blog will know, I don’t share the view (expressed in the article) that the Clyde Britons lost their independence after 870, but that’s only a minor quibble.

Here’s the abstract:
‘This study attempts to provide a new framework for ninth-century Irish and Scottish history. Viking Scotland, known as Lothlend, Laithlinn, Lochlainn and comprising the Northern and Western Isles and parts of the mainland, especially Caithness, Sutherland and Inverness, was settled by Norwegian Vikings in the early ninth century. By the mid-century it was ruled by an effective royal dynasty that was not connected to Norwegian Vestfold. In the second half of the century it made Dublin its headquarters, engaged in warfare with Irish kings, controlled most Viking activity in Ireland, and imposed its overlordship and its tribute on Pictland and Strathclyde. When expelled from Dublin in 902 it returned to Scotland and from there it conquered York and re-founded the kingdom of Dublin in 917.’

And here’s a link to the full-text at Chronicon.
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Viking mice?

Episode 5 of the BBC Radio Scotland series ‘The Scots: A Genetic Journey’ was broadcast last week. It’s currently available via the BBC iPlayer, until Wednesday 23rd March. The series is presented by Alistair Moffat and looks at how the DNA of today’s Scots has been influenced by contact with various peoples in the past.

Some folk have a much better handle on this kind of topic than I have. I find it intriguing and fascinating, even though I’m no scientist. Michelle of Heavenfield, who certainly knows a thing or two about genetics, sometimes tries to explain particular aspects to me. Not an easy task, but she perseveres nonetheless. I like to be fed scientific information in simple bite-size chunks, which is why I don’t feel too much out of my depth when I read Michelle’s posts on plague (even the ones at her bioscience blog Contagions). She breaks the jargon down nicely so that even an ‘un-scientist’ such as myself can understand what’s going on. Historical geneticist Jim Wilson takes a similar line in ‘The Scots: A Genetic Journey’. This is the type of science I can handle, the kind that doesn’t leave me scratching my head in bewilderment or reaching for a dictionary.

The Scots: A Genetic Journey

In Episode 5 of the BBC series, Jim Wilson and Alistair Moffatt discuss the impact of the Vikings on Scotland’s gene pool. Jim talks about research indicating a substantial Norse component in the DNA of places such as Orkney and the Western Isles. As an Orcadian himself, he has a personal stake in the topic, and it’s interesting to hear what he says about his own family’s genetic heritage. I’m familiar with the Orcadian data from reading about it a few years ago but I didn’t know that the studies extended to rodents as well as humans. It turns out that the mice of Orkney share DNA with their Norwegian cousins, suggesting perhaps that their ancestors arrived as stowaways on Viking longships. Someone should write an adventure story about this – or even a screenplay for an animated film.

In the same episode, Alistair pays a visit to Stirling where he and local historian John Harrison talk about the Viking impact on the Picts, and about the great battle of 839 which decimated the Pictish elite. Also on the itinerary is Dumbarton Castle, built on the site of Alt Clut (‘Clyde Rock’) the ancient fortress of the Strathclyde Britons. Here, on the highest point of the castle, Alistair and Yours Truly talk about the Viking attack on the Rock in 870. This was no ordinary raid but a full-scale assault on one of the major political powers of the time. It culminated in the surrender of the Britons, and the capture of their king, after a prolonged siege. The weather was terrible (during the radio recording, not the siege) but Alistair and I somehow managed to say what we wanted to say in spite of a fierce gale billowing around the summit.

The sixth and final episode of the series is broadcast on Wednesday 23rd March at 2.05pm. The accompanying book, published by Birlinn, had its official launch in Edinburgh ten days ago. A description of it can be found on Alistair’s website.

BBC Radio Scotland – The Scots: A Genetic Journey (Episode 5)

Brunanburh links

Vikings

Viking raiders (from an illustration in a 12th century English manuscript)

A couple of links relating to the Battle of Brunanburh*

1. Ian McDougall’s 1995 article: ‘Discretion and deceit: a re-examination of a military stratagem in Egils saga’.
This discusses, among other things, the various theories surounding the location of the battle. Full text online via De Re Militari (The Society for Medieval Military History).

I picked it up from the Twitter feed at the Old English Blog (Ealde Ænglisce Blog) via a post at Medievalists.net.

2. An audio file of the Old English ‘Brunanburh’ poem, recited by Professor Michael Drout. It can be heard at his website Anglo-Saxon Aloud (along with audio of numerous other OE poems).

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*This famous battle was fought by Athelstan, king of the West Saxons, against a coalition of Vikings, Scots and Britons in 937. Its location is unknown. I used to think it was most likely fought at Bromborough in Cheshire, but now I’m inclined to look much further north.

The Torbeckhill Sword

Burnswark

Burnswark Hill (in the distance). Photo: B Keeling.

In 1913, an iron sword was found buried beside the River Mein at Torbeckhill near Ecclefechan in Dumfriesshire. It was made in the 9th century, probably in England, and shows evidence of ‘pattern welding’, a technique involving the intertwining of iron and steel strips which were then hammered flat to form a single, strong blade. When the sword was discovered it was identified as a ‘Viking’ weapon but it could equally, or perhaps even more probably, have been wielded by an Anglo-Saxon warrior.

I was unaware of this artefact until Kevin Halloran drew my attention to it recently. The geographical context seems to add weight to Kevin’s theory that the battle of Brunanburh (AD 937) took place in the vicinity: the River Mein runs south of Burnswark Hill which is a prime candidate in the long-running search for the battlefield. Brunanburh was one of the most important battles ever fought in Britain and also one of the most mysterious. We know it was a victory for King Athelstan of Wessex over an allied force of Vikings, Scots and Strathclyde Britons but its location is irretrievable from the sources. Kevin’s articles in Scottish Historical Review (cited below) lay out a detailed argument in favour of Burnswark. If his theory is correct, the Torbeckhill sword might be a genuine relic of the great battle.

The SCRAN website has an x-ray image of the sword.

The original notice of the discovery, reported in Proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland, is accessible online. The full reference is:

Curle, A O (1914) ‘Notices of the discovery of a hoard of rapier-shaped blades of bronze at Drumcoltran, in the Stewartry of Kirkcudbright, and of a Viking sword at Torbeckhill, near Ecclefechan’, Proc Soc Antiq Scot, vol.48. pp. 334-5
[Go to the Society's website and follow the Publications link to 'PSAS']

Kevin Halloran’s articles on Brunanburh:
‘The Brunanburh campaign: a reappraisal’ Scottish Historical Review 84 (2005), 133-48
‘The identity of Etbrunnanwerc’ Scottish Historical Review 89 (2010), 248-53

The woman from Dun Guaire

Aed, son of Cinaed mac Ailpin (‘Kenneth MacAlpin’), succeeded his brother Constantine as overking of the Picts in 876. According to the Annals of Ulster Aed’s reign ended violently, after only two years, when he was slain by his socii (‘companions’ or ‘associates’). His death precipitated a dynastic crisis, a period of uncertainty, for which no clear picture emerges from the sources. One text, the Chronicle of the Kings of Alba (‘CKA’), identifies Aed’s successor as his nephew Eochaid, a grandson of Cinaed mac Ailpin. Interestingly, CKA regards Eochaid not as a Pict, nor as a Scot (like Cinaed’s alleged ancestors in Kintyre), but as a Briton. It names Eochaid’s father as Rhun ab Arthgal, king of Strathclyde, whose own father had been murdered by Vikings in 872 following the capture of Alt Clut, the royal citadel of the Clyde Britons, in 870. Eochaid’s mother, according to CKA, was a daughter of Cinaed, thus making Eochaid eligible for the overkingship of the Picts held by the mac Ailpin dynasty since the 840s. CKA gives Eochaid a reign of eleven years and adds that ‘others’ – presumably other written sources or oral traditions – say that he ruled simultaneously with a certain Giric. The latter is called the alumnus (‘foster father’) and ordinator (‘governor’) of Eochaid. Both men were eventually toppled from power in c.889.

At first glance the above sequence of events looks fairly straightforward. Unfortunately, when we turn to various other sources, the picture becomes quite confusing. The king-lists showing a line of succession from Cinaed via his brother, sons and grandsons make a space for Giric’s reign but not for Eochaid’s. This led the historian Archie Duncan to wonder if CKA might be wrong in describing Eochaid as king of the Picts after Aed’s death. Professor Duncan suggested a correction to CKA’s wording to show Giric as Cinaed’s grandson and Aed’s true successor, with Eochaid simply succeeding his own father Rhun as king of Strathclyde. In this scenario Giric, not Eochaid, becomes king of the Picts. Although this makes the situation clearer it requires tampering with CKA to make its wording conform with other texts, such as the king-lists, which are not necessarily more reliable.

One of the most enigmatic sources for this period is Berchan’s Prophecy, an eleventh-century history of early medieval Scotland presented as a ‘pseudo-prophecy’, i.e. a series of predicted events that had already happened at the time of writing. It does not mention kings by name but drops enough hints to enable most of them to be identified. Thus, it describes Eochaid as an Britt a Cluaide mac mna o Dhun Guaire, ‘the Briton from the Clyde, son of the woman from Dun Guaire’ and seems to lament his tenure of the mac Ailpin kingship with the cry ‘Alas! In the West and in the East a Briton is placed over the Gaels!’ It refers to Giric as mac rath, ‘son of fortune’, whatever that might mean.

Historians continue to debate the puzzle of Eochaid and Giric, with no firm consensus emerging on which of these mysterious men ruled the Picts in the period 878-89. The debate is a very interesting topic by itself but here, in this post, I want to focus instead on one small aspect of it: the identity of Eochaid’s mother, ‘the woman from Dun Guaire’. Who was this lady and where did she come from?

My starting point is an acknowledgement that we do not know her name. CKA tells us her father was Cinaed mac Ailpin who died in 858 but gives no more information about her. Only one of Cinaed’s daughters is known by name: the long-lived, twice-married Mael Muire (died 913) whose husbands were two very powerful Irish kings. Mael Muire’s first marriage was almost certainly a political union arranged by the mac Ailpin family, perhaps by her brother Constantine who ruled as king of the Picts from 862 to 876. Her unnamed sister, the future mother of Eochaid, was probably betrothed to Rhun of Strathclyde for similar political reasons. In a time of war and dynastic rivalry, with the added peril of Viking raids, Cinaed’s family would have sought mutually-beneficial relationships with powerful allies. By marrying Mael Muire and her sister to kings and princes in Ireland or on the Clyde the mac Ailpins were able to seal these important alliances with bonds of kinship.

The earliest possible birth-dates for Cinaed’s daughters lie around 858, the year of their father’s death. Mael Muire must therefore have been in her mid-fifties or older when she died in 913. If her first Irish marriage took place at some point during Constantine’s kingship (862-76) she would have been a bride of at least eighteen (e.g. if she was born in 858 and married in 876) but this is a minimum age based on the deaths of her father and brother. Her first Irish marriage, to Aed Findlaith who died in 879, could just as feasibly have occurred when she was in her twenties. She was Aed’s third wife. We do not know that she was younger than her brother Constantine, who must have been born, at the latest, in c.846 to be eligible for kingship in 862 (i.e. at least 15 or 16 years old when he became king). Nor can we assume that Mael Muire was an older sibling of Eochaid’s mother. The latter’s husband, King Rhun, ruled the Strathclyde Britons during the 870s. Rhun’s father Arthgal was assassinated in captivity, probably in Dublin, by Vikings who carried out the murder at the request of Constantine, son of Cinaed. Although we might imagine Rhun grieving at the news of his father’s violent death we cannot be certain that this was the case. Family strife may have divided father and son, caused (for instance) by Arthgal overlooking Rhun and grooming another son as his designated heir. If so, then Rhun may have been installed as king of Strathclyde in opposition to his father, seizing the throne with Constantine’s help, or with the help of the same Dublin Vikings who besieged Alt Clut in 870. Rhun’s kingship could even have begun as early as 870 or 871, a year or two before his father’s assassination at Viking hands.

The chronology of Eochaid’s reign, as given in CKA, leaves us in no doubt that Rhun’s marriage to Cinaed’s daughter occurred before the siege of Alt Clut. This is because Eochaid’s alleged kingship of the Picts began, according to CKA, after the death of Aed, son of Cinaed, in 878. Even if Eochaid attained the kingship at a young age, in his mid-teens for example, he must have been born in 863 at the very latest. His parents’ marriage should therefore be placed in or before 862, which was also (perhaps significantly) the first year of Constantine’s reign. Eochaid’s mother, even if she was a young bride of fifteen or sixteen at her wedding to Rhun, must have been born before 847. The sources tell us that her father Cinaed became paramount king of the Picts in c.842, after previously ruling as a king in Argyll, the homeland of the Scots. Genealogical information associated with Cinaed locates his original power-base in Kintyre, the ancient home of the Cenel nGabrain dynasty whose kings had dominated Argyll during the seventh century. Cinaed’s ancestry was linked to Cenel nGabrain by later Scottish genealogists who possibly fabricated it. His true ancestry is unknown, nor can we be certain that he ruled from a domain in Kintyre. The most we can say with confidence is that he held some kind of authority in some part of Argyll in the period c.839 to c.842, after which he staked a claim on the Pictish overkingship and migrated east to Perthshire. He evidently consolidated his rule over the Picts in 848 or 849, after defeating a series of rivals. It seems likely that his older children were born in the West, among the Scots, in the 830s or 840s rather than in his later power-base in the Pictish heartlands. His sons Constantine and Aed and daughter Mael Muire might therefore have been Argyll-born. Another daughter, the future wife of Rhun and mother of Eochaid, might also have been born there.

Berchan’s Prophecy calls Eochaid’s mother ‘the woman from Dun Guaire’. Historians usually identify this place as Bamburgh, the ancient citadel of Northumbrian kings which previously bore the Brittonic name Din Guayroi. Prior to c.550 the Britons held control of Din Guayroi before losing it to the English who gave it a name in their own language: Bebbanburgh, later Bamburgh. A Gaelic equivalent of the original Brittonic name seems to be recorded in the title of an old Irish tale Sluagad Fiachnai maic Baitain co Dun nGuaire i Saxanaib (‘The hosting of Fiachna mac Baitan to Dun Guaire in Saxon-land (i.e. England)’). Fiachna was an Irish high-king of the early seventh century but we do not know anything about his attack on ‘Saxon-land’: the story behind the Sluagad is lost and only the title survives, leaving the event devoid of historical context. Historians have generally assumed, nonetheless, that the Dun Guaire targeted by Fiachna was Din Guayroi, Bamburgh, at a time when it lay under English control. This is the only instance of a place called Dun Guaire appearing in an English geographical context. We might wonder if this lone reference – the title of a lost Irish tale about an otherwise unrecorded seventh-century event – is secure enough to sustain a superstructure of scholarly speculation. The fragility of this obscure and solitary piece of data has not, however, discouraged the frequent identification of Eochaid’s mother, Cinaed’s daughter, the unnamed ‘woman from Dun Guaire’, as a lady with Northumbrian connections. To some historians she has become, in effect, ‘the woman from Bamburgh’ and has duly acquired a fairly plausible but completely speculative biography in which her betrothal to Rhun of Strathclyde precedes (or follows) an unrecorded marriage to a Northumbrian.

I first became puzzled by ‘the woman from Dun Guaire’ last year, while researching the kings of Strathclyde. The Bamburgh connection somehow didn’t feel right, chiefly because it requires us to imagine a daughter of Cinaed mac Ailpin living among the English of Northumbria long enough to be described as being ‘from Bamburgh’. This seems, in any case, an odd description to be bestowed by a Scottish text (Berchan’s Prophecy) on a woman who was either a Scot or a Pict. Even if she spent time at Bamburgh as the wife of an Englishman it is hard to see why she would be regarded as being ‘from’ there in any real sense. From an eleventh-century Scottish perspective she was surely ‘from’ her homeland rather than ‘from’ a foreign kingdom where her (alleged) English husband dwelt.

At the root of my scepticism lay the distant memory of a childhood holiday in Ireland when I visited a castle in Galway. I remembered its name: Dun Guaire. Although this place seems too far from Scotland to be associated with Cinaed’s unnamed daughter (but not, of course, with her sister Mael Muire) I began to wonder if it might have a Scottish namesake. A web search revealed two locations in Argyll, both called Dun Guaire and both listed on the Canmore database as ancient stone-walled forts. Neither site has been the subject of detailed archaeological study so in neither case can a date of occupation be firmly fixed. One fort is on the island of Mull, the other on Islay. Curiously, both islands lie outside the heartlands of Cenel nGabrain – the royal dynasty to which Cinaed’s family allegedly belonged – being instead controlled respectively by the rival kindreds of Cenel Loairn (based in Lorn and Mull) and Cenel nOengusa (in Islay). However, our uncertainty about Cinaed’s origins means that we cannot rule out any region of Argyll from a search for his family’s ancestral domains (nor, it should be said, can we rule out any Pictish region). At this point I again bring the mysterious Giric into the puzzle, as a brief digression from my main topic.

Giric, like Cinaed, is a man without a verifiable ancestry. In some sources his father’s name appears as Dungal, a name borne by an ambitious eighth-century king of Cenel Loairn. Some historians think Giric himself was a member of the Cenel Loairn kindred, perhaps a man of mixed parentage who – like Cinaed – held a minor kingship among the Scots before pursuing a legitimate claim on the Pictish overkingship. Another theory sees Giric as a usurper, an intruder into the sequence of mac Ailpin kings, whose right to rule as ‘king of the Picts’ was imposed by force of arms. Less dramatic, and perhaps more plausible, is the suggestion that he was related to the mac Ailpin family by blood and merely asserted a lawful claim on the Pictish throne. This conforms to Professor Duncan’s suggested emendation of CKA, mentioned above, in which Giric rather than Eochaid succeeds Aed as king of the Picts in 878. Perhaps Giric’s mother was a mac Ailpin princess, another unnamed daughter of Cinaed, and perhaps his father was a king of Cenel Loairn who bore the auspicious royal name Dungal? Unfortunately this takes us too far into the realm of speculation. In so far as Giric has any documented connection with the mac Ailpin family it centres on his role as foster-father of Eochaid, as described by the (unaltered) wording of CKA.

Returning to the main thread of this post, I should point out that I am not alone in feeling sceptical about the idea of Eochaid’s mother being ‘the woman from Bamburgh’. Quite recently, while hunting for information on the Argyll forts called Dun Guaire, I came across an interesting note by Henry Gough-Cooper on the website of the Scottish Place-Name Society. Writing in the Society’s newsletter, Gough-Cooper expressed doubts about the Dun Guaire=Bamburgh equation and drew attention to the two namesake forts on Mull and Islay as well as to the castle in Galway and another Irish site in Mayo. Pointing to the strong marital links between Cinaed’s family and Ireland (via Mael Muire’s two marriages) Gough-Cooper wondered if Mael Muire’s sister might also have married an Irish king, the latter ruling from either the Galway or Mayo Dun Guaire before (or after) her marriage to Rhun of Strathclyde. To me, this scenario is at least as plausible (if not more so) than the Bamburgh connection so often assumed by historians. On the other hand, it incorporates a similar premise, namely that Eochaid’s mother was regarded in eleventh-century Scotland as being ‘from’ a place where her first (or second) husband resided. My scepticism still points me towards an alternative view in which Berchan’s Dun Guaire is a reference to a mac Ailpin stronghold or residence in Argyll where the family nurtured its children in the 830s and 840s. This may have been one of the two ancient sites still bearing the name (which, as Henry Gough-Cooper points out, has a variant form Dun Guaidhre) or a different Dun Guaire whose name has not survived. Wherever it was, it might have been the birthplace or childhood home of Mael Muire, her sister and their brothers Constantine and Aed. Or it might not. Maybe the author of Berchan’s Prophecy got himself in a muddle about Eochaid and Giric and, in striving to be as enigmatic as possible, mistakenly applied the label ‘son of the woman from Dun Guaire’ to the wrong man. We are unlikely to ever solve the puzzle.

Keeping an open mind is fundamental to any objective study of early medieval Scotland. The sources rarely allow us to make definite statements, or to pin our theories too firmly to the mast. We simply know too little about too many things. This is why so many well-argued theories can be challenged by simply looking at the old sources in different ways, and by trying to understand what the authors of these texts hoped to achieve. Having issued this disclaimer I feel at liberty to end this post with my own conclusions about the mysterious ‘woman from Dun Guaire’. Here, then, are my (cautiously) confident answers to the question ‘Who was she?’

* she was a daughter of Cinaed mac Ailpin, ‘king of the Picts’.
* like Cinaed she was a Pict or a Scot.
* she was born before 847.
* her primary language was Gaelic.
* she married Rhun ab Arthgal, king of the Strathclyde Britons, before 863.
* in 863, or earlier, she bore a son who was given the Gaelic name Eochaid.
* she became a ‘queen mother’ when Eochaid attained the kingship of the Picts (or of the Britons) in c.878, if indeed she was still alive at that time.

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References

Alan Orr Anderson, Early sources of Scottish history, AD 500 to 1286. vol.1 (Edinburgh, 1922), p.363-6

Archibald Duncan, The kingship of the Scots, 842-1292 (Edinburgh, 2002), pp.11-14

Henry Gough-Cooper, ‘Dun Guaire’ SPNS Newsletter, Autumn 2001 click here and scroll down the page

Benjamin T. Hudson, Kings of Celtic Scotland (Westport, 1994), pp.55-7

Alan Macquarrie, ‘The kings of Strathclyde, c.400-1018′, pp.1-19 in A. Grant and K.J. Stringer (eds.) Medieval Scotland: crown, lordship and community (Edinburgh, 1993) [discusses Rhun and Eochaid at p.13]

Alex Woolf, From Pictland to Alba, 789-1070 (Edinburgh, 2007), pp.117-21

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This post is part of the Kingdom of Strathclyde series:

Kingdom of Strathclyde

The disaster of 839

Constantine, son of Fergus

Carved horseman from the Dupplin Cross, c.820, probably representing the Pictish king Constantine, son of Fergus.


An entry under the year 839 in the Annals of Ulster (AU) begins with these words:

bellum re genntib for firu fortrenn
‘A battle by the Gentiles against the men of Fortriu’

The Irish annalists used ‘Gentiles’ (i.e. ‘heathens’) as a blanket term for Vikings, regardless of whether they were Norsemen or Danes. We are therefore unable to identify the group of ‘heathens’ referred to here. Their opponents, however, are identifiable as Picts from Fortriu, a region now regarded by historians as broadly coterminous with Moray. The AU entry continues by naming three prominent casualties of the battle:

‘and in it fell Eoganan, son of Oengus, and Bran, son of Oengus, and Aed, son of Boanta; and others fell, almost without number.’

Eoganan (or ‘Ewan’) succeeded to the paramount kingship or overkingship of the Picts in c.836. His father Oengus had ruled from 820 to 834, succeeding his own brother Constantine (also known as ‘Custantin’ or ‘Causantin’), the king commemorated on the magnificent Dupplin Cross. Bran was presumably Eoganan’s brother. Aed, Boanta’s son, was paramount king of the Scots, ruling from a power-base in Argyll. His participation in the battle of 839, fighting alongside the Picts, suggests that he was an ally or vassal of Eoganan. This is consistent with the views of modern historians who envisage a longstanding Pictish dominance of the Scots reaching back to c.790. Oaths of fealty to his Pictish overlord would have required Aed to render military service whenever the need arose, even if it meant a long eastward march to fight a Viking army in Fortriu.

We do not know where the battle of 839 took place. Given the mention of warriors from Moray a location there seems likely but we should also allow the possibility that Eoganan led an army from Fortriu to a battlefield further south in Perthshire. Any Pictish territory would in fact be a candidate. Of one thing we can, at least, be fairly sure: the battle was a catastrophe for Picts and Scots alike. At a single stroke, both peoples were deprived of their kings, both kingdoms now lay at the mercy of the victors. No doubt the triumphant Vikings immediately went on a rampage, plundering the lands of the Picts and sending raiding-parties westward to harrass the Scots. In the ensuing chaos several ambitious figures claimed the vacant Pictish overkingship, among them a certain Cinaed mac Ailpin whose origins are shrouded in mystery. After vanquishing his rivals Cinaed established a new royal dynasty which eventually brought the Picts and Scots together as one people.

It is hard to see how Cinaed could have made his mark on posterity if Eoganan had defeated the Vikings in 839. Medieval Scottish history might have turned out very differently if the men of Fortriu had tasted victory on that fateful battlefield. The slaughter of the Picts and their allies is sometimes called ‘the disaster of 839′, an apt description of an encounter whose political consequences were indeed far-reaching. Alex Woolf suggests that it ‘may be one of the most decisive and important battles in British history’, an observation which surely ranks the disaster of 839 alongside two other famous ‘lost’ battles: Degsastan (603) and Brunanburh (937). All three were events of great significance in their own time, all three were turning-points in the early history of Scotland, but their precise geographical contexts unfortunately elude us.

References

Alan Orr Anderson, Early sources of Scottish history, AD 500 to 1286. vol.1 (Edinburgh, 1922), p.268 [for the translation of AU 839 used here]

Alex Woolf, From Pictland to Alba, 789-1070 (Edinburgh, 2007), p.66