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Governance at the Anglo-Scandinavian Interface: Hundredal Organization in the Southern Danelaw
John Baker and Stuart Brookes

Journal of the North Atlantic, Special Volume 5 (2013): 76–95

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J. Baker and S. Brookes 2013 Journal of the North Atlantic Special Volume 5 76 Introduction It is widely accepted that by the 11th century— and perhaps by then for at least a hundred years—the vills of England were grouped into administrative districts known as hundreds. There are good grounds for this perception, for it is probably accurate that most of England by that time was governed through a layered structure of local and regional assemblies anchored within territorial units, and for centuries open-air gatherings had been the central forums of legal dialogue and social negotiation (cf. the laws: I Æthelberht; VI Æthelstan 8.1–8.3; The Hundred Ordinance [ca. AD 939–61]). In Domesday Book, vills were listed together under the head of “hundred” or “wapentake”—units which were both territorial arrangements and legal entities. These units were generally named directly from the places at which their inhabitants assembled; commonly open-air sites, but sometimes head manors or towns (Anderson 1934, 1939a, 1939b). These places served as courts for the communities of the hundred, among the functions of which were the public settlement of disputes through oath-taking and compensation payment, policing and military muster, alongside—presumably—the collection of taxes. While this model holds true in the most general of senses, it is one that also obscures a very much more complex reality of administrative and territorial organization; a system that exhibits considerable variations in scale, structure, and terminology from region to region. For example, while hundreds and wapentakes are often treated as equivalent units, in Durham, Northumberland, Westmoreland, and Cumberland (where Domesday coverage is anyway thinner) neither hundreds nor wapentakes are normal, and the landscape is instead divided territorially into large districts called wards. Even the word “equivalent” must be used with caution, for it may turn out that the equivalence suggested by the Domesday treatment of wapentakes and hundreds extends no further than the fact that they were territorial groupings of vills that shared some functional similarities in the 11th century (Hart 1992:281–283). Their historical origins and precise administrative status may sometimes have differed. In Lincolnshire, Leicestershire, and perhaps Derbyshire and Nottinghamshire, each wapentake was itself divided into twelve-carucate hundreds by the early 12th century, an administrative structure that Horace Round (1895:196–204) traced back to 1086 or earlier (see also Hadley 2000:101–104, Hart 1992:337–410, Stenton 1910:89). Superficially, this arrangement mirrors (in structure though not in status or perhaps function) the lathes of Kent and rapes of Sussex, which were also further subdivided into districts called hundreds, but these latter units were in fact very different from the Lincolnshire hundreds. Similar complexity is encountered if we consider meeting-places themselves. Detailed analysis of individual sites strongly suggests that while hundred and shire courts (not to mention ecclesiastical councils, witans, or military musters) could, and sometimes did, reuse the same locations in landscape, in many cases different functions and activities took place across a diverse range of places. Reconstruction of this complex administrative landscape concentrates on two principal lines of analysis. Hundred court sites can often be identified Governance at the Anglo-Scandinavian Interface: Hundredal Organization in the Southern Danelaw John Baker1,* and Stuart Brookes2 Abstract - It is a commonplace notion of Anglo-Saxon studies that by the 11th century, and perhaps very much earlier, English shires were subdivided into administrative territories known as “hundreds” or “wapentakes”. These units consisted of groups of vills brought together for fiscal, judicial, and other purposes, and were commonly named after their meetingplaces—“ moots”. Both these meeting-places and the administrative territories to which they belonged are the subject of a three-year interdisciplinary research project funded by the Leverhulme Trust—“Landscapes of Governance: Assembly Sites in England, 5th–11th Centuries”. Landscape analysis carried out by this project suggests that the hundredal pattern of eastern England as it existed in 1086 preserves a complex palimpsest of older and newer elements, reflecting its convoluted evolution. This paper describes evidence for the hundredal patterns of the southern Danelaw in order to consider the West Saxon, Mercian, and Scandinavian influences on the administrativ e landscape of this region. Debating the Thing in the North I: The Assembly Project Journal of the North Atlantic 1Institute for Name-Studies, University of Nottingham, University Park, Nottingham, NG7 2RD, UK. 2UCL Institute of Archaeology, 31–4 Gordon Square, London WC1H 0PY, UK. *Corresponding author - John.baker@nottingham.ac.uk. 2013 Special Volume 5:76–95 J. Baker and S. Brookes 2013 Journal of the North Atlantic Special Volume 5 77 by triangulating onomastic, archaeological, and landscape evidence, while the territories which they served can be approximated by plotting the named 11th-century vills constituting a hundred, supplemented by the boundaries of estates, parishes, and hundreds mapped at later dates (Thorn Figure 1. Map of the administrative districts of England as reconstructed from Domesday Book and later medieval sources. Also shown is the extent of the “Danelaw”, as defined by Hadley (2000:3). J. Baker and S. Brookes 2013 Journal of the North Atlantic Special Volume 5 78 1989:27–28). Using these sources as a guide gives an impression of the variety in size and shape of these territories, and also highlights a number of regional patterns perhaps reflecting different phases of administrative organization (Fig. 1). The particularly heterogeneous pattern of administrative territories in the western English shires of Gloucestershire, Warwickshire, and Worcestershire, for example, suggests a complex evolution of territorial organization, supported also by detailed historical research (e.g., Whybra 1990). By contrast, the more regular pattern of hundreds in, for example, Surrey, might suggest that these are the product of a phase of administrative reorganization that took place shortly before the time of Domesday Book. Taken as a whole, the hundredal system of local governance as it is revealed to us in the 11th century is territorially and administratively both intricate and divergent. Nevertheless, despite such regional variability, certain shires display a remarkably similar pattern of organization. This paper outlines the evidence for reconstructing these territories in part of the Danelaw, taking the region covered by the Five Boroughs, East Anglia, and the southeast midlands as its main focus. It highlights the considerable variety in administrative geography and arrangements across these shires, providing possible explanations of the genesis of their legal and governmental districts. In so doing, it throws new light on the origins and evolution of the system of hundredal governance as it appears at the end of the Anglo-Saxon period. The Hundreds and Wapentakes of the Danelaw The “Danelaw” was an area comprising territories in northern and eastern England, distinguished in legal terms from areas where Mercian or West Saxon law prevailed. The term was first used in a law-code of 1008, and only became common in the 12th century (Hadley 2000:2), but the legal territory it describes likely originated in the settlements of the Great Army during the later 9th century, perhaps first given formal definition in the treaty between Alfred and Guthrum of ca. 878–890. Although this region was subject to a West Saxon “conquest” during the early 10th century, the degrees to which it came fully under the ambit of English rule may have varied across the Danelaw, with northern areas arguably retaining more characteristically Scandinavian features than areas on the interface with Wessex and Mercia (cf. Hadley 2000, Stenton 1910).1 During the late 9th and 10th centuries, parts of the southern Danelaw oscillated between English (Mercian, East Anglian, West Saxon, or Anglo-Saxon) and Scandinavian (Norwegian Viking or Danish Viking) control. It is a region, therefore, that is likely to have been susceptible to rapid and drastic change in its administrative organization, as different traditions were brought into contact, and as new regimes came to terms with existing structures of governance. An impression of the degree of administrative dislocation can be gained by comparing the distribution of place-names denoting places of assembly with known hundred meeting-places (Fig. 2). One possibility is that the former sometimes make reference to the latter, but are otherwise remnants of other systems of governance separate from the hundredal arrangements of the 11th century. In that case, the less the two types of site coincide, the more likely it is that local administration has undergone substantial reorganization, encompassing the reallocation of territories of governance and the adoption of new sites of assembly. On this basis, it can be asserted that the areas of England south of the Humber most affected by administrative changes were in the northern and western midlands, northern East Anglia, and along the Thames. Of course, a proliferation of place-names denoting assembly might have other causes, but the map is at least likely to indicate variation in administrative landscapes. That significant differences exist between the administrative organization of northern and southern England is perhaps unsurprising. The probability of a partly Scandinavian background to the administrative organization of Lindsey and Yorkshire in the northern Danelaw has long been recognized (e.g., Roffe 1981, 1993:38–39; Sawyer 1998:137–139; Smith 1928:xxii; Stenton 1927). An especially marked feature is their division into three parts, known as Ridings. These divisions existed already in the 11th century and have a Scandinavian terminology. The term Riding derives from OScand þriðjungr “third part”, which gave rise to late OE þriðing, and the run of early spellings for the East Riding of Yorkshire seem clearly to reflect OScand austr rather than OE east “east”.2 It is possible that the divisions themselves predated the application of Scandinavian administrative terminology, but since this seems to have stuck to the exclusion of earlier, Old English nomenclature, it is probably reasonable to assume that the threefold division of these two shires was a Scandinavian administrative innovation. Subdivisions of the Ridings are known as wapentakes, again a description of Scandinavian origin, and in many cases the wapentakes have Scandinavian names. As Smith (1962:64–65) pointed out, moreover, the J. Baker and S. Brookes 2013 Journal of the North Atlantic Special Volume 5 79 smallest units in the administrative chain, the townships, were often known by the OScand term *býjarlǫg “law of the village”, which survives in placenames such as Brampton Bierlow (Smith 1961:106, 222). Parsons and Styles (2000:112) describe this as “an area in which minor disputes could be settled by locally-agreed laws”, and Ekwall (1922:201) wondered if similarly named divisions in Dalton in Furness, Lancashire, might have been an old Scandinavian institution. Care is needed, however, since Figure 2. Map showing the distances between place-names denoting assembly and known hundred meeting-places. J. Baker and S. Brookes 2013 Journal of the North Atlantic Special Volume 5 80 *býjar-lǫg place-names are not recorded until the late medieval period (e.g., Bramtun birlagh in 1307; Smith 1961:106). How long before this the administrative designation was first used is impossible to say, although the compound must have come into being in an environment where Old Scandinavian inflexion was active. The institution it describes could be a development comparable to arrangements in other parts of England (Jewell 1972:60–61), here simply described using vocabulary of Scandinavian origin that by this time had become a part of wider English lexis (cf. Kurath et al. 1956–2001 [sub bīrlaue], Oxford English Dictionary [sub byrlaw]). Nevertheless, in these parts of the Danelaw, it seems that a Scandinavian terminology and in part a Scandinavian system was established whereby a shire unit based on a central settlement—York or Lincoln— was divided into three parts, each of which was sub-divided into wapentakes, below which, at some stage and in some instances, a further stratum of local governance at township level came to be referred to using Scandinavian terminology (Cameron 1991:7; Cameron 2001:1, 6; Smith 1928:xiv–xv, xxii, 1; Smith 1937; Smith 1962:64–65, 117–118). Scandinavian features may also be evident in the organization of East Anglian administrative districts, but they seem to differ substantially from those of Lincolnshire and Yorkshire. Several features of the East Anglian administrative structure mark it as distinctive, and the notable differences are perhaps evident throughout the hierarchy of territorial divisions. Warner (1988) has discerned possible traces of a pre-Scandinavian administrative system, but Scandinavian administrators have also seemingly left a mark. In several instances in Norfolk and Suffolk, further subdivisions existed below that of the hundred. These are referred to in Domesday Book as ferdings or “quarters”, probably after the ON fjórðungr, and they divided hundreds into four equal parts (Anderson 1934:xviii; Stenton 1922:226, n.3; Warner 1988:22). The evidence may be circumstantial, but the parallels between East Anglia and legal/administrative arrangements in Scandinavia and perhaps in Shetland are striking. Warner (1988:22) notes Ferdings also in Huntingdonshire and Cambridgeshire.3 Much of this is relatively uncontroversial. Rather more tentatively, it is perhaps also worth noting that the nomenclature for the two major subdivisions of East Anglia, Norfolk (“the north people”) and Suffolk (“the south people”),4 is almost unique among shire-names in England.5 The use of folc “people, nation” (Cameron et al. 2007) as a district-name generic need be no more than a reflection of longstanding differences in the traditions of naming in that part of the country, but it is an interesting coincidence, if nothing more, that the nomenclature for the equivalent districts on the other side of the North Sea, on the Norwegian coast, is dominated by the related OScand fylki “army, district”.6 The exact OE equivalent, (ge)fylce “troop, band, army”,7 is poorly attested after the Old English period, its only ME record being a 13th-century Worcester gloss that renders it ifolke (Kurath et al. 1956–2001). The expected ME outcome would have had a palatalized and assibilated final consonant (pronounced in a similar way to the ch of modern English mulch), and this would usually have resulted in ME spellings representative of that. For instance, the spelling or (at least from the 12th century) might have been used rather than , which generally indicates a pronunciation similar to the k in modern ilk or indeed ME folk (Campbell 1959:230 §578, 196–197 §486; Hogg 1992:260 § 7.24; Jordan 1974:166 §179.8c; Wright and Wright 1928:9 §14). It is possible, as the Middle English Dictionary entry implies, that the ME form has been influenced by association with OE folc (ME folk), which suggests that the two words were perceived to be semantically related (Kurath et al. 1956–2001). In that case, it is not inconceivable that OScand fylki, if used by Scandinavian administrators in East Anglia, would have been reanalyzed by English speakers as folc.8 Given the phonology of the various terms, folc may have seemed, superficially at least, as closely related to fylki as (ge)fylce was. It is important to emphasize, nonetheless, that there are other possible (and perhaps easier) explanations for the occurrence of the shire-names Norfolk and Suffolk, and that the suggestion outlined here is put forward only with caution. In Norway, each fylki is likely to have had its own thing or “assembly” (e.g., Larson 1935:15, Skre 2007:386–89), and it may also be noteworthy that two instances of þing-haugr, a recurrent and distinctively Scandinavian compound place-name, are recorded in East Anglia.9 One is Thinghou (1203; Sandred 2002:129) at Holt in Norfolk, the other is Thingoe (Thinghowe 1042–1466; Anderson 1934:95) at Bury St. Edmunds in Suffolk. It is tempting to see these as the administrative, military, or legal meeting-places for the two districts—Norfolk and Suffolk—under Scandinavian rule. Such an interpretation can only be speculative in the absence of more direct evidence, but it is worth noting that Thingoe retained its importance as an assembly site in the later medieval period, being the center of one of the Suffolk hundreds.10 J. Baker and S. Brookes 2013 Journal of the North Atlantic Special Volume 5 81 188 hides; and Toseland totaled 228 hides (Thorn 1989:28).12 It is likely, on this basis, that each one formed a “double hundred”, thereby making the total value of Huntingdonshire ca. 800–850 hides; an allocation similar to that made for the shire in the County Hidage of the early 11th century (Thorn 1989:25). The regularity of planning can be seen also in the administrative characteristics of each hundred. Three are named from a stone or cross marking the meeting-place. Hurstingstone takes its name from a stone known as the Abbot’s Chair, now in the Norris museum in St. Ives, but originally sited beside the Old Hurst-St. Ives road (at TL 301571; Meaney 1993:80–81). The “stone” of Leightonstone is now located by the churchyard gate in Leighton Bromswold (TL 115753), but may once have stood just south of the no-longer extant 17th-century formal gardens east of the village (TL 118750; Meaney 1993:81). Normancross was probably named from a Burghal Territories in the Southern Danelaw A third structural pattern can be discerned in a group of shires in the east midlands. Huntingdonshire is the archetype for this pattern and displays great regularity, indicating that the shire was, in all probability, laid out in a short period of time at a moment of administrative planning or re-planning in order to link the territory with the burh of Huntingdon (Fig. 3).11 As reconstructed from Domesday evidence (Thorn 1989), the shire is subdivided into four equal hundreds—Hurstingstone, Leightonstone, Toseland, and Normancross—arranged in pie slices around Huntingdon. The regular laying out of the shire extended to estimating the value of the land. In Domesday Book, each hundred comprised vills adding up to a value of around 200 hides. Hurstingstone hundred, which included the 50 hides of Huntingdon itself, totalled 187¼ hides; Leightonstone totaled 206½ hides; Normancross totaled Figure 3. The archetypal “burghal territory” of Huntingdonshire, showing the distinctive arrangement of hundreds and their meeting-places. J. Baker and S. Brookes 2013 Journal of the North Atlantic Special Volume 5 82 Close analysis of the late-11th-century document known as the Northamptonshire Geld Roll has suggested that four (or three) groupings of hundreds may similarly have existed in that shire (Hart 1970:19–21). Rubrication from the Geld Roll has identified a grouping of eight hundreds in the southwest of the shire arranged around the burh of Towcester, a stronghold stated in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle to have been built by Edward the Elder in 917 (ASC A: Garmonsway 1972, Plummer and Earle 1892). Domesday Book values this territory at 315 hides, but this figure does not include geld from baronial estates, and the territory’s full valuation estimated from the Geld Roll appears to have been exactly 800 hides (Fig. 5; ASC A: Garmonsway 1972, Plummer and Earle 1892). In the northeast of the shire a similar grouping forms another division (Hart 1970:21). This group—later known as the “Eight hundreds of Oundle”—appears already to have been constituted as a unit in 963 (Anderson 1934:114–115; ASC E: Garmonsway 1972, Plummer and Earle 1892; Sawyer 1968: no. 787),13 and by Domesday was valued at 338 hides (516 hides in the Geld Roll). The remaining 16 hundreds in the center of the shire form a coherent territory around Northampton itself, and were arranged on either side of the River Nene and its tributary Northern Water. Of these, the four southern and western hundreds each formed a discrete and regular 1½ hundred unit, with those of the north taking on a more haphazard appearance. In a similar way, the four southern wapentakes of Nottinghamshire are arranged around Nottingham (though with a valuation of only 269 hides, or 411 if taken together with the other southern wapentakes of Newark and Bingham), and it is tempting to see the northern wapentakes as part of a later reorganization extending the area of administration beyond the burghal territory (Fig. 6). It is worth noting that most of northern Nottinghamshire is covered by the wapentake of Bassetlaw (Bernedeselawe, Bernedelawe, Bernesedelawe 1086, Dersetelawahdr' (sic) 1157, Bersetelawa 1166). This name causes a certain amount of difficulty, but may preserve a group-name Bærnetsæ̅te “the settlers of the place cleared by burning” (Anderson 1934:39– 40, Gover et al. 1940:23). It is conceivable that the Bærnetsæ̅te were a semi-autonomous group occupying a large part of the Sherwood district at the time that the burh of Nottingham was created. Roffe (1986:112) also notes that the southern wapentakes of Derbyshire seem to have a discrete territorial coherence. Here again we might envisage an initial phase of organization consisting of four wapentakes (valued collectively at 413 hides) standing cross located where the road from Yaxley intersected with Ermine Street (TL 1690; Anderson 1934:112–113). Finally, a stone on the south side of Toseland church is reputed to be the hundred mootstone, though it may once have stood on the “Moots Way” to the west of the village (Meaney 1993:88). Although road-side stones are not in themselves an unusual form of hundred meeting-place (further instances are known at, for example, Dudstone and Tibblestone hundreds in Gloucestershire, or the Hundred Stone in Stone hundred in Somerset), the high density and regularity of such features in Huntingdonshire is noteworthy. So too is the link between meeting-places and high-status tenants-inchief. Hurstingstone fell within the bounds of the manor of St. Ives, held by Ramsey Abbey in 1086. Normancross was held by Thorney Abbey; Leightonstone and Toseland by the king (Thorn 1989:30). In each case, the location of the moot-stone may identify lords responsible for the administration of the hundred. The impression that the shire was the result of top-down administrative imposition is further demonstrated in the assessment of vills, as a subdivision of the hundred, into regular units of 5 or 10 hides (Hart 1970, 1974; Leaver 1988:531, figure 3; Roffe 2000:61; Round 1895:44–54). The archetypal pattern of shire-quartering witnessed in Huntingdonshire finds an almost exact analogue in that of Leicestershire (Fig. 4; Thorn 1990b). In 1086, the shire was divided into four wapentakes—Framland, Goscote, Guthlaxton, and Gartree—three of which are arranged around the burh of Leicester. As in Huntingdonshire, the artificiality of this arrangement is emphasized by the location of its moots beside the Roman roads radiating out from Leicester; and again, one of the wapentakes is named from a meeting-stone (Guthlaxton, from personal name Gūþlāc and OE stān; Cox 2011:1, Pantos 2002:2.318–2.330). The most striking difference between this shire and Huntingdonshire is in scale, since Domesday Leicestershire consisted of 2548 hides, three times the size of Huntingdonshire, but the wapentakes themselves have similar valuations to each other, between 542 and 728 hides. Traces of a similar administrative layout may be glimpsed in other midland shires, although in these instances further aspects need to be considered. Firstly, the pattern is recognizable only when evidence for groupings of hundreds—rather than discrete “double-hundreds”—is taken into account. Secondly, we need to make a distinction between the limits of burghal territories—that is to say the spatially coherent groupings of hundreds arranged around a central burh—and the larger Domesday shires which bear their names. J. Baker and S. Brookes 2013 Journal of the North Atlantic Special Volume 5 83 around a central burh, followed by expansion and reorganization to incorporate lands further to the north. We might also note the clustering of the eight and a half hundreds of Thingoe in Suffolk, grouped around Bury St. Edmunds (a monastic foundation whose name changed when a “burh” was constructed in the 10th century), in an arrangement not entirely dissimilar to that of Huntingdonshire and comparable in hidation. This was the Liberty of St. Edmund, and was at one point known as the county of West Suffolk (Warner 1988:14). Further work might well identify similar structural coherence around, for example, the burhs of Hertford, Bedford, and Buckingham. The burh of Hertford, in particular, is surrounded by a regular-looking group of six hundreds—Broadwater, Odsey, Hitchin, Braughing, Edwinstree, and Hertford itself—which collectively have a hidation of 800, again very Figure 4. Comparative plans of the administrative divisions of Leicestershire, Huntingdonshire, and southern Cambridgeshire. Total hidations of hundreds in Leicestershire and Huntingdonshire are shown, as is the suggested grouping of hundreds in southern Cambridgeshire into quarters (for individual hidations of these units, see Fig. 5). J. Baker and S. Brookes 2013 Journal of the North Atlantic Special Volume 5 84 Figure 5. Chart of comparative hidations. similar to Huntingdonshire.14 The northern hundreds of Bedfordshire, at the center of which lies Bedford, have a combined hidage of 837.15 A final example is provided by Cambridgeshire. If we assume that the two hundreds of Ely were once a separate territory which only became part of Cambridgeshire close to the time of Domesday Book, the hundreds of Cambridgeshire assume a much more regular arrangement, mirroring the “quartering” of Huntingdonshire (Thorn 1990a:24). There are no written sources to support the groupings of hundreds; however, the spatial arrangement and hidation of each quarter is intriguing. The northwest quarter, comprising the hundreds of Papworth, Chesterton, and Northstowe was assessed at 331 hides in 1066 (ibid.); the southwestern group of Longstowe, Wetherley, and Arringford at 280 hides. In the southeast, the hundreds of Thriplow, Whittlesford, and Chilford form a third group of 236 hides, leaving the northeastern quarter of 313 hides made up of Flendish, Staine, Radfield, Staploe, and Cheveley (ibid.).16 In explaining the discrepancy between the northern and southern quarters, Corbett (1900:206) proposes that Cambridge itself would have been assessed at 100 hides, and that this figure was shared between the Longstowe and Thriplow groups, thereby making each quarter at least nominally equivalent to 330 hides. Again there are grounds for believing that the J. Baker and S. Brookes 2013 Journal of the North Atlantic Special Volume 5 85 and together comprised a coherent territory bounded on all sides by marshland. Even though the Isle of Ely is valued at only 80 hides in 1086, and comprised less than 140 ploughlands, it is perhaps attested as a discrete territory before Domesday as Domesday shire was the result of centrifugal forces extending outwards from an earlier smaller burghal core. It seems certain that the two hundreds of Ely were understood as a single unit; they shared a meeting-place at Witchford (or at Ely), Figure 6. A possible phased model for the expansion of administrative territories over the south Midlands from burghal territories to shires. J. Baker and S. Brookes 2013 Journal of the North Atlantic Special Volume 5 86 the Wixan in the Tribal Hidage (Davies and Vierck 1974:231–232, Hart 1971:134).17 As is suggested above for the Bærnetsæ̅te of Nottinghamshire, it may be that these Wixan (or their successor territory) retained some form of legal autonomy as late as the 10th century. Discussion The precise origins of this regular division of approximately 800 hides are difficult to discern but must surely relate to the military (and fiscal) role of fortified central places (burhs) around which these territories are arranged. As Freeman (1870:570–573), Maitland (1897:187), and Taylor (1957:18–19) have previously remarked, the Midland shires differ significantly from their West Saxon counterparts in being named after major settlements. In Wessex, only Wiltshire and Hampshire are ostensibly named after burhs—Hamtun (Anglo- Saxon Southampton) and Wilton. Yet both Hamtun and Wilton seem to have been important administrative centers before the mid-9th century, and while they may well have held a defensive capacity at that time, in the form of an enclosure of some kind, they may not have become purposebuilt strongholds comparable in function to, for example, Bedford or Cambridge, until the second half of the 9th century or later.18 The occurrence of the term Wilsæ̅te “settlers on the River Wylye” (cf. Wilsæ̅tan; ASC A s.a. 800, 878: Garmonsway 1972, Plummer and Earle 1892; Gover et al. 1939:xvi– xvii, 1) to denote the people of Wiltshire (or an approximately coterminous district), and the analogy of Somerset (Sumersetescir 1122), populated by and named from the Sumorsæ̅te “Somer(ton) settlers” ([mid] Sumor sæton; ASC A s.a. 845: Garmonsway 1972, Plummer and Earle 1892) and seemingly administered from the royal center of Somerton (cf. Summurtunensis paga ca. 894 (11th) (Keynes and Lapidge 1983, Stevenson 1959, Watts 2004:559) also hint at a more complex relationship between earlier community grouping, central place, and late Anglo-Saxon shire. The availability of evidence for the formation of shire-names in Wessex and the midlands is not comparable, but the processes at the very least look different. Of those shires originating in the territories of Greater Mercia, all but Rutland are named after burhs, and there are apparently few if any traces of the existence of co-terminus pre-shire groupings of the Wilsæ̅te type (in spite of the good showing of midland units in the Tribal Hidage; Hart 1971:136).19 With the further exception of Shrewsbury and Shropshire, in each case a significant time lag exists between the first occurrence of the midland burhs in written sources and that of their associated shire names.20 For example, Bedfordshire is first mentioned in the 11th century (1016; ASC D: Garmonsway 1972, Plummer and Earle 1892), even though Bedford itself is recorded early in the 10th century, in a context that supposes it to have had an administrative centrality of some kind (914; ASC A: Garmonsway 1972, Plummer and Earle 1892).21 Huntingdonshire also provides a case in point. It too is first mentioned by name in the 11thcentury (1011; ASC E: Garmonsway 1972, Plummer and Earle 1892), but the name of the shire and its territorial form both indicate that it is closely related to the foundation of the burh of Huntingdon. This in itself poses problems. The earliest reliable reference to Huntingdon is in the 10th-century Anglo- Saxon Chronicle account for 917, during which year Huntingdon was apparently taken from the Vikings by Edward the Elder. Implicit in the entry is the pre-existence of a stronghold at Huntingdon, which seems to have been abandoned by a Danish raiding army during that summer.22 At harvest the same year, Edward is said to have gone to Huntingdon and repaired its fortifications.23 This account immediately opens up several possibilities: firstly that both burh and shire were newly created by the West Saxons in or shortly after 917; secondly, that these were both in origin administrative arrangements put in place during the Viking occupation of the late 9th /early 10th centuries; or thirdly, that the burh and territory themselves in essence predate both Viking and West Saxon administration of the region, and were preserved by later divisions. On the basis of its abandonment in favor of Tempsford, the second possibility seems at least unlikely. Archaeologically too, similarly complex origins can be traced at other midland burhs such as Cambridge, Leicester, and Northampton. In each case, there is good evidence for middle Anglo-Saxon occupation (possibly related to Mercian hegemony), and they appear as important places in accounts of the 10th century, although their actual role as Viking strongholds is sadly opaque (Buckley and Lucas 1987; ASC A 917: Garmonsway 1972, Plummer and Earle 1892; Haslam 1984, 1987; Lobel 1975; Reynolds 2009). By the mid-10th century, they—along with the other midland towns—were all important mints (Hill 1981:131–132). Yet, as is strikingly demonstrated by Taylor’s (1957:23–24) tabulation of the evidence from written sources, while virtually all midland shire-towns are mentioned by name in the first quarter of the 10th century, in no case does the corresponding shire name appear until after 1006. J. Baker and S. Brookes 2013 Journal of the North Atlantic Special Volume 5 87 Perhaps implicitly, these findings support the view, held by a number of other authors on this subject (including Maitland 1897:187–188, Stubbs 1903.I:123–124), that the laying out of the shire was the result of a West Saxon rationalizing of military and administrative organization in the Danelaw. Certainly, apart from the putative burghal territories suggested above, there are further indications that the shires were once organized around military principles. The boundaries of Leicestershire take in the strategic sites of Mancetter, High Cross, Caves Inn, Melbourne, and Wiloughby-on-the-Wolds, all of which lie on Roman roads leading to Leicester (Stafford 1985:139–140). Likewise, Roffe (1986:112– 115) has argued that the origins of the administrative organization of Derbyshire are likely to have been shaped by the military policies of Edward the Elder in 920. This campaign saw the extension of fortifications at Nottingham aimed at controlling the Trent valley and communications northwards to Yorkshire and the northeast littoral, and the establishment of a de novo burh at Bakewell in the north of Derbyshire; policies which may account both for the apparent primacy of Nottingham over Derby, visible in administrative documents as late as the 13th century, and the divergent administrative development of the Peaks, which remained strongly linked with royal authority until the 11th century, and southern districts around Derby itself. A similar strategic concern may underpin the development of Hertfordshire. As noted by Williamson (2010:109), Hertford sits on a diocesan (and therefore perhaps an earlier political) boundary, as well as on the line of demarcation between Danes and English, established by Alfred and Guthrum. In those respects, the choice of this site looks like a reflection of military and political strategy, rather than long-standing tradition. In the center of Huntingdonshire, adjacent to Huntingdon itself, is the place-name Hartford. This place-name goes back to OE here-ford “army ford”, and is one of a number of identical or similar place-names that combine a qualifying element meaning “army” or “nation” and a generic of a type common to assembly place-names. These places have been argued to relate directly to the military organization of the shire, and make an explicit reference to (military) gatherings (Baker and Brookes 2013:201–204). It is possible, then, that they represent sites of large-scale muster, and whether or not such gatherings persisted into the 10th century, they may have had roots extending much further back. We should not, perhaps, rule out the possibility of early administrative arrangements centered on Hartford; a Viking attempt to restructure the systems of governance around a strategically more suitable site (at least for their requirements); and finally the West Saxon imposition of new administrative districts clustered around a burh. The emphasis in the midlands on shire-level organization centered on strongholds is further contrasted by the earlier use of scīr in relation to districts south of the Thames that were not defined by a stronghold. Defenascire “Devonshire” and Bearrucscire “Berkshire” are both used to describe fighting forces in the late 9th-century Parker text of the Chronicle (851, 860; ASC A: Garmonsway 1972, Plummer and Earle 1892). Here again we are faced with the issue of reconciling disparate source materials and an incomplete record. While the change in the narrative from tribal or shire groupings to burghal armies fits with the increasingly important role of large-scale, fixed strongholds during the period, it is possible that the scribe who composed the Chronicle entries for the later 890s and the reign of Edward had a narrow perspective on administrative structures, and simply projected West Saxon models onto his midland subject matter. By this time, the West Saxon military consisted of the regionally more or less anonymous fyrd, and since most of the action occurred outside the West Saxon heartland, we hear very little about local arrangements there. A subtle difference can nevertheless be perceived between descriptions of these arrangements in Wessex and parts of Mercia that were directly or indirectly under Alfred’s and then Edward’s authority, and the areas that had to be taken from Scandinavian potentates by show of force. In the case of the former, two structural elements are clear. Firstly, local troops seem to be defined as physically dwelling within central strongholds—they are burhware “town-dwellers” of, for example, Chichester or London,24 or “the men of Gloucester, Hereford, and the neighbouring strongholds” and so on.25 In other words, these troops are not the local shire militias, but the garrisons of the strongholds. Secondly, these strongholds are intimately associated with lands, as is made clear when Edward took possession in 911 of Oxford and London and “all the lands belonging thereto”,26 and is of course clear from the early 10thcentury text known as the Burghal Hidage. In contrast to the language of the “890” Chronicle, there are, in later continuations, no shire militias or armies organized on old tribal loyalties such as the Hwicce and Wilsæ̅te who clashed at Kempsford in 802, or the Defnas who formed a militia in 825. The Wilsæ̅te may eventually have been organized around a central settlement, Wilton, as evidenced by the form Wiltunscir (898; ASC A: Garmonsway 1972, Plummer and Earle 1892), but the earlier name seems to denote “settlers on the River Wylye” (Gover et al. J. Baker and S. Brookes 2013 Journal of the North Atlantic Special Volume 5 88 ation of coherent territories of multiples of 1200 hides, centered on a burghal stronghold such as Cambridge or Leicester, but in other cases existing territorial arrangements, administrative geography, and local topography may have made it easier to annex “spare” lands, perhaps sometimes the territories of strategically obsolete or otherwise less significant burhs, to those of the more important (commercially successful, strategically still necessary) burhs. As Taylor noted (ibid.:28), the combined assessment of Derbyshire and Nottinghamshire at their Domesday extent is also approximately 1200 hides, so here too we may see an extension of an 800-hide territory, based on Derby and Nottingham, into a larger shire.31 Perhaps significantly, 1200 hides is a convenient multiple of the 300-hide ship-soke, a naval service which emerges in sources at the beginning of the 11th century (Hill 1981:92–93; Hooper 1989; Lavelle 2010:164–165, S 1383). It is intriguing that the 11th-century Worcester monk Hemming believed that Eadric Streona (whom Taylor takes to be the author of the midland shires) “joined townships to townships and shires to shires at his will (ut villulas vilis et provincias provinciis pro libito adjungeret); he even amalgamated the hitherto independent county of Winchcombe with the county of Gloucester” (Hearne 1723:280, Taylor 1957:25). In Taylor's view, this was further evidence that Eadric was responsible for a restructuring of administrative territories in the midlands; what is significant in the present context, is the explicit recognition of earlier territories being increased in size by amalgamation with others. A further important observation to be made is that—at least at the atomized scale of individual groups of manors—hidage totals remained relatively stable across the period. While the administrative geography may have changed at the larger scale, in order for us even to entertain the idea that the Domesday hidation preserves a palimpsest of earlier territorial structures, an assumption of continuity in the local availability of geld is required. This conclusion is reinforced by detailed regional analyses such as Stephen Bassett’s (1996) study of the diocese of Worcester in the 10th century. This study showed that, although some revaluation of hidages did occasionally take place, the complex development of the administrative geography rested, at least in part, on a pre-hundredal system stretching back to the seventh or eighth centuries (ibid.:150, 164). Conclusions Because of its tumultuous political and social history during the 9th and 10th centuries, the Danelaw 1939:xvi–xvii, 1). In the post-890 continuation of the Chronicle, it is only when no stronghold is mentioned (and when perhaps no stronghold existed) that we have the rather loose description of a fighting force drawn from a locality rather than from a stronghold—“[a]nd then the people of the country (landleode) [presumably the people of the south Bedfordshire region] became aware of it, and fought against them” (913; ASC A: Garmonsway 1972:98, Plummer and Earle 1892).27 Scandinavian military organization no doubt differed significantly from the regularized system put in place by Alfred, but Viking armies are also strongly associated with central settlements. At least in the view of the English sources, however, this association seems to be different from that of English armies. Viking forces are almost invariably described as owing allegiance to central places, rather than being the inhabitants of them. In this way, when the Chronicle describes Viking armies in the east midlands it defines them as those who “obey” Bedford, Northampton, Cambridge, the northern stronghold [of Stamford] (914, 917, 918; ASC A: Garmonsway 1972, Plummer and Earle 1892), Derby, or Leicester (917, 918; ASC C: Garmonsway 1972, Plummer and Earle 1892).28 The verb used here is hyran “to hear”, or “to obey, to belong to” (Bosworth and Toller 1898:582–583).29 It is clear that these Scandinavian armies had a command link with a central place; it is not obvious, however, what the exact nature of that link was, and it appears to have been a different relationship from the one that existed between English armies and their central burh or stronghold. In this association with central places, whether or not the administrative structures were of Scandinavian origin, the Viking armies may simply have been making use of a pre-existing Mercian framework, given the evidence for pre-Viking Age activity at some of these sites. Finally, there is the evidence of hundred hidation itself. Taylor (1957:24) argued that the midland shires as they stood at Domesday were the product of a reorganization of territory in the early 11th century, in order “to facilitate the provision of the ships ordered to be built in 1008”. He demonstrated that the standard midland shire was centered on a town, and had a value of 1200 hides or a multiple thereof (ibid.:26–29). The evidence set out here suggests that there may have been at least two phases of reorganization— the initial establishment of burghal territories, with a value of 800 hides (i.e., Huntingdon, Towcester, Derby/Nottingham, Hertford, Bedford, and maybe others; Fig. 5),30 followed in most cases by a modification based on the 1200-hide territory. In some cases, this might have involved the creJ. Baker and S. Brookes 2013 Journal of the North Atlantic Special Volume 5 89 another as part of a campaign,32 and it may also explain the relative absence of Scandinavian stronghold- names in England. There are other possible reasons for this, of course; however, the fact that Viking armies undoubtedly constructed or occupied strongholds but seldom left Scandinavian names for them may have been because they often used strongholds as temporary strategic fortifications, as part of specific campaigns, and did not place them at the heart of more durable administrative structures that might have helped to preserve the terminology and nomenclature they used. Just as importantly, they seem to have founded their military administration within the framework of existing Mercian centers. However innovative their administrative systems, they may well have used a pre-existing structure. This regionalized, perhaps irregular, and armybased organization contrasts starkly with the systems apparently imposed on the south midland shires, probably under the auspices of the West Saxon royal house, but perhaps also drawing on earlier arrangements. Here we find what look like burghal territories of around 800 hides, superseded by shire territories made up of a multiple of 1200 hides. In the cases of Cambridgeshire and Leicestershire (alongside, perhaps, Warwickshire, Worcestershire, Northamptonshire), these 1200-hide shires are coherently arranged around a central burh, while other 800-hide units seem to have been converted into 1200-hide shires by the addition of available territories. Whether the purpose of these units was the maintenance of strongholds or the equipping of a fleet, there is a clear association between defensive institutions and administrative territories. Military arrangements were thus fundamentally and unbreakably tied to the land, and were therefore perhaps more sustainable in the long term. Certainly it seems that the construction of regular burghal territories was not in all cases successful, particularly so in more northern areas. Groupings of hundreds around Stamford, perhaps comprising Rutland, Beltisloe, and Ness hundreds in Lincolnshire, and Witchley, Willowbrook, and Upton in northern Northamptonshire, may once have formed a coherent territory, but one which did not go on to form the basis of an independent shire (cf. Stafford 1985:142). Significantly, the Northamptonshire hundreds appear already to have been reconstituted by 963, when Peterborough Abbey was granted the Eight Hundreds of Oundle, suggesting that if indeed a “Stamfordshire” once existed, it was a very shortlived creation.33 In a similar way, it is difficult to reconstruct burghal territories around more heavily Scandinavianized central places such as Lincoln and York. Reviewing the evidence for the distribution of opens a window onto the changing administrative systems of that period. The heterogeneous pattern of wapentakes and hundreds that we find here in Domesday is probably a reflection of the rapidly changing situation, and if examined in detail reveals a complex interweaving of different systems, some of which probably have Scandinavian affinities, while others have English origins. Unequivocal explanations for this administrative complexity are probably impossible, but the variety of administrative models that can be discerned is striking, and common elements are identifiable. At least some general conclusions can be drawn from the foregoing discussion. As far as it can be characterized, Scandinavian influence on this pattern of administrative organization is not homogeneous. Although shires are divided into thirds—Ridings—in Yorkshire and Lincolnshire, this structure is not obviously repeated in the east midlands or in East Anglia, and while traces of the division of hundreds into quarters are found in a number of areas, there is no clear evidence that such a system was ubiquitous in Viking-controlled regions. What we may see here is a more decentralized system of governance, typified by the Ferdings, but in some regions extending right down to the level of the township, where *býjar-lǫg “law of the village” has left a mark. No doubt English areas had an equivalent (and perhaps also an equivalent term), but it has left less of an imprint on local toponymy, and perhaps held fewer responsibilities and was therefore of less significance. A preponderance of Scandinavian terminology does not necessarily signify Viking reorganization of administrative structures, but to have had such an impact on this type of vocabulary, Scandinavian speakers must have been taking a very active role in local and regional governance. A more general observation is that Scandinavian administrative organization in midland England seems closely tied with groupings of troops ruled from a central settlement, rather than on garrisoned military centers supplied in a regular manner by a dependent territory. Their basic administrative unit was the wapentake, and although OScand vápnatak must also have signified a territorial unit, at its origin it referred to “a vote of consent expressed by waving or brandishing weapons” (Anderson 1934:xxi). Thus, it encapsulates an implicit reference to groups of armed men, and, as discussed above, it is just possible that Norfolk and Suffolk also reflect a division along Scandinavian lines, into territorially based armies equivalent to fylki. An administrative reliance on army groupings may be reflected in the Tempsford episode, where the Vikings simply abandoned one stronghold for J. Baker and S. Brookes 2013 Journal of the North Atlantic Special Volume 5 90 Worcestershire, Warwickshire, and Shropshire, with the 1200-hide divisions of the southern Danelaw, if these were a result of 10th-century reorganization. In early medieval archaeology, it has become common to talk about “urbanization” as a landscape phenomenon; the growth of towns was intimately related to changes in the economic networks linking together the countryside (Astill 2009:261–266, Britnell 1993:5–52, Dyer 2002:50–70, Hohenberg and Lees 1985:47–73, Masschaele 1997:13–54). The evidence from the southern Danelaw reminds us that this process of urbanization was also a political one. The possible evidence of expansion from burghal territories into shires, outlined above, provides a tangible model for the processes by which an “urban” form of administrative landscape penetrated the whole of the English kingdom. In keeping with this model, recent studies examining the extent of royal power in the 10th and 11th centuries have similarly suggested that control was more limited in territorial scope, certainly at the beginning of this period (e.g., Marten 2008, Molyneaux 2011). These studies have highlighted several phases of apparent administrative innovation. Thus, in the reigns of Edward and Æthelstan, legislation banning or limiting trade make explicit reference to these activities taking place outside a port, alongside, presumably, burhs; by that of Edgar, transactions needed to be witnessed either in a burh or in a hundred (I Ew, 1–1.1; II As, 12, 13.1; IV Eg, 2–12.1; Molyneaux 2011:84–85). To the central decades of the 10th century also dates the Hundred Ordinance, outlining the duties and regulations governing the hundred court. Lucy Marten’s (2008) analysis of the administrative and military organization of East Anglia, on the other hand, suggests that there is no evidence for shire-like institutions there before the reign of Cnut. Looking across the Danelaw, it is clear that there was not a single “administrative moment”. The diverse evidence from the region preserved in Domesday Book suggests that a complex evolution of territorial development has taken place, and while some instances of top-down imposition can be discerned, so too can more long-term patterns of regional and sub-regional development. Acknowledgments The authors would like to thank the guest editor and two anonymous reviewers for their helpful comments, and Jayne Carroll for her invaluable advice. Chronicon Æthelweardi – The Chronicle of Æthelweard, cited by book and chapter number from Campbell (1962). burghal territories across the south midlands, it is difficult not to regard aspects of their development as part of the expansion of West Saxon power northwards in the 10th century. As Cox (1971–1972:19) has previously commented concerning Leicestershire, “the arrangement has every indication of being a piece of Anglo-Saxon county planning”, the instrumental purpose of which can clearly be linked to military organization. North of the line drawn through the burghal territories of Derby, Nottingham, Leicester, and Huntingdon, the military formula underpinning regional administration is not as clearly pronounced, underscoring the belief that the northern Danelaw remained administratively, culturally, and politically distinct from territories to the south into the 11th century. The distinctive features of these two phases of shire formation—though in themselves perhaps a logical development—pose further questions about when these administrative changes may have occurred. Taylor (1957:24–25) was in no doubt that the origin of the 1200-hide territory based on shipsokes was more-or-less contemporary with the first mention of the midland shires themselves around the second decade of the 11th century. Circumstantial evidence regarding the failed “Stamfordshire” might be used to support this general assertion; and for our present purposes it would be prudent to leave it at that. More difficulties surround the possible origins of the 800-hide burghal unit. If these are indeed to be regarded as West Saxon innovations of the early 10th century, it is somewhat striking that there are so few direct analogues for this system south of the Thames. Although it has been argued elsewhere that the stronghold-territories of fortifications listed in the text known as the Burghal Hidage follow the broader logic of the midland units (Baker and Brookes 2013:265–267; Roffe 1986, 2009), there are no mentions in it of burhs valued at 800 hides, and the distinctive pattern of “quartering” is also wholly lacking. It may be true that these West Saxon strongholds were designed at an earlier age to satisfy different strategic requirements from their Danelaw counterparts, but the peculiarity and regularity of the latter are nevertheless noteworthy.34 As Bassett (1996) reminds us, Mercia had an independent tradition of military fortifications, datable perhaps to the 8th century, and it is conceivable that this rested on a territorial system of tax and military service. Certainly, the vestiges of a burghal territory could be argued to be found in the hundredal organization around Tamworth (Bassett 1996). However, set against the possible Mercian origins for this burghal system is the resemblance in shire hidation of J. Baker and S. Brookes 2013 Journal of the North Atlantic Special Volume 5 91 Literature Cited Anderson, O.S. 1934. English Hundred-Names. Lunds Universitets Årsskrift 30.1, Lunds Universitet, Lund, Sweden. 174 pp. Anderson, O.S. 1939a. 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State formation, administrative areas, and thing sites in the Borgarthing Law Area, Southeast Norway. Journal of the North Atlantic Special Volume 5:42–64. Endnotes 1The vocabulary of the Viking Age can be a matter of controversy. In this discussion, we use “Scandinavian” as a general term to denote cultural expressions that show affinities with the region covered by medieval Norway, Denmark, and Sweden, and with other areas colonized by the inhabitants of that region. “Viking” is used as an ethnically non-specific description of the Scandinavian peoples who raided, invaded, and settled in England between the late 8th and early 11th centuries. DifferentiaJ. Baker and S. Brookes 2013 Journal of the North Atlantic Special Volume 5 94 tion between Norwegian and Danish is only made where a distinction between West and East Scandinavian language or culture is required and reasonably well defined. Asterisks are used at the beginning of words that are not attested outside place-names. 2Æstreding, Estreding, EstTreding, Oustredinc 1086; Austriding(e) 1125–1130, Austreing' ca. 1130 (Smith 1937:1). 3Warner notes that Wisbech is referred to by the Liber Eliensis as a “quarter part of the Hundred of the Isle” (of Ely). Possible traces of these divisions are found in Shetland, for example the Vogafiordwngh in a deed of 1490 (Sanmark 2013 [this volume], Ballantyne and Smith 1999:22). Hobæk (2013 [this volume]) and Ødegaard (2013 [this volume]) discuss the administrative hierarchy of Norway. 4The first genuine record of these names is (on) Norfolke 1043–1045 (13th) Sawyer 1968: no 1531; (on) Norðfolce l.11th ASC D: Garmonsway 1972, Plummer and Earle 1892; s.a. 1076, Nordfolc, Norfulc 1086, and (innan) Suffolke 1043–1045 (13th) Sawyer 1968: no 1531; (in to) Suðfolce 1047–65 (12th) Sawyer 1968: no 1124; Suðfolc l.11th ASC D: Garmonsway 1972, Plummer and Earle 1892; s.a. 1076, Suthfolc, Suthfulc, Sudfolc 1086 (Watts 2004:440, 589). 5In most regions, administrative divisions at this level are named from tribal groups (Kent, Devon, Cumberland, Sussex), an administrative center or stronghold (Warwickshire, Lincolnshire, Yorkshire), a district (Berkshire, Surrey, Rutland, Westmoreland), or sometimes an administrative (or tribal?) group defined by their dependence on a central place (Wiltshire, Somerset). In most cases, the units themselves are known as “shires”, from OE scīr “division”, and the pedigree of this term in administrative nomenclature is reinforced by its occurrence in a number of hundred-, wapentake-, and ward-names (Norhamshire, Bedlingtonshire, Islandshire (all Northumberland), Burghshire, Skyrack (both West Yorkshire); cf also perhaps Sherborne (Dorset), Shirwell (Devon), Shirley (Hampshire), although these may contain OE scīr “bright” (Smith 1956:109–111). OE folc does not share this administrative currency, and as a shire-name it seems to find parallel only in Haliwerfolk (Haliefolc 1109x1114, Haliarefolc 1114x1116, Haliwerfolc (1116x1119 [15th]), an early name for the shire of Durham (Dunelmensischira 1100x1107 [15th]), or at least for the estates within that shire belonging to the monastery of Durham (Rollason 2000:114 fn 66, Watts 2007:1–4). Watts takes the original name here to be *Hāligwarafolc “the people of the hāligware or community of the Saint (i.e., Cuthbert)”. The element folc also occurs as the generic in two English place-names: Freefolk (Hampshire; Coates 1989:79) and Folke (Dorset; Mills 1989:330). 6The term is recorded with these senses in a 10th-century poem by the Icelandic skald Einarr skálaglamm Helgason (Marold 2012:299–300, 311–312). Stanzas 13 and 23 in Einarr skálaglamm Helgason, Vellekla, edited by Edith Marold (2012:280–329, 299–300, 311–312) (cf. Brink 2008:62–63). 7OE (ge)fylce and OScand fylki ultimately derive from Proto-Germanic *gafulkja (De Vries 1977:148). They share a root with OE folc and OScand fólk, and there seems to have been a degree of semantic overlap, with both terms bearing some military connotations (Cameron et al. 2007, especially s.v. folc senses 12–14; and cf. Kurath et al. 1956–2001 s.v. folk “a band of armed men, army, division of an army; a council, assembly”). 8Note how OScand holmr seems sometimes to have been incorrectly reanalyzed as OE hām, OScand lundr as OE land, and OE byrig (dative of burh) as OScand bý. Cf. Durham at least from the 13th century, Kirkland (Lancashire) and Rugby (Warwickshire) at least from the 12th (Watts 2004:200, 351, 512). 9Fellows-Jensen (1993) has discussed the origins of another relevant Scandinavian compound, þing-vollr, the genesis of which she traced to Norway. 10East Anglia may well have been divided into a northern and southern division from even earlier times (Hart 1971:153, Yorke 1990:69), but there is no evidence that these units, which had their own bishoprics, were known as Norfolk and Suffolk until the 11th century. Marten (2008) argued that the division of East Anglia into two shires took place during the reign of Cnut. 11The term burh is used here as a modern archaeological term, pluralized as burhs. To avoid confusion, instances of the OE word burh are given in Italics and inflected appropriately for grammatical case and number. 12All Domesday hidages are taken from Thorn et al. (2010). 13The Black Book of Peterborough (?e. 12th) contains a surety that reads thus: “þis sind þa festermen þe Osferð & Þur funden Adeluuolde biscop & Ælfrice cylde & Ealdulfe abbod on æhte hundred gemote æt Wylmesforda” (“This is the surety whom Osferth and Thur found for Bishop Æthelwold and Ælfric cild and Abbot Ealdulf at a meeting of 8 hundreds at Wansford”) (Robertson 1956:76–77). 14Williamson (2010:113–114) notes that the Domesday hundreds of Hertfordshire have the appearance of “artificial and comparatively recent creations”. 15Leaver (1988:531, figure 3) shows that vills consisting of five hides or multiples thereof were especially common in Bedfordshire and Buckinghamshire. 16Although Thorn (1990a) assigns Flendish hundred to the Thriplow group. 17Davies and Vierck (1974), it should be noted, questions the validity of this identification. 18Hamtun/Hamwic was an important administrative and commercial center from at least the 8th century (Rumble 1980); and an authentic charter of 838 (9th; Sawyer 1968: no 1438) was confirmed at Wilton in the same year. Excavations in Wilton by Wessex Archaeology in 1995–1996 (Andrews et al. 2000) identified the earliest western defenses of the settlement. They comprised a wide, shallow ditch with an associated bank, fronted by a timber palisade. Close dating of this structure could not be ascertained, but it is morphologically identical with defenses built elsewhere in the late 9th century (Baker and Brookes 2013:73). Extensive excavations on Saxon Southampton (Hodges 1989:80–92, Morton 2001) similarly suggest that the settlement was undefended before the mid-9th century. J. Baker and S. Brookes 2013 Journal of the North Atlantic Special Volume 5 95 19The tribal or group identities that underlie the placenames Leicester (OE *Ligora-ceaster “Roman town of the Ligore”; Cox 1998:1–4, Watts 2004:367–368) and Worcester (OE *Wigorena-ceaster “Roman town of the Weogoran”; Mawer et al. 1927:19–20, Watts 2004:700), and the early tribal grouping centered on Lincoln and known by the Brittonic name *Lindes “the people of Lindon (Lincoln)” (Cameron 1991:2–7, Green 2012, Watts 2004:374), at least provide a glimpse of potentially analogous processes. The closest parallel is an 11th-century reference to the Scrobsæton of Shropshire (1016 ASC C s.a.; Gelling 2004:xv). 20Taylor (1957:21–22) noted Æthelweard’s continued use of Hwicce in his account of the battle of Kempsford, rather than substitution of Gloucestershire, and the late 10th-century chronicler does not name any shires north of the Thames. Significantly, the early 10th -century fragments of the text differ from the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle in their version of the events of 893 by including mention of “Hamtunscire et B[earr]ucscire” (Chronicon Æthelweardi, IV, 3; Campbell 1962:49). This is presumably “Hampshire and Berkshire” (the geography of the episode makes Campbell’s “Northamptonshire” unlikely), and shows Æthelweard’s independent use of these terms. 217 þurcytel eorl hine gesohte him to hlaforde, 7 þa holdas ealle, 7 þa ieldstan men ealle mæste ðe to Bedanforda hierdon—“and jarl Thurcytel submitted to him, and all the [Scandinavian] barons, and almost all of the chief men who owed allegiance to Bedford” (translation from Garmonsway 1972:100). 22917 (ASC A: Garmonsway 1972, Plummer and Earle 1892): for se here of Huntandune … 7 worhton þæt geweorc æt Temesforda … 7 forleton þæt oþer æt Huntandune (Bately 1986:67). 23917 (ASC A: Garmonsway 1972, Plummer and Earle 1892): þa for oþer [firdstemn] ut 7 geforþa burg æt Huntandune 7 hiegebette 7 geedneowade þær heo ær tobrocen wæs be Eadweardes cyninges hæse (Bately 1986:68). 24894 and 896; ASC A: Plummer and Earle (1892) and Garmonsway (1972) tell us, respectively, that þa hergodon hie up on Suð Seaxum neah Cisseceastre, 7 þa burgware hie gefliemdon and that a micel dæl þara burgwara [i.e., a large part of the London garrison] went out to confront the Danes at Hertford. 25914 (ASC A: Garmonsway 1972, Plummer and Earle 1892): þa gemetton þa men hie of Hereforda 7 of Gleaweceastre. 7 of þam niehstum Burgum, 7 him wið gefuhton. 917 ASC A Þa æfter þam þæs ilcan sumeres gegadorode micel folc hit on Eadweardes cynges anwalde. of þam niehstum burgum, þe hit ða gefaran mehte, 7 foron to Tæmeseforda. 7 besæton ða burg. 26911 (ASC A: Garmonsway 1972, Plummer and Earle 1892): 7 Eadweard cyng feng to Lundenbyrg 7 to Oxnaforda, 7 to ðæm landum eallum þe þærto hierdon. 27Thus, rád se here út ofer Eastron of Hamtune, 7 of Ligeraceastre … oþre flocrade, þæt rád út wið Lygtunes, 7 þa wurdon þa landleode his ware, 7 him wiþ gefuhton. 28The language of 917 ASC C (Garmonsway 1972, Plummer and Earle 1892) (Æthelflæd … begeat þa burh mid eallum þam ðe þærto hyrde þe ys haten Deoraby) is perhaps ambiguous: it is not clear that this was an army that “obeyed” or “belonged” to Derby; but that sense is clear in the 918 entry (Her heo begeat on hire geweald … þa burh æt Ligraceastre. 7 se mæsta dæl þæs herges þe ðærto hirde wearð underþeoded). 29Thus: þa ieldstan men ealle mæste ðe to Bedanforda hierdon, 7 eac monige þara þe to Hamtune hierdon”, “eal se here þe to Hamtune hierde norþ oþ Weolud … 7 se here þe to Grantanbrycge hierde, ðæt folc eal ðe to ðære norþerran byrig hierde (914, 917, 918; ASC A: Garmonsway 1972, Plummer and Earle 1892). 30According to Warner (1988:14) there was at one time a county of West Suffolk comprising the 8.5 hundreds of the liberty of St. Edmund. In a charter of 1042x1046 (Sawyer 1968: no 1046), these were said to belong to Thingoe, the possible meeting-place for a burghal territory of Bury St. Edmunds. 31In that respect, the southern hundreds of Bedfordshire and the western hundreds of Hertfordshire might similarly be seen as later additions to burghal territories centered on Bedford and Hertford in order to increase the assessment to 1200. 32Roffe (1986:111) makes the point that the Vikings abandoned Huntingdon for Tempsford in 917 without any apparent problem. This would not be the case if their system of military organization was centered on Huntingdon. Indeed, if Hertford displays similar features of administrative planning, it seems even more likely that the initiative is English rather than Scandinavian. 33Perhaps related to this development, the abbey of Peterborough conspicuously changes its name from Medeshamstede to Burgh in the 10th century. The creation of Peterborough might have been one of the reasons why Stamford did not become a shire. 34In this regard, Cornwall—an area which similarly only came fully under West Saxon control during the 10th century—provides an interesting counterpart to the organization of the Midland shires. As Oliver Padel (2010) has recently shown, administrative subdivisions in the county suggest that in the east at least, potentially very ancient groupings of hundreds are recorded in naming of the districts. This area was already under direct West Saxon control by ca. 880. The four hundreds of western Cornwall, are by contrast, of less certain antiquity and appear at Domesday as a very regular subdivision of the peninsular into quarters. Intriguingly, the whole of Cornwall is valued at 415 hides in Domesday Book.