Dr Rory Naismith writes:
Seal matrix of Ælfric
This is only the fourth known surviving late Anglo-Saxon
seal matrix, and the only one
held by a public collection besides the British Museum.
It was found two years ago on the Wiltshire/Hampshire border by a
metal-detectorist, and was bought by the Fitzwilliam in November 2012.
Like
one of the other surviving matrices, this example is made of copper alloy (
the other two being
carved from walrus ivory).
Unlike any of the others, however, this one shows traces of
gilding:
a thin layer of gold applied across the entire surface of the matrix at the
time of manufacture. This would originally have lent it the appearance of solid
gold, and made a powerful visual impact. The handle at the top of the seal (with
a loop-hole for mounting) and the acanthus leaf decoration carved on the back
also add to the impression that this seal matrix was in itself intended for
display, as well as for leaving a mark on wax.
The inscription on the seal reads ‘+SIGILLVM ÆLFRICVS’ (‘the
seal [of] Ælfric’). The man portrayed in the centre of the seal is presumably
intended to represent Ælfric himself. Like the images on other seals, this elaborate
bust is closely akin to coins of the same period, and may even have been carved
by the same craftsmen. Some of the details of the image are obscured by loss of
gilding and decay of the copper, but it is entirely possible that Ælfric was
once shown holding a sword, as the figures do on all three other surviving
seals for Anglo-Saxon laymen. Interestingly,
one of these (now in the British
Museum) also names an Ælfric,
was made of copper-alloy and was found in Hampshire. It may once have belonged
to the very same man as the new matrix, although the name Ælfric was
common in late Anglo-Saxon England.
The delicate acanthus leaf decoration found on the reverse
of this and the other Ælfric seal links them to the sophisticated tradition of ‘
Winchester school’
art characteristic of high culture in late Anglo-Saxon England. This and other artistic
affinities associate the seals with the late tenth or early eleventh century.
The only specific date for any late Anglo-Saxon seal comes from impressions of
a now lost matrix for
St Edith of Wilton which must have been made in
the period 975×984.
Despite their rarity, these objects played a significant part
in the administrative system otherwise known from law-codes, charters and coins.
They were used as tokens of authority by powerful laymen and ecclesiastics, up
to an including the king. King
Alfred the Great
expected a seal and a writ (letter) to act as potent signs of the king’s will.
Æthelred II (978–1016) is also known to
have had a seal, of which no impressions survive; the earliest extant royal
seal impressions date to the reign of his son,
Edward the Confessor (1042–66).
Interestingly, modern finds of tenth- and early-eleventh-century matrices are
concentrated in England
south the Thames: precisely the region where
the king’s presence was concentrated and the exertion of royal power was most
keenly felt.
Agnus Dei
penny of Æthelred II
In the 970s and after England developed a remarkable
monetary system based on standardised coin-types naming king, mint-place and individual
maker (‘moneyer’) which were issued at up to seventy places across the kingdom,
from York to Exeter and Dover. Every few years these coins would be brought in
and replaced with a new type. Thanks to payments of tribute to the Vikings who
menaced England during the
reign of Æthelred, tens of thousands of silver pennies of most of these types
have survived in hoards from modern Scandinavia.
Yet one particularly striking and historically important
type remains poorly represented among them: the famous Agnus Dei type. Only 21 specimens have been discovered, all but
four of them in Scandinavia or the Baltic. One
of the latest to come to light was found near Epping, Essex, in 2008, by a
metal-detector user. It was subsequently bought for the Fitzwilliam Museum.
Uniquely for the succession of types running from Edgar to
Harold II in 1066, the
Agnus Dei
coinage dispenses with a representation of the king on the obverse and with the
usual cross on the reverse. In their place, one finds a representation of the
Lamb of God and of the
Holy Dove.
These images find extensive parallels among manuscript illuminations, sculpture
and metalwork of the period, and demonstrate that the designers of coins were
very much in touch with the artistic mainstream, and therefore presumably with
the deep resonances which attached to these images. Both emphasise the
peace-bringing power of Christ and the Holy Spirit: a message which chimes
perfectly with the desperate efforts mounted by King Æthelred at the time of a
great viking invasion in 1009 – a date which is also indicated by independent
numismatic evidence. The attack of
Thorkel the Tall
and his army beginning in the late summer of that year presented a genuine
crisis for the English, whose own forces proved unable to co-operate or pin
down their opponents in battle. Under these circumstances, the rulers of the
English placed their hopes in God. A tract stipulating the donation of alms,
fasting and prayer until conditions improved was issued in the run-up to
Michaelmas (29 September) 1009, while the defenders of the southeast – where
the force of the attack fell – braced themselves against the foe.
It is very likely that the Agnus Dei coinage was produced as a complement to this broader
appeal for divine help in the late summer and autumn of 1009. Although scarce,
the surviving coins were clearly a carefully conceived venture, innovative in fine
detail as well as their striking iconography. They are also noticeably heavier
than the immediately preceding coin-type, which indicates that they probably
belong at the head of a new type (coins of which typically became lighter
over time). Issuing a fresh coin-type meant more than inconvenience for the
populace or a fundraising scheme for the king and his agents: it was a key
defence against forgery and, in the eyes of contemporary commentators, an
assertion of good order comparable to the prevention of other serious crimes.
In other words, it was precisely the sort of endeavour that the circumstances
of 1009 called for. The Agnus Dei
coinage thus constitutes a very special inception for a new coinage; one which
was closely tied to the exceptional conditions of the time.
The Fitzwilliam’s specimen of this coinage was made at
Salisbury
in Wiltshire by a man named Sæwine. The pattern of production visible from
surviving specimens gives further clues to the unusual way in which the
Agnus Dei coinage was issued. None of
the leading mint-towns (Lincoln, London, Winchester and York) of England
are represented; rather, minting was restricted to just nine relatively minor places,
stretching in an arc from Salisbury in Wessex through a cluster of mints in western England at Stafford and Hereford, to another group in the east midlands.
These nine places may represent the only ones to receive and use dies (stamps)
for the new issue during its short period of currency, although there is some
uncertainty about how this process was organised. The absence of
Agnus Dei pennies from the southeast may
be a result of the impact wrought by the viking invasion.
This penny was found already with the bend which can be seen
in the illustrations above. Flattening it out was deemed too risky, and also as
perhaps taking away from part of the coin’s history. It is very likely that it
was bent deliberately by an eleventh-century user, possibly as a small votive
offering: a custom which became widespread later in the Middle Ages.
Penny of Cissbury
The coin-issue for which
Agnus
Dei was such a highly-charged prelude, known as
Last Small Cross, returned to the norm of royal bust and cross which
had dominated the English currency for four decades by this time. Indeed, this final
coin-type issued by Æthelred II was closely modelled on the coinage of his
illustrious father
Edgar
and revered brother
Edward the Martyr.
At a time of uncertainty and deepening crisis, the coinage looked back to an
age of peace and stability.
In organisation, however, it is apparent that the situation
was quite different. Detailed analysis of Æthelred’s coinage has been used to
show the steps which were taken to maintain one aspect of local government in
the face of enemy action. In particular, viking attacks sometimes seem to have prompted
the retreat of minting operations from exposed boroughs to fortified redoubts
in the vicinity. Several were installed within the ramparts of prehistoric
hill-forts.
At one of these,
South Cadbury
in Somerset,
excavations have uncovered evidence of the formidable defences which were erected
in the time of Æthelred. Another such hilltop mint-site was at Salisbury
in Wiltshire, which at this date was located at
Old Sarum:
a hill-fort 2.5km from modern Salisbury,
which remained the site of the city until 1220. It is likely that this
mint-place was established after the sack of nearby
Wilton in 1003: several of the
moneyers who had formerly served there can be traced subsequently at Salisbury.
Another probable case of a hill-fort which served as an
‘emergency’ mint under Æthelred is
Cissbury
in Sussex, near Worthing. The third new acquisition highlighted here is a
coin attributed to this mint. Only about twenty pennies from Cissbury are known to survive. The
context in which this specimen was found is unknown, although it has a long
pedigree associated with some of the most important coin collections of the
last century. At various times it belonged to the numismatic scholar
Francis Elmore Jones
and to the great American collector
Emery May Norweb.
This specimen is especially significant for its long and
clear mint-name: SIĐESTEB. Like most mint-names on Anglo-Saxon coins, this is
an abbreviation, and probably signifies Sithmestbyrig.
This might be an Anglicisation of a now-lost older name, but it also means ‘the
final fortress’ – a most appropriate name for what may have been a last-ditch stronghold
against Viking attack. Coins provide the only medieval attestation of this
name; other records of it do not survive from before the sixteenth century,
when it was called Sissabury or Sizebury. But it can be independently
shown that the dies (stamps) used to make the coin probably come from somewhere
in Sussex.
In short, there is every reason to believe that this imposing fortress provided
another location for one of the ‘emergency’ mints of Æthelred II’s troubled
later years.
Despite the likely hope of the English that Cissbury would
provide a secure holdout against viking aggression, there is evidence to
suggest that at least some interaction took place between its inhabitants and the
Scandinavians. The marks on the reverse of this coin, known as peck-marks, are
an indication that the quality of the coin was checked by a Scandinavian user
at some point. Very many English coins of the period display peck-marks such as
these; but it was much less common for English coin-dies to be used in
Scandinavia as well as England.
Yet analysis of coins made in contemporary Sweden
and Denmark
has revealed that the dies which made this coin, although of English
manufacture, were also used to produce coins in the viking homelands. Whether
the dies were taken across the North Sea through violence or by peaceful means
is unclear, though there were several other English dies which made the same
journey, some evidently purpose-made for use in Scandinavia with the names of
local kings. Specimens from this later phase of the Cissbury dies’ use can be
identified from their very high weight and, in at least one case, from being
struck on a square piece of silver. At one stage the obverse die was also
combined with a reverse of much cruder design and literacy. It is impossible to
say for sure whether the present coin was made in England
or Scandinavia, though on balance it is more
likely to be English.
Together, these three acquisitions provide a valuable window
onto the operation of the late Anglo-Saxon kingdom: how its leaders
demonstrated their authority, and how its economy and administration adapted to
weather testing times.