20 February, 2012
This week On the Reading Rest I have a book.
Henrik Ågren, Elisabeth Michelsson and Olof Sundqvist (eds). Royalties and sanctuaries. Religious and Historical Symbols in the Context of Cultural Change in Sweden and England c. 1000-1600. Gävle University Press 2009. Pp 108. ISBN 978-91-978329-1-5
I read one of the three essays that make up this volume on the use of tradition, historical markers, rites and symbols in periods of profound change.
Olof Sundqvist: St Erik and Old Uppsala – Interpreting Cultural Symbols in the Context of Religious Change, pp 11-35.
Consequently, in the Old Uppsala case renewal plays an important role too.
On the ritual scene in today’s Uppsala six new priests were ordained on 8 January 2012. It was a solemn mass occasion echoing pre-reformatory practices. To one or two fervent atheists some parts were oddly Catholic-lite and so, everyone – atheist, family, Christian, choirboy, clergy, toddler and the ordained-to-be – was content. Everyone, because to the best of our knowledge the potentially discontent such as the odd Wahabi or Salafist were not present. The capacious cathedral, moreover, was full of people and the Bishop, Ragnar Persenius, in full pontificals. In the midst of this happening, having managed to control the acoustic feedback, we heard the Bishop loud and clear addressing us, his flock: Peek-a-boo! Peek-a-boo! Two or three toddlers thus silenced and the rest of us checked, he went on to say something. Eventually he turns to the new priests addressing them: Peek-a-boo! Peek-a-boo to you too! (unfortunately it doesn’t rhyme in Swedish). Thus twice taught to let our communications be peek-a-boo, peek-a-boo for whatsoever is more that theses cometh of evil (Mat 5:37) it became obvious that in a turbulent period for the diminishing Church of Sweden brisk modernity and deep tradition convene in a ritual attempt to infantilize us before bringing us onward in Christ.
‘Interpreting Cultural Symbols in the Context of Religious Change’ is indeed a surprisingly complex business.
Olof Sundqvist’s (OS’s) essay is about the man, King Erik, whose remnants are supposed to rest in a brass replica of a once golden shrine, in the feretory behind the Bishop’s right shoulder. Originally, the saint’s shrine stood in the cathedral at what is today (Old) Uppsala, but in the 13th century cathedral, saint and name were moved to Aros, which was thus transformed to Uppsala. The first (old) Uppsala, as it happened, was ‘up’ in relation to Iron Age Sala, 2 km East of Aros. Considering that ‘sala’ means the halls, the paragons of Late Iron Age power and rule, the centre returned and grew in religious importance. It was in other words never an option to call the archiepiscopal see Aros, to find a new saint (let alone one recognized by the Pope) or reshape the existing Aros church to become the new cathedral. The value of the ideological trademark ‘Uppsala’ was obvious to medieval man.
OS argues convincingly that the picture of Saint Erik that we glimpse from Medieval sources speaks in favour of the saint being a vehicle also for communal rites in connection with carrying the shrine around the fields of Old Uppsala in May in order to secure a good crop in the autumn. This part of the Saint’s cult stands out as the continuation of rites with a trademark as old and strong as the name Uppsala. Since, apart from being a typical Medieval Christian wannabe saint surrounded by miracles and pilgrims, Saint Erik is also good with the crop, we may conclude that he possesses a quality, which he has inherited from the pagan god Freyr. When this quality was enshrined the congregation carried it from prehistory, around the fields, into the Middle Ages.
The name Freyr is derived from *frawjaz, i.e. the oldest word in a small time series of Germanic terms for ‘lord’: *frawjaz, hláford, herro – the ‘prudent and skillful’, the ‘bread giver’, and the ‘honorable’ – indicating that the development of the lord was building up from a predominantly practical to a more formal leadership. The pagan cult that Saint Erik superintended, therefore, has obvious roots in the Late Iron Age manor and its prudent and skillful hall-based leadership in Uppsala .
But all of a sudden, when we, the community, are walking around the fields with the feretory remembering the old days when lords invested practical skilfulness rather than formal honor in their power, our ritual specialist calls out: ‘Peek-a-boo! Peek-a-boo!’ Since we are barbarously old and heathen, we have of course heard of ritual inversions, turning the solemn into the frivolous, balance into esctasy, but that doesn’t help, since being ‘heathen’ is also a metaphor that prompts the Heathens (i.e. those who dwell on the heath rather than in the shadows of the cathedral) to be critical.
Peek-a-boo, peek-a-boo, we can’t help wondering how many PI’s (Persenius Inversions) have influenced and distorted our rituals as well as the source material by which we hope to sort them out. We can only suggest that earlier leaderships were less prone to some of the inversions favoured by later shepherds, but sadly to say, this doesn’t help. In the hands of specialists, rituals, similar to hermeneutics, become unstable and they are not much to build on if we aim at more specific interpretations. That is why we are forced eventually to take a minimalistic stand, defending the idea of the community assembling during prehistoric times to perform a communal ritual some time during late spring, structurally supporting our hopes for a huge crop.
On the other hand, when we fall back on this position we are supported by a few literary as well as archaeological sources. OS mentions the communal feast in Sigurd Jarl’s hall at Lade by the Trondheim Fjord and Iron Age halls and their role in rituals.
More important, but not yet published when OS wrote his essay, is the new Roman Iron Age grave from Ellekilde discussed On the Reading Rest 6 February 2012. This grave suggests that from the third century AD and onwards, communal rituals may be anticipated in relation to the practice of burying people round a hero’s grave. The spirit of the hero, like that of a saint, may in other words be helpful to our kin in death.
The significant notion connected with the Ellekilde grave is the saintly character of the buried hero reflecting the fact that he seems to have sacrificed himself for the greater good. In reality, this may not have been the case, but the installation and the 150 years of burial rituals surrounding the Ellekilde man, define him as indeed a holy one representing other people or helping them in the next world. This means that already in the 3rd century AD prehistoric society in Scandinavia could single out the spiritual strength of an individual, building a ritual practice upon it realizing that when giants fall old bones revive. It would seem that this practice refers to eschatological questions, i.e. questions related to a belief or a doctrine concerning the ultimate or final things, such as death and life after death. This practice, moreover, points to certain social responsibilities referring to individual prudence and skilfulness, i.e. the personal qualities eventually characterizing the Iron Age leader, the *Frawjaz. Not surprisingly the horn blower in the Ellekilde grave is decked out as indeed a man with frawja-qualities.
The Ellekilde grave is exceptional because as an installation it refers to an uncommon theme and at the same time an easy one to see. In all probability, however, a number of saints’ graves could well be invisible when excavated because the saintly qualities of their inmates are difficult to decode, install and preserve in a contextually speaking precise way. Since graves that point out some of the qualities of a good and prosperous life are also outstanding during the Roman Iron Age, we suspect that a good life is in itself a sign of the human and superhuman qualities of the buried – the success of the large farm owner is seen as a sign also of personal qualities linked to the general social and religious ones.
Beowulf’s model career, as well as that of the man from Ellekilde, indicate that being a successful warrior, dead, alive or dying, will support your social climbing, and we may thus conclude that in the Roman Iron Age and certainly later we see the beginning of the formation and the development of the Iron Age upper classes as a social stratum based on wealth, virtue, prudence, martial skills and a semi-divine nature. This development included communal rituals centering on outstanding individuals – To you too, peek-a-boo.
 There is a summary of the the recent exvacations in Old Uppsala at this adress:
6 February, 2012
This week On the Reading Rest I have the latest Aarbøger for nordisk oldkyndighed og historie and I read a series of articles on the Roman Iron Age cemetery from Ellekilde. Installation de Geste
Iversen, Rune. 2011. Ellekilde – en gravplads fra romersk jernalder med fyrstegrav og cirkusbægre. Aarbøger for nordisk oldkyndighed og historie 2009 . Pp 69-120.
Greiff, Susanne and Hartmann, Sonnegard. 2011. Scientific studies on fragments of enameled glass from a ‘circus cup’ found at Ellekilde nead Torslunde, Denmark. Aarbøger for nordisk oldkyndighed og historie 2009 . Pp 121-132.
Drevs Dyhrfjeld-Johnsen, Mads. 2011. Charon-skik og alternative brug af romerske mønter. Aarbøger for nordisk oldkyndighed og historie 2009 . Pp 133-154.
Olderburger, Freek. Lerkar fra Ellekilde – beskrivelse af karrene og kronologisk oversigt. Aarbøger for nordisk oldkyndighed og historie 2009 . Pp 155-184
Bennike, Pia. 2011. Fyrsteskelettet fra Ellekilde – antropologiske studier. Aarbøger for nordisk oldkyndighed og historie 2009 . Pp 185-196.
Gotfredsen, Anne Birgitte. 2011. Dyreknoglerne på gravpladsen Ellekilde – mad, status identitet. Aarbøger for nordisk oldkyndighed og historie 2009 . Pp 197-216.
Whatever happened at the battle of Roncesvalles AD 778, it happened in between the first burial at Ellekilde, c. 250 AD, and the composition of the Song of Roland, c. 1150 AD.
There are a number of archetypical Iron Age elements in the Song of Roland such as Roland being a Beowulfian hero with a troubled childhood, a small retinue, the Paladins, and a loyalty that doesn’t call for help. Moreover, when Roland, the hero, meets his antagonist Marsile he cuts off his hand, as Beowulf took off Grendel’s arm, and forces him to flee back home and die in bed. In Beowulf, Grendel’s mother returns to avenge her son, and eventually she is killed by Beowulf who also cuts of Grendel’s head. In the Song of Roland, however, the hero must die before the avenger Baligant enters the scene because in this song the super enemy Baligant must be killed by the superhero Charlemagne. When Marsile cannot be decapitated in battle we seem to be left with a head problem. The author, nevertheless, finds a solution: since Roland, unlike Beowulf, cannot cut off the head of his antagonist he takes the head of Marsile’s son (solution: focus on sons) after having wounded the father:
Vait le ferir en guise de baron:
Trenchet li ad li quens le destre poign.
Puis prent la teste de Jurfaleu le Blund,
Icil ert filz al rei Marsiliun. Ll 1902-05.
He (Roland) goes on to strike (Marsile) the way a baron does: and the count (Roland) cuts off his (Marsile’s ) right hand. Then he (Roland) takes the head of Jursaleu the Blond. He was King Marsile’s son.
In the Song of Roland, Charles is indeed super and thus it is he who, similar to duke Lupus in Venantius Fortunatus’ 6th century poems, drowns the enemy in the river. Then he takes Queen Bramimonde back over the dreadful Pyrenees allowing love and lowland civilization to convert her to Christianity. In Venantius’ poems, Brunhild is converted (from Arianism to Catholicism) journeying over the same wild mountains to the lowland around Metz and her marriage to King Sigebert (AD 565). Brunhild was escorted by the valiant duke Gogo, since in these early days fictional kings were not the real heroes and not in the habit of drowning soldiers or transporting queens and princesses. Similarly in the Finnsburg episode in Beowulf, the retinue, headed by the thane Hengest, brings back the Danish princess, Finn’s queen, to Denmark. Dismembering, drowning enemies and bringing home damsels, preferably through wilderness or waste land, are among the central elements in successful battle epics.
Roland is well-known for blowing his horn only to signal to Charlemagne that he and the rearguard he commands are now being cut to pieces. His refusal to blow his horn as soon as there is a strategic reason for doing it, was an topic commented upon already by Roland’s retinue who obviously didn’t understand the literary rules of the chanson de geste invented some 400 years after their alleged death in the Roncevaux Pass. Being a horn blower is not always simple.
Rune Iversen’s article, underpinned by Bennike’s and Gotfredsen’s, is a case in point. The man buried in Ellekilde is indeed a horn blower, shot and cut down from behind in battle while sitting on his horse. He is buried with his aurochs horn resting on his right arm (as if it was his best beloved) and we get the impression that he was killed when, unable to defend himself, he blew his horn signaling.
As it happens, he is installed as a hero in his grave – a paragon of loyalty and virtue.
This horn blower was laying on a cushion that supported his head and shoulders. Half laying, half sitting, his body was bended a little making room for the horn, and the man would thus have been looking diagonally through his grave chamber towards the Northwest. Otherwise, the grave is a typical chamber grave, which means that if the dead should wake up he would find something to eat and drink, from vessels and circus cups, in the upper part of the grave chamber, and something to do in the lower playing with his gaming pieces.The position of a complete lamb next to his left foot indicates that this animal was not part of the food (goose, pig, sheep and dog behind his head). Rather it would seem to be a butchered ram lamb representing itself as indeed a lamb rather than food. Knowing that Kelbaþewaz, i.e. ‘the ewe lamb’s servant’, is a flattering name (On the Reading Rest 9 Jan 2012) it seems reasonable to bury a lamb as the horn blower’s companion.
Dead, yet imitating life in his private quarters he expects human company, and we get an impressive glimpse of the harsh public and pleasant private life of the well-to-do. Death doesn’t seem to be the end of the latter. The fate and the burial is the beginning of commemoration and narrative going on at least 150 years. The horn blower theme continued.
The horn blower’s grave is the first on a cemetery later created around his monument. His was a mound and around it there were two crescents: an inner compact one open towards the Northwest and an outer sparse one opening to the East. The latter was part of a circle, three times as wide as the mound, with its center some 5 m south of the central grave. On average, the burials in the outer crescent are markedly well-equipped. In the inner crescent the graves to the south are the better ones. Archaeologically, the cemetery spans five generations between 250 and 400 AD, but obviously one should have 14C dated some of the graves with skeleton remains only, e.g. grave 8 and 13. Owing to the calibration curve, not least the end phase, c. 400 AD, could have been well-dated if tests were run to get a c. 15 year standard deviation. Chronologically speaking, both the inner and the outer crescent were building up during the entire period.
If we follow the gaze of the man in his central grave it would seem that he is looking out through the opening in the crescents towards the Northwest. If we would like to perform rituals or rallies at the cemetery, the open space to the west of the central grave is the obvious place. The cemetery is thematic  inasmuch as several groups in society cluster around a hero’s grave and thus his qualities. They do so in different ways and we may discuss the pattern in terms of position in society.
Probably the battle in which the horn blower was killed was eventually won by the armed men and pillars of his society, those who made him a hero. At least that would explain the burial and also the will to build up a thematic cemetery around him. If the victory had regional consequences then the people buried in the outer crescent may represent non-local. This of course, may also not be the case, but having identified thematic cemeteries we can no longer take a local catchment area only for granted. The man from Ellekilde is the first commemorated Roman Iron Age hero and his status reminds one of saints and martyrs.
When it comes to horns and horn blowers, three patterns have become obvious during later years. (1) There were two kinds of horns, the straight wooden trumpet and the aurochs horn prolonged with metal fittings. (2) These two types are both found in war offerings. (3) When blowing horns and horn blowers do not relate to offerings, they are found in connections with heaths, i.e. open areas where signaling is essential – from the heath to the farm or vice versa. In Jutland this patter is made up by a number of wooden trumpets in wells (wooden horns must be kept wet in order to be tight). On Zealand, the Ellekilde man looks towards the Heath (between Høje Tåstrup and Roskilde) and later in the Viking Age a rune stone, the only one commemorating a horn bearer, was erected just north of the Heath.
Living next to a heath in a livestock economy obviously forces many young men to try the horn and cattle herding, and the relation between the ram lamb and the horn blower in the grave points to the significnce of this economy and way of life. Moreover, if these boys were gifted they could end up as horn bearers/blowers in an army. In the Ellekilde case we may suggest that the horn blower warned his thriving society in the western outskirts of today’s Copenhagen of an enemy attacking from Roskilde Fjord over the Heath. Since he was probably killed from behind by blows and an arrow in the head we can suspect that he was sounding his horn from the heath to the farms – sacrificing himself while warning his community and calling on it to attack. The Ellekilde man therefore is more of a real than fictional Roland. Be this as it may, blowing his horn rather than running away was probably the point.
Signaling to your friends in a troubled situation is known also from Beowulf where horns are heard a number of times, e.g. in vv 2943-44, when it dawns in Ravenswood and the gruesome Swedish King Ongantheow is just about to finish off some hard pressed Geats sheltering in a hill fort. Much to their relief hīe Hygelāces horn ond bўman gealdor ongēaton – ‘they began to hear the (enchanting) singing of King Hygelac’s horn and trumpet’. Hygelac comes to rescue them and two instruments are heard: the horn and the bўme. In Latin, the former is the cornu (the aurochs horn) the latter the būcina. When Anglo-Saxons translate from Latin, e.g. the story about the Battle of Jericho septem sacerdotes clangent buccinis becomes seofan sacerdas blāwon mid bўmon i.e. ‘seven priests blew the trumpets’. Since a bўme is a Latin būcina, it is a straight wooden trumpet. It stands to reason that sounding the two instruments in tandem enables King Hygelac to signal in way sufficiently precise to let his fellow Geats understand exactly who is coming to rescue them and how to react. The signal makes sense and the passage is an example of the strategic usage of a pair of horns during field battle, but also of the ability to convey a precise message. It stands to reason that the man from Ellekilde could express himself clearly even when he was attacked.
Rune Iversen is careful to refer to the difficult concept of the ‘princely grave’ as an archaeological label referring to an elite (pp 82 f.), and in a concluding discussion, pp 100 ff., much to his credit, he discusses the idea that grave goods reflect the person buried in his social capacity. Iversen argues that the equipment of a grave is not an image of the individual, but an installation mirroring ‘society’ or ‘kin’ in the broadest sense. The individual is chosen to illustrate something. Given the archaeological community in which Iversen works, and must refer to, this is a great step forward. Naturally, he doesn’t go as far as the above interpretation, which opens up the possibility that a herdsman or platoon leader in his thirties, who blew himself into heroic fame, was buried with the status markers that he became entitled to only in death when his skill, strategic understanding and courage could be used and rewarded. Rune Iversen’s discussion is nevertheless a significant step forward, rightly and effectively criticizing a naïve position.
 See Herschend, The Early Iron Age in South Scandinavian, 2009:120 ff.