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London, British Library, Add. 56488, fols. i, 1–5, is a fragment from a monastic breviary of the first half of the eleventh century, probably made at or for Muchelney Abbey (Somerset). It is here argued on palaeographical, musical and liturgical grounds that this breviary represents a liturgical tradition separate from that of Æthelwold’s network of reformed houses, which imitated the northern French monastery of Corbie. The fragment’s liturgy is based instead on a local ‘secular’ (non-monastic) liturgical tradition that has been minimally supplemented and rearranged to agree with the requirements of the Regula S. Benedicti. The scribe apparently compiled the breviary from several separate exemplars (a collectar, a bible, a homiliary, and what seems to have been a ‘secular’ antiphoner), which may indicate that the liturgy at Muchelney was ‘Benedictinized’ much later than might have been assumed. The same secular tradition seems to be preserved, beneath subsequent layers of modification, in a thirteenth-century Muchelney breviary (London, British Library, Add. 43405–6) and a fifteenth-century ordinal of St Mary’s Abbey, York (Cambridge, St John’s College D. 27). These later sources, while not representing the Benedictine liturgy of the lost ‘old books of Glastonbury’ under Dunstan (as suggested by McLachlan and Tolhurst), are valuable potential witnesses to the otherwise largely unattested Office liturgy used in English minsters before the ‘Benedictine Reform’ of the tenth century.

Despite the recent increase in attention given to Archbishop Wulfstan and his writings, the so-called ‘Laws of Edward and Guthrum’ – a lawcode forged by the archbishop in the opening years of the eleventh century – has received little analysis since Dorothy Whitelock’s 1941 study established the churchman as its true author. My article seeks to fill this gap firstly by expanding on Whitelock’s article. I show that many more of the text’s clauses function as antecedents to Wulfstan’s later legislation than those she identified in her important article. Second, I argue that §10 of the code, a clause not repeated in the archbishop’s later legislation, surely still held legal authority given Wulfstan’s prescriptions for non-lethal punishment in some cases. Finally, I posit that Wulfstan’s attribution of the code to Alfred, seen in its opening, reflects the archbishop’s value of him as a king worth emulating.

Lichfield Cathedral had a scriptorium and library in the early eleventh century. As a non-monastic establishment run by bishops and secular canons, Lichfield was not dissolved during the Reformation and undoubtedly kept some of its books. In 1563, Laurence Nowell, Dean of Lichfield Cathedral, subscribed the Thirty-Nine Articles of Religion, the main tenets of the Anglican Church. That year, someone wrote Laurence Nowell and the momentous date 1563 on the first page of the codex. The damage to the beginning and end of the codex suggests that a Reformer, deeming them unsuitable on religious grounds, excised the surviving texts from their original contexts. For a Reformer, the Life of St Christopher supported the Papist superstition of invoking and venerating saints, while Judith unduly showcased a non-canonical story from the Apocrypha. In this light, the Reformers unintentionally saved Beowulf and the rest of the Nowell Codex because they disapproved of them.

Scholars have typically characterized Warsaw, Biblioteka Narodowa, I. 3311, an unlocalized Anglo-Saxon gospel lectionary of the late tenth or early eleventh century, as a book intended for use in private devotional reading. Despite this, a study of the contents of the book indicates that it was used liturgically, possibly by an individual priest or a small clerical community. This article offers a reappraisal of the manuscript and its use based on the complementary pattern of gospel readings that is evident in the two sections of the book and the presence of previously unnoticed musical notation. It is argued that the volume was in fact used in the celebration of mass and should be added to the corpus of Anglo-Saxon liturgical books.

This article takes literary representations of Cnut, the Danish conqueror of England, as a case study of the construction of English identity in the eleventh century. It traces representations of Cnut in four literary texts composed over the course of the century: the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, the Knútsdrápur, the Encomium Emmae Reginae, and Osbern of Canterbury's Translatio Sancti Ælfegi. Each of these texts constructs a politically useful national—ethnic identity through the figure of Cnut, using the mechanisms of kingship, piety and devotion, language, place and literary tradition to work through the particular exigencies faced by the audiences that they seek to address.

This article maps the textual transmission of the Vita S. Aegidii to identify the routes of its reception in Anglo-Saxon England. It shows how the Mass of Giles in Leofric's Missal offers new evidence of Leofric's links to the Liège area. The collation between the Old English Life of St Giles and the critical edition of the Latin source indicates first that the Life was translated from a Latin copy related to Vatican, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Reginensis 497, containing a palimpsest of the Old English Orosius; second, it highlights the continuing exchanges between the Trier region and England in the eleventh century; and third, it applies inter-lingual transmission in order to understand translation practice. A new edition and translation of the Latin vita are included.

This article tries to explore the question of whether the Anglo-Saxons in the tenth and eleventh centuries actually had an interest in elaborate and socially distinctive food preparations – whether, to use words that have been employed and defined by anthropologists and other social scientists, their food practices distinguished ‘cooking’ from ‘cuisine’, or even ‘gastronomy’. Through the study of written sources and archaeological data, we address several issues which can tell us about the Anglo-Saxons’ attitude towards food: the existence of proper kitchens and specialized cooks; the question of ‘privileged foods’ – categories of food widely recognized as suitable for social elites; and the ways by which recipes were transmitted. The answer is that the Anglo-Saxons may have known some forms of elaborate ‘cooking’, that ‘cuisine’ may have existed but cannot be identifi ed as such, and that ‘gastronomy’ was not a part of their thought world.

The Ordinance concerning the Dunsæte sets out regulations for dealings between the English and Welsh in some part of the frontier between these two peoples. The text is widely assumed to be from the second quarter of the tenth century, but this article argues for a late-tenth- or eleventh-century date. The Ordinance envisages trade and prescribes procedures to settle disputes: it thus reveals cordial contacts between those dwelling along the frontier. This offers an alternative perspective to the focus on kings and conflicts found in many modern accounts of relations between the English and Welsh in the early medieval period.

The Vita Ædwardi regis, written probably in the late 1060s, is a major source for our knowledge of the reign of King Edward the Confessor (1042–66). The discovery by Henry Summerson of the complete text of a hitherto incomplete poem in the Vita Ædwardi, describing a ship given to the king by Earl Godwine, on the occasion of the king's accession in 1042, contributes significantly to our understanding of the poem itself, and bears at the same time on the relationship between the Encomium Emmae reginae and Vita Ædwardi, and between the Vita Ædwardi and the later eleventh- or early-twelfth-century source common to John of Worcester's Chronicle and to William of Malmesbury's Gesta regum Anglorum. These matters are pursued further, in a preliminary exploration of the wider significance of Dr Summerson's discovery.

The Old English Promissio regis is a translation of the threefold promise made at their coronations by Anglo-Saxon kings in the tenth and eleventh centuries followed by two paragraphs on the duties of kingship; it is preserved in one eleventh-century manuscript and we have two copies of a second. This article reviews discussions of the text, looks at the manuscript evidence for what it can tell about its authorship and history, examines its sources and function and suggests a close connection with Wulfstan, archbishop of York. A new edition of the text concludes the piece.

Several dry-point glosses were added to the Lichfield Gospels during the tenth or eleventh century, apparently recording the names of members of the pre-Conquest community at Lichfield. We consider the relationship of these glosses to the list of Anglo-Saxon names on p. 141 of the Gospels, and discuss parallels from elsewhere in the Insular world.

The use of demonstrative behaviour in political communication in the tenth and eleventh centuries (for example, proskynesis to obtain pardon) has been examined extensively over the last two decades, especially with regard to Ottonian and Salian Germany. So far, however, there has been no attempt to study its operation in Anglo-Saxon England. This paper aims to do so, looking for examples in narrative sources of demonstrative piety, reactions to rebellion, arbitration, petition and so on, and exploring how far the Anglo-Saxons were influenced by their continental neighbours and how far narrative sources themselves might have transmitted ideas.

The village recluse, avowed to remain in his or her cell, was a feature of the later medieval landscape, but in what circumstances did recluses and the notion of a distinct reclusive vocation emerge? Examining the earliest recluses identifiable, this article contends that reclusion as such, though not without precedent, gained popularity in England in the third quarter of the eleventh century and acquired a terminology (already current on the Continent) in its last third as an expression of the ascetic movement within the emerging parish.

This paper provides an edition, translation and discussion of four letters written by Flemish abbots to the archbishops of Canterbury between the years 980 and 991 and preserved in two manuscripts drawn on the archiepiscopal archives in the early eleventh century (London, British Library, Cotton Tiberius A. xv and Cotton Vespasian A. xiv). The letters document the increasing importance of cross-Channel relations in the late tenth century and provide context for a number of hitherto unexplained indications of cultural, religious and financial exchanges between the county of Flanders and England.

This article discusses the unfinished mappa mundi found in Cambridge, Corpus Christi College 265, dates it to a late-eleventh-century (c. 1065–95) production in Worcester, identifying it as a nearly exact and earlier analogue of two later twelfth-century English maps of the world from the Ramsey area (Oxford, St John's College 17 and London, British Library, Harley 3667). Contained as it is in a collection of Wulfstanian materials, the Worcester map's relationship to these so-called ‘Bryhtferthian’ maps requires a rethinking of how such maps may have circulated and functioned outside of a computisitical context. The close connections between these three maps further point to a unique, late Anglo-Saxon tradition of mappae mundi thus far unrecognized.

The Taunton Fragment (now Taunton, Somerset, Somerset County Record Office, DD/SAS C/1193/77) consists of four leaves containing portions of brief expositions or homilies on the pericopes for four successive Sundays after Pentecost. In the Fragment, brief passages in Latin regularly alternate with the Old English translations of these passages. The manuscript to which the four leaves once belonged was written probably at some point around or after the middle of the eleventh century in an unknown (presumably minor) centre in Anglo-Saxon England. Until recently, the existence of the Taunton leaves had escaped the notice of Anglo-Saxonists; the texts which they contain are printed here for the first time. It will be obvious that eight pages, half of which are in Old English prose, add in no negligible way to the corpus of Old English. Through analysis of the texts in the second part of this article, I hope to show that their contribution to our knowledge of various kinds of literary activity in Anglo-Saxon England is significant indeed, and that the linguistic evidence they present has no parallel elsewhere in the corpus of Old English.

The Regula S. Benedicti was known and used in early Anglo-Saxon England, but it was not until the mid-tenth-century Benedictine reform that the RSB became established as the supreme and exclusive rule governing the monasteries of England. The tenth-century monastic reform movement, undertaken by Dunstan, Æthelwold and Oswald during the reign of Edgar (959–75), sought to revitalize monasticism in England which, according to the standards of these reformers, had ceased to exist during the ninth century. They took as a basis for restoring monastic life the RSB, which was regarded by them as the main embodiment of the essential principles of western monasticism, and in this capacity it was established as the primary document governing English monastic life. By elevating the status of the RSB as the central text of monastic practice in England and the basis of a uniform way of life the reformers raised for themselves the problem of ensuring that the RSB would be understood in detail by all monks, nuns and novices, whatever their background. Evidence of various attempts to make the text accessible, both at the linguistic level and at the level of substance, survives in manuscripts dating from the mid-tenth and eleventh centuries; the most important of these attempts is a vernacular translation of the RSB.

The ‘Preliminary List of Manuscripts Written or Owned in England up to 1100’, which appeared twenty years ago in vol. 9 of this periodical, was a first attempt to bring together, in a concise inventory, what was then known about surviving manuscripts and manuscript fragments written in, or imported into, England from the end of the sixth to the end of the eleventh century. This has now been superseded by the Handlist of Anglo-Saxon Manuscripts, published as vol. 241 in the Medieval and Renaissance Texts and Studies series in 2001. Like the ‘Preliminary List’, the Handlist cannot possibly claim to be perfect or complete, but it is hoped that it may serve some useful purposes as a reference work and, once again, as a searchlist.

The central subject of this discussion is a particular diplomatic form that lasted in England for at most some two hundred years, the writ-charter. When it first appeared is obscure for want of surviving examples, but the reign of King Edgar would be a plausible guess. Its extinction in the 1160s is less obscure, and we may even hazard why it came about at that time, when Henry II's government was changing both the role of local courts and the use of documents in the legal process. What is harder to explain is how the writ-charter came to survive so late, for it served as a vehicle of transition.

Students of late Anglo-Saxon manuscripts are fortunate to have recourse to a number of fundamental studies which chronicle changes in the various arts of manuscript production during the tenth and early eleventh centuries. These studies provide a background against which to assess the work of individual craftsmen (scribes, initiallers, illustrators) who produced English manuscripts of this period. In the attempt to date a manuscript, each of these studies provides a spectrum of changing practices against which one can measure the most probable date of execution for any aspect of the manuscript. Additionally, if we use these studies as a group rather than one by one, they have much to tell us about the chronological circumstances of the creation of an entire codex as a composite work of art produced by a team of craftsmen.

Recent research has focused attention on the ‘Lotharingian connection’, that is to say the close links between the English and German churches in the middle of the eleventh century. Its best known manifestation is the presence of a significant number of German (mainly Lotharingian) clerics at the English royal court. This phenomenon seems to have its origin in the reign of Cnut (1016–35), and the purpose of this paper is to shed light on two aspects of Cnut's contacts with Lotharingia. First, an explanation is advanced for Cnut's baptismal name, Lambert. Secondly, attention is drawn to a hagiographical source which provides evidence for a visit by Cnut to Cologne.

The Old English prose Genesis contains a series of innovative rubrics, unparalleled in the Vulgate tradition, which divide the story of Genesis into a series of holy biographies of the patriarchs Noah, Abraham and Joseph. These rubrics, added to the text in the eleventh century, use formulaic language derived from contemporary documents such as Anglo-Saxon wills and thereby regulate how Genesis was to be read and interpreted by an aristocratic layman or novice monk. The rubrics blend ancient Hebrew narratives, stories of the saints and the legal conventions familiar to the reader in order to portray ‘sacred history’ as an unbroken, legally sanctioned inheritance. They emphasize the Covenant of God with Abraham and the people of Israel and assure the contemporary reader that he too will inherit an unfulfilled promise manifested in God's covenant with the patriarchs.

The Paris Psalter (Bibliothèque Nationale de France, lat. 8824) has attracted much interest because of its long, thin format, its illustrations in the Utrecht Psalter tradition and its Old English prose translation of the first fifty psalms, which has been convincingly attributed to King Alfred himself. It is a bilingual psalter, with Latin (Roman version) on the left and Old English on the right. The first fifty psalms are in the prose translation connected with King Alfred, the remainder in a metrical version made by an author whose work has not been identified elsewhere. The leaves are approximately 526 × 186 mm, with a writing space of about 420 × 95 mm. It has been estimated that there were originally 200 leaves in twenty-five quires, but fourteen leaves, including those carrying all the major decoration, have been removed. There remain thirteen outline drawings integrated into the text on the first six folios. Some drawings may have functioned as ‘fillers’ where the Latin text was shorter than the Old English. Further on in the manuscript, in order to solve this problem, the scribe either left gaps or made the columns of Latin thinner than the corresponding Old English ones. The Old English introductions were set out across both columns, suggesting that the book was made for someone who read English more easily than Latin. The manuscript was written around the middle of the eleventh century, and it is clearly the work of a single skilled scribe who used a neat Anglo-Caroline minuscule for the Latin texts, and matching English vernacular minuscule with many Caroline letter forms for the Old English. Unfortunately, his hand has not been identified in any other books or charters; however, he did record in a colophon (186r; see pl.V) that he was called Wulfwinus cognomento Cada.

Farað witodlice and Iærað ealle þeoda and fulligeaþ hig on naman fæder and suna and þæs halgan gastes, and lærað þæt hig healdon ealle þa ðing þe ic eow behead (Matt. XXVIII.19–20).With these words at the end of the gospel according to Matthew, Jesus sends out his disciples to spread the words and deeds of the Lord to all peoples. With respect to the Anglo-Saxons, this order was impressively executed by the earliest translation of the Vulgate gospels into a vernacular, the West Saxon Gospels (WSG). This text, from the late tenth or early eleventh century, survives in four complete manuscripts (A, B, C, Cp) and two fragments (F, L) from the Old English period and two complete manuscripts from the late twelfth century (R and its copy H).

Exeter, Cathedral Library, 3501, fols. 8–130, the celebrated Exeter Book of Old English Poetry, preserves approximately one-sixth of the surviving corpus of Old English verse, and its importance for the study of pre-Conquest vernacular literature can hardly be exaggerated. It is physically a handsome codex, and is of large dimensions for one written in the vernacular:c.320 × 220 mm, with a written area ofc.240 × 160 mm (see pl. III). In contrast to many coeval English manuscripts, particularly those in the vernacular, there is documentary evidence for the Exeter Book's pre-Conquest provenance. Assuming it is identical with the ‘i mycel Englisc boc be gehwilcum þingum on leoðwisum geworht’ (‘one large English book about various things written in verse’) in the inventory of lands, ornaments and books that Leofric, bishop of Crediton then Exeter, had acquired for the latter foundation, then it has been at Exeter since the third quarter of the eleventh century. This, however, is at least three generations after the book was written, and it has generally been assumed that it originated else where. Identifying the scriptorium where the Exeter Book was made is clearly a matter of the greatest interest and importance. A recent, admirably thorough monograph has put forward a thought-provoking case for seeing Exeter itself as the centre responsible, and has proceeded to draw a range of literary and historical conclusions from this. The comprehensive new critical edition of the manuscript has favoured the thesis, and it has been echoed elsewhere. If correct, this is extremely valuable and exciting – but is it correct? The matter is of sufficient importance to merit further scrutiny.

When writing about the tenth-century ecclesiastical reform in England thirteen years ago, Eric John rightly pointed out that ‘the tenth and early eleventh centuries are the least studied and most taken for granted periods of both English and Continental history’. But today, this contention is no longer true: investigation into different aspects of the monastic revival has resulted in a considerable number of special publications. In particular, the millennial celebrations marking the deaths of the leading reformers, Æthelwold (d. 984), Dunstan (d. 988) and Oswald (d. 992), have been accompanied by a reassessment of their activities and achievements, the fruits of which are assembled in three collections of essays by experts in a variety of fields. The renewed interest in the reform era has naturally drawn scholarly attention to the primary sources which provide first-hand information about the thought, aims and strategies of the reformers. Among such documents, theRegularis Concordia(henceforthRC) plays a major part as an object of historical and liturgical research; besides, it has turned out in recent years that the Latin text and especially the Old English interlinear gloss of the consuetudinary also offer important material for the philologist and the historical linguist.

At first sight, fragments of Anglo-Saxon missals may seem unprepossessing. They are often badly worn, difficult to read and rarely have any decoration to speak of. But their texts are normally of considerable interest. One such fragment which has so far escaped notice is preserved in London, British Library, Harley 271.

Archbishop Wulfstan enjoyed a high reputation as a stylist amongst his contemporaries; when he was still bishop of London (996–1002) one correspondent spoke of the ‘very sweet wisdom of [his] eloquence and the richness of [his] composition fittingly organised’, whilst the wide dissemination of his sermons and their susceptibility to imitation bear dual witness to his popularity throughout the eleventh century.

Aside from its Old English gloss, the Lambeth Psalter has largely been ignored. Yet this manuscript furnishes valuable evidence about Latin learning in late Anglo-Saxon England, specifically at Winchester. And it can lay claim to be the most important surviving witness to psalter scholarship from this period.

The process through which glossaries came into being can sometimes still be seen and studied in surviving manuscripts, and in such cases it provides a valuable index to the way in which Latin texts were studied in medieval schools. This is the case with an unprinted glossary in London, British Library, Cotton Domitian i. The glossary is mainly made up of words taken from bk III of the Bella Parisiacae urbis by Abbo of Saint-Germain-des-Prés, a work which was widely studied in English schools in the tenth and eleventh centuries, above all because of its unusual vocabulary. We know that Abbo drew the unusual vocabulary in his poem from pre-existing glossaries such as the Liber glossarum and the Scholica graecarum glossarum; but he also took from these works the interlinear glosses which he provided for the difficult words in bk III of his poem, and these in turn are found, with little variation, in all of the manuscripts which preserve the poem. Now under the rubric ‘Incipiunt glossae diversae’ in Cotton Domitian i are collected some two hundred lemmata from bk III of the poem, followed in each case by one or more glosses; on examination these glosses are found to be identical with those which accompany the text in other manuscripts. The glossary in Domitian i thus provides a working model of how a glossary was compiled, and is a further witness to the popularity of Abbo's poem in Anglo-Saxon England.

A commonplace among English historians today is the importance of English ties with Aquitaine during the later Middle Ages. For some three centuries, historical events came to link the destinies of these two countries and peoples who otherwise differed strikingly in economy, language and culture in general, with lasting consequences for both. It has long been taken for granted by both English and French historians that this association came about abruptly in the 1150s as a result of the ascent to the English throne of Henry of Anjou who, through his marriage to Eleanor, heiress of the duchy of Aquitaine, became the sovereign of that enormous territorial principality. Till the present no one has suspected that any significant ties existed between the Anglo-Saxons and Aquitanians prior to that time. To be sure, the Anglo-Saxons had been in contact with the late Carolingian kings in the tenth century and with the Normans in the eleventh, but those were purely northern French phenomena. So too were the important Anglo-Saxon relations with the monks of Fleury-sur-Loire in the later tenth and early eleventh centuries, but these were not known to have had any repercussions in Aquitaine far to the south.

England was a wealthy country at the end of the Anglo-Saxon period, as P. H. Sawyer has reminded us; wealthy enough to tempt the Vikings to repeated raids and to pay them enormous sums in tribute while still maintaining a prosperous economy. It was also, increasingly, a country whose wealth was expressed in terms of money rather than other kinds of assets. There was an enormous volume of silver coinage in circulation, continually renewed and replaced by a veritable army of moneyers. Rents, taxes and fines were defined in monetary terms and apparently paid in that form, even by the peasantry. In land charters the traditional rhetoric asserting that grants are being made from affection, loyalty, reward for service or piety remains, but increasingly frequent references to sums of money suggest that a market in the buying and selling of land was developing. Archaeological evidence points to a steady shift away from such traditional manifestations of wealth as rings and ornamented swords and towards the expression of wealth in coinage. The growth of an urban society of artisans and traders within the largely defensive structures of the burhs initiated by King Alfred presumably played its part in these developments. All this was a stage in the gradual movement from a society in which wealth had been manifested in land and military equipment, granted to individuals in recognition of service and often held for one lifetime only, to one in which wealth was expressed in terms of money and acquired as a permanent possession through commercial activities; but the effect seems to have been particularly marked in the tenth and eleventh centuries.

In the introduction to his edition of the New Minster Missal (Le Havre, Bibliothèque municipale, 330), Derek Turner tells us that the manuscript he is editing ‘is one of the five fairly complete mass-books of probable English provenance remaining from before 1100, and the oldest true missal’. By ‘missal’ he means, of course, that Le Havre 330 is a mass book of the sort which usually contains a suitably integrated ordering of texts and chants of the sacramentary, the lectionary and the gradual according to the various traditional propers and ordinaries of the temporal and sanctoral arranged to accompany the church year; normally there are also some votive masses after the main corpus of the book.

By the end of the Anglo-Saxon period six feasts of the Virgin were celebrated in England; this large number represents an honour granted to no other saint. The feasts in question – the Purification, Annunciation, Assumption, Nativity, Presentation in the Temple and Conception – did not originate in England, however. Before turning to the English evidence, therefore, it is necessary to consider the background of Marian feasts at Rome and elsewhere in the context of the development of ritual from the seventh century to the eleventh.

The item which Napier printed as no. xxx in his collected edition of the homilies of Archbishop Wulfstan and which is extant complete only in Oxford, Bodleian Library, Hatton 113, written at Worcester in the third quarter of the eleventh century, has long been recognized as a compilation in which a few sentences of undoubted Wulfstan authorship are fitted into a remarkable patchwork of extracts from pseudo-Wulfstan and tenth-century anonymous writings. Karl Jost has stated that the opening and concluding sections consist of extracts from theInstitutes of Polityand from Napier's homilies xxiv, xlvi and ii, while in the middle section he has identified parallels to two Vercelli homilies, nos. iv and ix, and to Napier xlix, which also occurs in the Vercelli Book as homily x. He has speculated that for another passage the compiler may have drawn upon an earlier version of a text now surviving in London, British Library, Cotton Tiberius A. iii, but he missed a parallel with Vercelli xxi which had been noted by McIntosh. What in effect Jost and others have shown is that in a ‘scissors and paste’ homily in which no more than a few sentences can be ascribed to the compiler (and these perhaps only because he took them from books since lost) we find extracts from a considerable number of works. The purpose of this article is to examine again the sources of the compilation, to show that very probably more than half of it was drawn from a single codex similar to the Vercelli Book, and to illustrate the influence Wulfstan's writings and style had on its author.

The problem to be discussed in this paper concerns the organization of those Viking armies which under the leadership of Swein Forkbeard and his son Cnut succeeded in conquering England in the second decade of the eleventh century: were the forces of these kings privately organized, like the ones operating in the ninth century, or were they state armies recruited on the basis of a public obligation on all free men to serve the king in war?

The Liber Vitae of Durham is a well known and frequently studied document. Now preserved in the British Library, London, under the press-mark Cotton Domitian vii, it consists of a list of benefactors to St Cuthbert's community, or, at least, of those for whom the prayers of the community were solicited. The names were written in alternate lines of gold and silver in the early part of the ninth century, and very little was added for two centuries or more. Then, between the eleventh and sixteenth centuries, many other names were written in, and the book was even occasionally used as a kind of register for documents. An important exception to this generalization consists of the name aeðelstan rex added at the top of 12r in a mid-tenth-century hand which attempts to imitate some of the features of the original script. King Atheistan (924–39) was remembered as a great benefactor to St Cuthbert's and it is fitting that he should have been thus commemorated.

It is a decade since the British Museum published its catalogue of late Anglo-Saxon metal-work – ‘late’ in this context meaning between the eighth century and the eleventh – and the only museum with a comparable collection has now produced an equivalent volume. Probably there will not be any more such catalogues, for no other museum has enough metal-work to make a separate publication worthwhile, although composite catalogues, like the numismatists' sylloges, could be produced; for example, Cambridge, Ipswich, King's Lynn and Norwich would make a substantial East Anglian contribution. Except for catalogues, it seems unlikely that there will ever be books devoted exclusively to the metal-work of post-pagan England, since this is not a subject that can be isolated from its archaeological and art-historical contexts. If there is a distinction between archaeology and art history, metal-work, since it is relevant to both, provides a bridge between them, although often a minor one.

In the long history of the Insular system of scripts, the tenth century marks for England a decisive stage. Within the narrow confines of that eraq we may observe numerous ecclesiastical developments which bear on the history of book production: attempts at a scriptorial reform; the reception of external stimuli of an artistic and technical nature; the creation of a new ‘Square minuscule’ form of Insular script; the deliberate imitation in England (for the first time since its emergence in northwestern Francia in the later eighth century) of the Caroline minuscule, probably not unconnected with an increasing rate of impartation of foreign book; a monastic revolution within the English church (supported by the monarchy but led by Benedictine ideologues drawing inspiration in large part from continental models of reform) some of whose proponents probably favoured Caroline writing as a matter of principle; a growing tendency on the part of scribes to write different scripts for Latin and the vernacular; a considerable growth in the writing of vernacular manuscripts whose output seems to have increased geometrically during the 175 years from King Alfred's literary and educational reform to the Norman Conquest; and finally the abandonment of the Square minuscule as a vehicle for Latin writing, coincident with its transmutation into another variety of Insular script whose use in the eleventh and twelfth centuries was restricted to English-language matter.

Cambridge, University Library, Gg. 5.35 is known to scholars principally for the contents of fols. 432–41, the lyric anthology known (somewhat mis-leadingly) as the ‘Cambridge Songs’. Important though this group of poems is for the history of the Latin lyric, it has diverted attention from the contents of the manuscript as a whole, which presents a remarkable range of texts, mainly poetic, from the Early Christian, Carolingian and Anglo-Latin periods. Physical description, moreover, has generally been confined to the section containing the ‘Cambridge Songs’ and consequently the method of compilation of the whole codex has been neglected. The Cambridge University Library catalogue, for instance, gives the impression of forty-four works entered sequentially in the manuscript, and leaves unexplained such curiosities as no. 41 ‘Prose treatise on medicine’ and no. 44 ‘Certain medical prescriptions’, which appear to sandwich between them the ‘Cambridge Songs’ and another group of ‘hymns’. This article describes the compilation as a whole, its physical appearance, its genesis, and its contents in detail.

In the years which followed the Norman Conquest, the Old English aristocracy was largely deprived of its lands and offices, both lay and ecclesiastical. The resistance of the English nobility to the Norman Conquest made a large contribution to its own eclipse, but it is rarely that we are afforded a glimpse of the fortunes of an individual. The historian may, however, dwell in some detail on the career of one man, Edgar the Ætheling. Episodes from his life are preserved in a variety of works composed in the eleventh and twelfth centuries. TheAnglo-Saxon Chroniclecontains several entries relating to his activities after 1066, and the D version shows a special interest in Edgar and his family. Among Latin histories, those of John of Worcester, William of Malmesbury and Orderic Vitalis follow his activities, although none of these authors was well informed about his life. Edgar appears not to have made a strongly favourable impression upon any of them: to the anonymous compilers of theAnglo-Saxon Chroniclehe was the rightful heir to the throne of England, but to both William and Orderic he was indolent. There is little difficulty involved in bringing together the known episodes of his life, and although his royal blood makes him a far from typical example the picture that emerges gives a useful insight into how one Englishman fared in the unstable political climate of the years immediately preceding the Norman Conquest, and in its aftermath. It is intended here to assemble the evidence for the life of Edgar and to treat him not as a footnote to history, which is how he has often fared at the hands of historians, but as a character of no small importance in the history of the Norman Conquest of England.

The most famous manuscripts with music of the early Middle Ages in England are the Winchester ‘Tropers’ at Oxford and Cambridge. More has been written about them than about all the lesser known sources put together, and it is right that this should have been so, for the troper at Cambridge preserves one of the oldest repertories of polyphonic music while the other, the so-called ‘Æthelred troper’, has provided generations of scholars with the task of establishing its relationship to the other manuscript. This activity has resulted in a high degree of clarification, but the Winchester ‘Tropers’ are not the whole of early English medieval music – even though a study of their combined trope repertories would be a welcome contribution – and we must begin to turn our attention to other sources of the period.

Secgan be þam Godes sanctum þe on Engla lande ærost reston is the title of a short document in Old English which is extant in two manuscripts, Cambridge, Corpus Christi College 201, pp. 149–51, and London, British Library, Stowe 944, 34v–39r. These manuscripts are dated to the middle and the first half of the eleventh century respectively on the evidence of their script. A third copy was once in London, British Library, Cotton Vitellius D. xvii but was destroyed in the fire of 1731. The only scholarly edition is that of Felix Liebermann. The document mentions the resting-places of eighty-nine saints: all but one of these places are in England and all but ten of the saints were active in England. The usual formula is of the type, ‘Ðonne resteð sanctus Congarus confessor on Cungresbirig’ (37b), but in many cases the place is further defined by reference to some topographical feature, most often a river, as, for example, ‘Ðonne resteð sanctus Iohannes biscop on þare stowe Beferlic, neah þare ea Hul’ (5a).

The main contents of the Bosworth Psalter (BM Add. 37517; henceforth cited as B) are on palaeographical grounds commonly assigned to the last quarter of the tenth century. It is thus the oldest surviving English manuscript in which all the important texts of the Benedictine Office – psalter, canticles, hymns and monastic canticles – have been placed together. These texts are preceded by a calendar of slightly later date. Parts of the psalter and six of the canticles were glossed in Old English very early in the eleventh century and there are Latin additions contemporary with the Old English gloss – a short litany, prayers and mass-texts. Finally some psalms were heavily annotated in Latin in the twelfth century. B, still bound in its original oak covers, is of considerable interest on several counts. Early English psalters supply a very good text of the Psalterium Romanum, and B is one of those which appear in the apparatus of Weber's new edition. The hymnologist appreciates B as the oldest representative of the ‘New Hymnal’ in England. And the art historian values it both for its initials to the psalms, which display a style different from that of the contemporary Winchester School, and for the full-page figure of Christ on 128v. Hence any light that can be thrown on the place of origin of this manuscript is important to several disciplines.

‘In literary culture’, Sir James Murray has said, ‘the Normans were about as far behind the people whom they conquered as the Romans were when they made themselves masters of Greece.’ Indeed when the Normans set foot on English soil Anglo-Saxon England was in possession not only of a remarkable literature but also of a highly developed written standard language, known and used in all regions of the country. Most of our Old English manuscripts were written in the late tenth century and in the eleventh in a form of English – although not always quite pure – which the grammarians call late West Saxon. This form of the language is by no means just a dialect, any more than its literature is merely the literary product of a dialect. This fact is first brought home to us when we examine the negative evidence – the rareness before the end of the tenth century of texts in dialects other than West Saxon and their almost complete absence after this time, a state of affairs for which various explanations might be found, historical factors among others. Considerably more important, however, is a positive criterion: texts in this late West Saxon were written and read in other parts of the country too, in Kent (Canterbury), in Mercia (Worcester) and indeed even in Northumbria (York). Moreover, texts which had originally been written in Anglian were transcribed into late West Saxon, as was a large part of Old English poetry. There can be no doubt: in our Old English texts of the eleventh century we are dealing with a standard literary language which, although based on a dialectal foundation, had extended its domain beyond the borders of this dialect.

The Anglo-Saxon mappa mundi, sometimes known as the Cotton map or Cottoniana, is found on folio 56v of London, British Library, Cotton Tiberius B. v, which dates from the first half of the eleventh century. This unique survivor from the period presents a detailed image of the inhabited world, centred on the Mediterranean. The map’s distinctive cartography, with its emphasis on islands, seas and urban spaces, reflects an Insular, West Saxon geographic imagination. As Evelyn Edson has observed, the mappa mundi appears to be copy of an earlier, larger map. This article argues that the mappa mundi’s focus on urban space, translatio imperii and Scandinavia is reminiscent of the Old English Orosius, and that it originates from a similar milieu. The mappa mundi’s northern perspective, together with its obvious dependence on and emulation of Carolingian cartography, suggest that its lost exemplar originated in the assertive England of the earlier tenth century.