Monthly Archives: August 2024

Augustinian Dovekeeping in Medieval Wales

I’m late with this post partly because of the ongoing family situation but also because I am right now in northern Wales for real, and the supposed holiday has supposedly been coming first. Here, therefore, are some photos from two Welsh holidays previous, back in 2021 again when, more or less without prior plan, we followed a brown sign and found ourselves at the erstwhile Augustinian priory of Penmon.

West end of the refectory and dormitory of Penmon Priory
(The west end of the refectory and dormitory as they now stand)
North-west corner of the lower courses of the refectory building at Penmon Priory
(Close-up on that corner and down the side; it was built not to fall down, and has demonstrably managed)

Goodness knows what the sign said – ‘medieval church’, I expect – but once we’d wound the car up the road to it there was more, overall, than we’d expected.

Interior of the refectory building at Penmon Priory
(Inside the same building, showing the three stories; the modern floor level is obviously up a bit)
Dovecote and ruins of the prior's house at Penmon Priory
(Other surviving buildings that we will come back to)

The Cadw site for this spot describes this as three sites in one, because there is the priory itself and there’s the Holy Well of Saint Seiriol, a probably 5th-century figure whose evidential basis I can’t find and whose well was on this occasion, sadly, shut. A shrine to him is supposedly what the princes of Gwynedd replaced with the Augustinians. (All this ‘supposedly’, by the way, isn’t doubt so much as that I just can’t check from on this Welsh train, so I hope the web is right.) And then the third bit is the church, which may actually be the oldest surviving bit bar the well, as it’s supposed (by Wikipedia) to be a 12th-century building and I can’t find anything to say it’s not. I may have been distracted, however, as I only apparently got interior shots. But then the interior did have some stuff.

Front face of the tenth-century cross in Penmon Priory Church
(A supposedly 10th-century cross that now stands inside, from the front…)
Reverse face of the tenth-century cross in Penmon Priory Church
(… the perhaps more interesting back…)
Close-up of the front of the stem of the tenth-century cross in Penmon Priory Church
(… and the close-up bottom panel of the front, which is, I think, one of those images of the temptation of St Antony we’ve discussed here before)

There’s also a good medieval-looking font, and these bits of the old cloister.

Elements of the cloister of Penmon Priory preserved in the surviving church
(Preserved elements of the old cloister)

All the same, of the actual church all I got were these.

Sculptural elements in the left-hand side of the portal of the Priory Church at Penmon
(Sculptural elements in the left-hand side of the portal…)
Sculptural elements in the right-hand side of the portal of the Priory Church at Penmon
(… and on the right)

But I would submit that they are pretty darn cool all the same. All the same, Jonathan, wasn’t there to be something about dovecotes?

The dovecote at Penmon Priory, seen from inside the ruins of the Prior's House
(Yes! And here it is, seen from the ruins of the prior’s house which it obviously adjoined, not , I would have thought, a peaceful conjunction)

I have been known, after all, to make analytical points with dovecotes. But there is much more to say about them. Pigeons and doves made easy fertiliser for gardens and easy meat for the winter pot, as well, I guess, as maybe carrying messages in some elite cases. But mainly they’re just an under-rated bit of economic resource, something an article by Michael Decker had to point out to me. Here we see that the Augustinian canons of Penmon, or at least their priors, were alive to that. But what I love most of all is that it has lasted so intact so long beyond the Priory. I guess you just don’t dissolve a dovecote!


There really should be footnotes here, one to my article using the dovecote example (or is it in my book?) and one to Michael Decker’s piece mentioned. But I’m doing this through the WordPress app, for the first time, and I suspect inserting anchors is beyond me, plus which, I don’t have access to my citation library just now, and it appears I’m now too old to be bothered hand-typing cites any more. So links will have to do for today.

Further protochronism: cold war vs. hot war

This weekend I have been driving up and down the country and visiting a hospital and the time to do anything with the blog comes only at gone ten o’clock on a Sunday night, with much to fit in on Monday. Thus, the substantial post I had in mind is going to have to wait, and instead, here is a short musing on a quote I found while reading out of my period a bit.

You know, of course, that I am interested in frontiers, and in recent years I have been trying to spread my reading on them away from just my little patch of north-eastern Iberia to get a better comparative perspective over space and time. And if you’ve ever heard me speak about frontiers you’ll know that this is pretty easy, as there are innumerable volumes of conference papers or essays presenting case studies and the maddening thing about them is that they never seem to compare to each other even though the people at those conferences presumably did talk to each other after they’d presented, and you’d think some thoughts might have been shared. But if so, no sign of it in the record… The classic case of this is what is, as far as I know, the first of these in English-language medieval studies, a 1989 volume edited by Robert Bartlett and Angus MacKay, and a while back now I was reading it as a foundation stone; indeed, I suppose that since the bookmark is still in it, even though I last opened it for the purpose in 2023 some time, I still am reading it.1 And in there there are, I think, four pieces about Iberian frontiers (a problem of over-balance my own project often also has, although here we really only mean Castile), including a classic one by Robert Ignatius Burns, S. J., that has been tremendously influential, but also a fascinating piece about the frontier between late medieval Castile and the Nasrid kingdom of Granada, mostly stable for the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, by José Enrique López de Coca.2

Panoramic view of Alcalá la Real, spain

For example, one of the things he mentions (on p. 136) is that on this here castle’s tower, this being Alcalá la Real, a beacon was maintained to guide fugitives from Granada back to Castilian soil across the presumably-invisible border. It must have been quite a big beacon, as in 1395 the Crown spent 3,600 gold maravedíes on oil, wicks and salaries to keep it going! Image by Michelangelo-36 – own work, licensed under CC BY 2.5 via Wikimedia Commons.

In this chapter, among exciting little nuggets like the above, he also introduces the historical personality Don Juan Manuel, lord of Villena, nephew of King Alfonso X of Castile and rebel against King Alfonso XI, Juan Manuel’s first cousin twice removed. Don Juan Manuel is less known as a violent nobleman than as an author and poet, however, and in a work of advice for a prince put into the mouths of fictional characters called the Libro de Estados, fascinatingly, he broke out, and maybe even originated, the term 'cold war'. His definitions are possibly not ours, however. He says, speaking of how such wars end:

"War that is very strong and very hot ends either with death or peace, whereas cold war neither brings peace nor gives honour to the man who makes it."

As far as I can tell from the fairly short discussion, López de Coca read this as we’d expect someone writing in the late 1980s to understand any use of the term 'cold war', which is to say, a state of war short of actual conflict.3 I haven’t looked at the Spanish and I don’t have the context, but I find it hard to see how that could encompass a war that someone could make, and of course, thankfully for most people, the Cold War I grew up in did in fact end, more or less, contrary to Don Juan Manuel’s prognosis.

Possible portrait of Don Juan Manuel from a reredos at the altar of the Virgén de la Leche in the Catedral de Murcia

According to Wikimedia Commons this may be our man, in a donor portrait on the reredos of the altar of the Virgén de la Leche in the Catedral de Murcia; how the identification is made, I don’t know, but Wikimedia thinks it public domain.

So, I wonder if he was actually differentiating war in which enemies meet directly and fight from war in which they attack each others’ resources but avoid direct combat with each other. He was writing in the 1320s, so the historical example that makes me think of this, the shift from the former to the latter in the English strategy during the Hundred Years War, was still in the future, but I wonder all the same if the difference between honourable battle and dishonourable ravaging was what he was after.4 It just seems to fit better with the quote. Nowadays, I suppose, we might cut that distinction in different ways, direct attack vs. sanctions and blockade, troops on the ground vs. drones in the air, but probably not army-to-army conflict vs. proxy wars and mutual deterrence by force-building as, in the late 1980s, López de Coca was unknowingly watching culminate. And the interesting thing there is that even where we could make the same distinction as Don Juan Manuel, definitely a man who lived by the sword as well as the pen, we would tend to see the opposite side from him as the moral one… Food for thought?


1. Roert Bartlett & Angus MacKay (edd.), Medieval Frontier Societies (Oxford 1989). Not only do none of the papers in this compare to each other (that I’ve so far found), but the editors’ preface is only three pages (pp. v-vii), which didn’t give them much scope to compare either.

2. Referring here to Robert I. Burns, "The Significance of the Frontier in the Middle Ages", ibid. pp. 307-330, and José Enrique López de Coca, "Institutions on the Castilian‒Granadan Frontier, 1369‒1482", ibid. pp. 127‒150. The other two are Manuel González Jiménez, "Frontier and Settlement in the Kingdom of Castile (1085‒1350)", pp. 49-74, and Angus MacKay, "Religion, Culture, and Ideology on the Late Medieval Castilian-Granadan Frontier", pp. 217‒244. The other papers are about England and Scotland (3 of), the Normans in Ireland (2 and 2 halves), the Normans in Wales (1 half), Germany and Poland (2 and 1 half) and Germany and the Czechs (1), so actually the overbalance is towards the British Isles, not the Iberian Peninsula.

3. López de Coca, "Institutions", pp. 130‒131 and n. 9, citing Don Juan Manuel, Obras completas, ed. José M. Blecua (Madrid 1982‒1983), 2 vols, I p. 357. You might also seek out the Libro de Estados in its own edition as Don Juan Manuel, Libro de los Estados, edd. Ian R. Macpherson & Robert Brian Tate, Clásicos Castalia 192 (Madrid 1991), though I haven’t. There doesn’t seem to be an English version.

4. For the Hundred Years War I guess I’d recommend Anne Curry, The Hundred Years’ War, 1337‒1453 (London 2003) as an introduction, but I admit most of what I know about it I got straight from Froissart, Chronicles, transl. Geoffrey Brereton, Penguin Classics L290 (Harmondsworth 1968), and that’s also quite fun, albeit not necessarily scholarly!

Gallery

Welsh Castles for Next Time

This gallery contains 4 photos.

This must be a quicker post than usual, as I am typing it beside a hospital bed; nothing too serious, don’t worry, but definitely throwing some of my plans for the weekend off. So here is a small selection of … Continue reading

Count Ermengol I of Urgell was a bad man (by some standards)

I’m not going to do it just now, but you don’t have to look very far to find me saying that it is not the modern-day historian’s job to judge our subjects as moral beings. Indeed, trying to decide whether someone’s conduct in their historic life was good or bad not only imposes our own standards on people who obviously could not have shared them, since we came along later, but makes it harder to understand the standards they did have and thus why they were doing whatever they did. And this is a position I will argue with some persistence, but occasionally you do run across someone who challenges your detachment. My 2021 digging through the Barcelona-area documentation in the then-just-finished Catalunya Carolíngia included one such example…1

View of Castellciutat, Seu d'Urgell, Catalunya, from below

Images have been hard to find for this post. As far as I can see there are not even modern romantic depictions of Ermengol I; his tomb does not survive for obvious reasons (read on), though many of his descendants are commemorated in the cathedral which has been entirely rebuilt since his time; he did not issue coins; and the castle from which he probably mainly ruled was flattened and replaced in 1692. The best I can do for local colour, therefore, is the hill it was on, which maybe he would still recognise if he were able to see this view from the Ajuntament’s web site

Count Ermengol I of Urgell was the younger son of my pet subject, Count-Marquis Borrell II of Barcelona, Girona, Osona and Urgell, who ruled 945 till 993 CE.2 However, Borrell only ruled Urgell from 947 onwards, because he inherited it from his uncle not his father, and it was geographically separate from the rest of his dominions, so when time came to settle his inheritance he seems to have thought it best to have it governed separately again. Or, he had two sons and this was a solution, or perhaps both. Anyway, Ermengol inherited it in 993 and ruled it until 1010, in which year he died in battle against the Muslims. That episode turns out to be a post in itself, but without giving away too much, it is possible that he got what he deserved, in several senses, although it was seen as glorious at the time. But Ermengol’s documentary trace in earlier life also suggests a lot of ways his contemporaries would not have approved of him, so that perhaps his death served to wipe clean the slate of a man whose posthumous reputation would otherwise be quite a lot worse. What do I mean? Well, here’s the chargesheet. In all of these cases, I should say, I should really be prefacing the accusation with, “One charter claims that…”, which is very much not the same thing as it necessarily having been true. But the thing is, they’re all charters in his name…

  1. So, firstly, because this one I’ve already mentioned on the blog and because we can’t date it, Ermengol was involved in one of the very very few documentable cases of simony we know of before the eleventh century, which I wrote about here. Now, we might argue that Ermengol was not here actually selling ecclesiastical office, only charging for investiture of the next candidate, and that the real question should hang over the sitting bishop who was sewing his see up for his own nephew, but it’s hard not to see Ermengol as complicit in uncanonically deciding who the next bishop would be and getting paid for it to boot.3 But as we will see, Ermengol liked getting paid for stuff other counts might have done for free…
  2. Display commemorating Saint Ermengol in Urgell Cathedral cloister

    It should be said, not that I haven’t before, that his conditions of appointment and a similarly busy history driving Muslims out of places have not redounded to the detriment of Bishop Ermengol’s posthumous reputation either; he was being culted as a saint within a few years of his death and is still regarded as one in the Catholic Church today, which this display in Urgell Cathedral’s cloister commemorates; image by Patalín, licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons

  3. For example, in a complicated case in 1007, Ermengol gave a guy named Sunyer some property in Solsona for 5 denarii and a horse. It wasn’t exactly a sale, however, as Sunyer had already bought the land off a priest called Goltred some time previously. Unfortunately for him, Ermengol’s father Borrell had then taken over the land and given it to one Guisad instead. Then Guisad died, and I guess the land reverted to the count, by now apparently Ermengol, and Sunyer went to him for justice, which he sort of got – but Ermengol still made him pay for it.4
  4. Ermengol, it turns out, was quite good at keeping land he shouldn’t have had. As one of his father’s executors in Borrell’s will of 993, he was sworn on an altar to ensure that certain properties at a place called Tuixèn, where both the counts of Urgell, apparently via Borrell’s second wife, and the viscounts of Conflent and sometimes also Urgell, held land and gave bits of it to the cathedral, were indeed given to the cathedral for Borrell’s sins.5 But he didn’t; he just kept them, which we know from his own will, in which he enjoined upon his son, Ermengol (II) the duty of completing the bequest.6 Which, for what it’s worth, Ermengol II didn’t either, instead suing the bishop his father had been paid to install, the future Saint Ermengol above, who was from that vicecomital family, for the other lands there.7 Ermengol II lost that case and in the end had to restitute the bequest of thirty years before as well, but both Ermengols obviously learned a lot about how far the count could ignore the courts from their respective fathers…8

The village of Tuixén

The selfsame villa of Tuixent, as it is now spelt, image by Jordi Picart (Own work) [CC-BY-SA-3.0 or GFDL], via Wikimedia Commons


And yet this is still neither the worst thing nor the clearest evidence that Ermengol himself knew his conduct was questionable and indeed that his contemporaries might question it. The new piece for my puzzle this time was a document of 997, which begins with a whole preamble about how he was a terrible man. I mean, look:

“I Ermengol, by the grace of God count and marquis, recognise myself to be a most unhappy man and the worst of sinners, but nonetheless not disbelieving in the mercy of God, that omnipotent God may be propitious to me, and believing that which God said through the prophet: ‘Be you converted to me and I shall be converted unto you’, I therefore give…”9

This is not formulaically unusual in charters, but it is unusual for Ermengol, and it suggests either that he knew he was in the wrong, or as I have argued about his father with a similarly hand-wringing document, that he had accepted that the cathedral scribe writing this document was going to give him a hard time for good reason.10 So what was the reason this time? Well, Ermengol owed the cathedral chapter money, in fact 200 solidi which is quite a lot. In an effort to pay this debt, which he had presumably borrowed from these priests at some earlier point and didn’t have any more, he gave the cathedral the entire villa of Sallent, which was a decent size frontier property with its own castle and dependencies as we happen to know from elsewhere – and I will come back to how. We might still wonder if it was worth 200 solidi, which not many estates were in this world, but Ermengol obviously didn’t think it was because in exchange for it he also got a further 300 solidi from Bishop Sal·la.

Well, how fortunate for Ermengol that he had this spare castle, you may say, when he was otherwise so keen to hold onto land. And to that I would say, yes, in the very limited sense in which he had it. By that I mean, it was held for him by a guy mostly based in Osona and Barcelona, Sendred, Vicar of Gurb and Queralt, among other places. Sendred still had Sallent in 1005, and his son held it, from the counts, in 1022, so there’s no obvious sign that the bishops of Urgell actually ever got hold of it.11 So Ermengol rinsed the bishop for 300 solidi for a castle he didn’t really control, held by someone who then didn’t concede it, in order to get the Urgell priests to stop nagging about the 200 solidi he’d already had from them. I have often observed that it was tough to be up against the man in tenth-century Catalonia, and Pierre Bonnassie legendarily argued that it got harder in the eleventh century, but this is still kind of dishonest.12

Castle ruins and church of Sant Esteve de Sallent

Sallent has been changed a lot by industry but Ermengol might have recognised this bit, the church of Sant Esteve and the ruins of the castle, that is if he ever actually went there; image from Sallent’s tourism website

But it doesn’t stop there. There are a couple of smaller gifts that follow, a pair of hamlets sat on the hill around Castellciutat, where the bishopric had once been but which earlier counts had taken over as the comital citadel. And for these, he did not charge anything. How generous of him? Not really: these were to pay off a 15-year penance he’d had imposed upon him for homicide, presumably by the bishop.13 In the end, you can buy your way out of anything you can’t fight your way out of, right? And it would seem that the fates only disproved this maxim in his very last attempt (wait for the post…).

Meanwhile, we can certainly get some other historical points out of this. Apart from anything else, there is Ermengol’s very close but conflictual relationship with Bishop Sal·la – we see here a succession pact, for money, a penance, which he paid off, a bequest he never delivered, and a massive payment for settling his own debts, but these can only have rested on a vexed but interdependent personal relationship that we can only speculate about. One thing that is clear, though, is that he’d inherited the relationship from his father Borrell, as I’ve shown elsewhere.14 It may have been mainly because of that that Sal·la even thought he could impose a penance on the young murderer, as I know of no other cases of such penances from the area and in other dramatic actions Sal·la had tended to leave the counts clear of his sanctions.15 Nonetheless, we do see here a prelate and a magnate trying each to find the limits of what they could and could not dictate about the other’s behaviour.

We also see the arbitrary edges of comital power; there were expectations about how the counts should behave and the justice they should do, and sometimes (other) counts show signs of caring about this.16 But not Ermengol; he was obviously aware that in the end, if he didn’t want to do it, no-one could make him. Sal·la may have tried, but we see how that worked. Perhaps a bishop who was less ready to buy his way himself wouldn’t have so easily been bought… But whatever we may think of Sal·la, I find very little about Ermengol to like in his documents, and much to lament. I don’t think he was a good guy, and that is, I think, how he was probably seen at the time as well.


1. That is, Ignasi J. Baiges i Jardí and Pere Puig i Ustrell (edd.), Catalunya carolíngia volum VII: el Comtat de Barcelona, Memòries de la Secció Històrica-Arqueològica 110 (Barcelona 2019), 3 vols.

2. On Borrell the best thing to read might now be me! To wit, Jonathan Jarrett, “El comte marquès Borrell II de Barcelona: arquitecte involuntari de Catalunya?”, transl. Mònica Molera i Jordà, in Borja de Riquer (ed.), Vides catalanes que han fet història, Història mundial de Catalunya (Barcelona 2020), pp. 95–102.

3. Cebrià Baraut (ed.), “Els documents, dels anys 981-1010, de l’Arxiu Capitular de la Seu d’Urgell” in Urgellia Vol. 3 (Barcelona 1980), pp. 7–166, doc. no. 276. The pre-1000 Urgell documents are of course in the Catalunya Carolíngia, and where possible I cite that below instead of this older edition, because then you can look them up online (there are even images of the charters now in some cases!); but this one and those below where I don’t do that are post-1000 so the Urgellia printing is the best there is.

4. Baraut (ed.), “Diplomatari del monestir de Sant Sadurni de Tavèrnoles (segles IX-XIII)”, ibid. Vol. 12 (1995), pp. 7–414, doc. no. 35.

5. Baiges & Puig, Catalunya Carolíngia VII, doc. no. 1214.

6. Baraut, “Els documents, dels anys 981-1010”, no. 295.

7. Baraut (ed.), “Els documents, dels anys 1010-1035, de l’Arxiu Capitular de la Seu d’Urgell” in Urgellia Vol. 4 (Barcelona 1981), pp. 7–186, doc. no. 425.

8. Domènec Sangés (ed.), “Recull de documents del segle XI referents a Guissona i a la seva plana” in Urgellia Vol. 3 (Barcelona 1980), pp. 195–226, doc. no. 9.

9. Ramon Ordeig i Mata (ed.), Catalunya carolíngia Volum VIII: Els comtats d’Urgell, Cerdanya i Berga, Memòries de la Secció Històrico-Arqueològica 111 (Barcelona 2020), 2 vols, doc. no. 857: “Ego Ermengaudus, gratia Dei comes et marchio, recognosco me hominem esse infelicissimum et nimium peccatorem, sed tamen non defidens de misericordia Dei, ut propitius michi sit omnipotens Deus, et credens illut quod Dominus dixit per prophetam: «Convertimini ad me et ego convertar ad vos». Idcirco dono…”

10. Ordeig, Catalunya Carolíngia VIII, doc. no. 444: “Recognoscens me multis divine legis preceptis transgredientem atque variis vitiis et iniquitatibus subiacentem, misticis divinis conlatis mihi verbis inobedientem atque in deliciis huius militie seculi comorantem…”, which I have canonically translated as, “recognising that I have transgressed many of the precepts of the divine law, and been subject to many vices and evils, disobedient to the words of the holy mysteries lavished upon me, and a dallier in the delights of this military age”. This is going to get more space in the book, if I ever get back to that, as I think I know what was going on here, and, as with Ermengol here, it was a moment of vulnerability vis-à-vis Urgell’s churchmen.

11. See for this Albert Benet i Clarà, La família Gurb-Queralt (956-1276): Senyors de Sallent, Oló, Avinyó, Manlleu, Voltregà, Queralt i Santa Coloma de Queralt (Sallent 1993), pp. 49-51. More generally, see Benet, Sallent, dels orígens al segle XIII, Episodis de la història 220 (Barcelona 1977).

12. Bonnassie did that, of course, in La Catalogne du milieu du Xe à la fin du XIe siècle : Croissance et mutations d’une société, Publications de l’Université de Toulouse-Le Mirail, Sèrie A, 23 & 25 (Toulouse 1975), 2 vols.

13. Back to Ordeig, Catalunya Carolíngia VIII, doc. no. 857 again here, in case that wasn’t clear.

14. Jonathan Jarrett, “Pathways of Power in late-Carolingian Catalonia”, unpublished Ph. D. thesis (University of London 2005), online here, pp. 290-298.

15. Ordeig, Catalunya Carolíngia VIII, doc. nos 794 & 795, dealing with an excommunication directed at two comital advisors, from which Sal·la nonetheless exempted the ruling countess and her sons.

16. Josep M. Salrach, Justícia i poder a Catalunya abans de l’any mil, Referències 55 (Vic 2013), pp. 108-118.