3
Wessex occupies a singular place in British history. After all, it is from Wessex that Alfred and his heirs will one day forge England. It is perhaps no surprise, then, that much of the scholarship around Wessex focuses on those later monarchs and the conflicts with the Vikings in the ninth and tenth centuries. A drawback of this approach is that it lends an air of assumed superiority to Wessex. Surely, as the only Anglo-Saxon kingdom to weather the Viking storm intact, it must always have been destined for greatness?
This assumption does a great disservice to a number of great rulers, only one of whom we today call ‘The Great’, who took a disparate collection of small warbands and polities and managed to eventually form a cohesive whole from them. Because at the time of Wessex’s founding, the kingdom’s survival, let alone its success, was not a given.
Differing accounts are given as to the founding of Wessex. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle states that Cerdic and Cynric arrived around 495 and immediately made war upon the Welsh, ‘first gaining the lands of Wessex’ [Avalon, 2008]. The Chronicle then goes on to discuss their nephews Stuf and Wihtgar arriving in the same area and conquering much of modern-day Hampshire and the Isle of Wight. The conflation of these two narratives is often given as the origins of Wessex.
However, the Venerable Bede, in his Historia ecclesiastica gentis Anglorum, puts ownership of the Isle of Wight and Hampshire in the hands of Jutes, not Saxons. He further states that the West Saxons were known as the Gewisse and then describes how they eventually came and slaughtered the inhabitants of the Isle of Wight in 685.
The image this conflation of origins seems to paint is one of a smaller group, or a series of smaller groups, all fighting amongst themselves for a foothold in southern Britain. The historical record seems to agree with the Chronicle that the focus of these activities was around the Thames Valley. This has recently been supported by the excavation of a high-status warrior burial at a hilltop near Marlow, overlooking the Thames Valley. The burial included a sword and spears, as well as a number of high-status goods. This adds to an extensive concentration of high-status Anglo-Saxon goods in the Upper Thames Valley [Hamerow et al., 2013], further building the picture of a concentrated growth in Germanic settlers in the region, although to which tribe they would affiliate themselves is obviously a tricky question to answer in practice.
While the exact origins of Wessex in this period are difficult to discern, it does seem that warfare was a relatively common refrain, with mentions in the Chronicle of the fighting already mentioned around the Isle of Wight, but also further east with the men of Kent as well as with a number of other minor polities. It’s worth noting that this is, in fact, the first mention in the Chronicle of fighting between different Germanic groups. This may suggest that the conditions which allowed for potentially peaceful migration – the breakdown of Roman stability, the loss of identity without strong regional ties to fall back on, and potentially the deprivations of petty warlords – had decreased or perhaps disappeared altogether. This would make for a more hazardous environment for the new tribal group to emerge into, one where they are immediately put under pressure by other groups and newly established kingdoms of their fellow Anglo-Saxons. This is a pattern which is to colour much of the history of Wessex and, crucially for our purposes, their relationship with the Britons to their west.
Another interesting feature of this early Wessex is that many of its rulers, including the perhaps semi-mythological Cerdic and Cynric, have names either wholly Brythonic in origin or incorporating Briton elements with Saxon elements. This has sometimes been interpreted as the survival of a Briton polity which merged with an emerging Saxon one; however, the material expression of culture appears to be wholly Germanic in practice. Additionally, we would expect later writers with an already dim view of Wessex – such as Bede, who was an ardent Northumbrian – to use such origins against them in their writings. As it is, it seems to go without mention.
Alternatively, it may be that the incoming settlers intermarried with native elites, and the subsequent namings reflect this co-mingling. Of course, this sort of mixing would support some of the more peaceful transition models of the Anglo-Saxon migrations which have become more standard in modern thinking.
The final option may simply be an attempt to assume the trappings of traditional power or leadership in the region by taking the names and/or titles of the previous rulers. This could be seen as a distant echo of the process under way on the Continent where the emerging Frankish kingdom took on more visible symbolism of the former Roman state and absorbed the existing elites (as well as their knowledge and some of the infrastructure they held key roles within) [Dodd, 2016].
Of course, as we have already frequently commented, ideas of identity and nationality are extremely tricky to interpret in the past. More than that, sometimes things we take as solid signifiers of these facets would have been unremarkable in the period. This may be the more likely explanation for the Brythonic names in Wessex’s regnal lists.
Regardless, the pattern of small-scale combat appears to be the norm until Ceawlin, another Briton-named king and potentially Cerdic’s grandson, enters the Chronicle in the late sixth century. Initially he is mentioned beside his father in 556, fighting against an unknown group of Britons at the place called Beran Byrg, or Beran’s Fortress. This is sometimes identified as Barbury Castle in Wiltshire, although the Chronicle is typically short of details that could make this certain. Given the situation in Britain by the late sixth century, though, it does seem that a site west of the Thames Valley would be most likely; as we have discussed, most of the real estate to the south and east was by this time firmly in the control of Anglo-Saxons.
The Chronicle doesn’t specify who was victorious; however, given Ceawlin’s later career it is perhaps tempting to identify this as a pivotal moment for him. Confronted by more firmly established kingdoms all around his own, he could perhaps see the potential that the more fractured situation amongst the Briton tribes provided. Ceawlin would become king in 560 or thereabouts (the regnal lists, Bede and the different versions of the Chronicle all disagree) but we know very little of his actions until 568, when he and his brother Cutha fight King Aethelbert of Kent and put him to flight. This victory is notable as Athelbert is, in most sources, a highly regarded king in his own right. His status is aided in this by being, according to Bede, the first English ruler to convert to Christianity, and by his close relationship with the Frankish court. Bede further lists him as the third of his ‘Bretwala’ or over-rulers of the English kings.
Ceawlin is himself recorded by Bede as one of these rulers, and this combined with his recorded defeat of Athelbert tells us something about the victorious career he must have had. After all, Ceawlin was by all accounts an avowed pagan. Had there been an opportunity to diminish his achievements, Bede, and the Christian writers of the Chronicle, likely would have taken it.
As it is, Ceawlin is on the offensive again extremely quickly. In 571 he and another figure, Cuthwine (potentially this is an alternative translation of Cutha), are fighting the Britons at a place called Biedcanforda, taking control of four towns: Bensingtun (Benson, Oxfordshire), Egonesham (Eynsham, Oxfordshire), Liggeeanburh (Limbury, Bedfordshire) and Aeglesburh (Aylesbury, Buckinghamshire) [Thorpe, 1861]. This battle is controversial for many historians, including J.N.L. Myres [1986] and Frank Stenton [2001]; however, what is important for our discussion is the tradition it began of listing, in the Chronicle, specific towns taken during a Saxon victory.
Additionally, it firmly establishes Ceawlin’s priorities to be westward. In the light of the recent victory over Athelbert this may seem unusual; we would perhaps expect an effort to capitalise on the initial victory. However, given Bede’s commentary and Athelbert’s own well-documented rule, Ceawlin may have been aware of a long-term weakness in his position compared to the Kentish kings, probably at least partly stemming from the continental links that the latter enjoyed which are not as evident in the archaeological record for Wessex.
Regardless of motivation, he continued pushing westward aggressively, facing a coalition of British kings at Deorham. This battle is often overlooked, or its importance minimised to the geographical and linguistic changes it would force onto the Britons; however, the stakes for Ceawlin and Wessex are absolutely worth considering. As mentioned, while he had defeated Athelbert once it was by no means certain that he and his forces would repeat that victory in a subsequent confrontation. Equally, the forces of three separate British tribes would have been a significant threat, each one able to maintain its own independence in the face of Saxon expansion for over a century by that point. If they had been able to defeat Ceawlin and his forces it is entirely possible that Wessex would never have solidified into an important part of the Heptarchy, and instead may have gone the way of other minor kingdoms such as Essex or Sussex; a regional power that is eventually absorbed by a larger neighbour.
It is perhaps worth noting that the names of the three British kings opposing Ceawlin – Conmail, Condidan and Farinmail – are all archaic in format. This suggests that the scribes working on the Chronicle perhaps had access to an older written or oral source, perhaps denoting a larger importance once placed on the battle in local, West Saxon sources.
All the sources do agree that Ceawlin is the victor in this battle and, according to the Chronicle, he seized control of Gloucester, Cirencester and Bath. While translations may sometimes be questioned, all of these had been Roman towns, not quite on the level of London perhaps but still regionally important (Bath in particular had once held significant religious attachments). The matched number of kings to towns, and their importance, potentially suggests that these were the power centres of the British groups. This is significant because all three sites were essentially Roman constructions. Gloucester and Cirencester both started life as legionary fortresses before civil towns expanded around them, while the waters at Bath, or Aquae Sullis to the Romans, had held religious importance in pre-Roman Britain – it was the Romans who had built up the town and the elaborate baths around it. This means that the Britons had constructed new identities for themselves based on highly localised concerns, rather than an overarching tribal identity as may have been the case further west.
This perhaps meant that, despite the attempt to work together against Ceawlin, the British kings were still riven with their own disagreements and histories, which may have assisted their defeat. It also shows the extent to which high levels of Romanisation were perhaps detrimental to the survival of Romano-British identities during the migration period. However, we should also be conscious not to ascribe too much success to other groups purely on the basis of identity or culture. As we can see with Ceawlin and will see with other leaders, opportunities must be exploited by groups in order to succeed.
The fallout of the victory was monumental. Firstly, and most often identified, the victory at Deorham meant that an Anglo-Saxon group had reached the Severn Estuary and effectively cut off overland communication between the south-west Britons and those who lived in Wales or the Old North. Generally, linguists use this date as a starting point for the divergence between Welsh, Cumbric and Cornish languages (Breton remains closely linked to Cornish, diverging at a slightly later date). However, it should be noted that, while certain Welsh kings claimed to have been ruler of Britain during this period, overall levels of cooperation between the Britons seem to have remained extremely low. As such, this may not have been the sort of hugely significant cultural shift we imagine. As we have already seen, it is possible Dumnonia wass much more focused on the Irish Sea and beyond than it is events on the land.
It does, however, seem extremely unlikely that the rulers of Dumnonia, intimately concerned with trade as we have seen, would be unaware of these new developments despite their potential distance and isolation from them.
Of more immediate note, at least militarily, is that both Cirencester and Gloucester sit astride the Fosse Way, one of the great Roman roads linking Isca Dumnorum (Exeter) to Lincoln. Additionally, Cirencester acted as a junction between this and the Akerman Way, which itself linked to Watling Street. This means that not only had Wessex physically driven a wedge between Wales and the south-west, but also that it was able to control trade on the road. This would have secured a valuable revenue stream for the West Saxons, as well as providing obvious logistical benefits for moving and supplying their own forces.
Thus Wessex had secured itself breathing space, as well as significant land and resources. While still not the most powerful of the Saxon kingdoms, it was now a force to be reckoned with rather than ignored or absorbed. Thus victory at Deorham could be argued as the foundational moment of Wessex itself; the point where the small tribal collection of warriors and war leaders became a proper political power. Ceawlin had also begun the slow westward expansion which would come to define much of Wessex’s history in the pre-Viking age. This was to be a tactic he and his successors would revisit, often when under pressure from their fellow Saxons, and it would inevitably lead to conflict with Dumnonia when their borders eventually came into contact.