PART 2
5
By the late sixth century we have seen that Wessex was established as a growing regional power in southern Britain, with ambitions to continue expanding westward from the Severn Estuary region it had recently annexed. Dumnonia for its part was undergoing its own changes. The enclosed courtyard settlements were largely being reworked into more open-form farms and villages. Most of these now bore the place name ‘Tref’, which would eventually alter to Tre and remain present to this day (Trewhiddle, Tregony, etc.). Bernard Deacon [2016] identifies this change, and the decline of regional power centres like Tintagel and Bantham which also occurred over the next century, as the start of a sort of non-authoritarian power-sharing government.
However, as we will eventually see there was still a localised elite in place, including some form of ruling dynasty. Additionally, excavations at both Gwithian [Quinnell et al., 2007] and Duckpool/Morwenstow [Taylor, 2017] reveal industrial activities and some high-status activities as well. For example, the residents at Duckpool seem to have been involved in the extraction of dye from dog whelks. This would have produced a rich, deep purple colour extremely similar to the famous Tyrian purple of the Byzantine imperial court [Biggam 2006]. While the number of shells recovered is too small for wholesale garment dyeing, it could well have been used to produce decorative threads or small fabric strips, all of which would have been enormously valuable commodities in their own right.
This evidence seems to suggest that Dumnonia remained at least relatively wealthy and prosperous, although it is difficult to know how events like the Plague of Justinian in 541 would have impacted the region, particularly given the well-established trade links with the Mediterranean already discussed.
What is less clear is the state of Dumnonia’s immediate neighbours, the Durotriges. There are signs of post-Roman activity at Cadbury Castle as we have already mentioned; however, given its location at the western end of Somerset it is entirely possible this is a Dumnonian site, although the balance of probability would seem to suggest a Durotrigan builder. Regardless of the occupant, use of the site seems to end around the close of the sixth century.
Recent excavations by the Durotriges Project from the University of Bournemouth has shed some interesting light on day-to-day life in Durotrigan territory, including a Roman villa that appears to have been abandoned and surrounded by timber structures prior to the end of Roman Britain [Russell et al., 2015]. This may suggest that there was already a turn towards tribal identity over Roman even before the official abandonment of the empire. This would somewhat fit with the chaotic image of the Western Empire and the many revolts in Britain occurring during the fourth century.
However, the Durotriges are noticeably absent in the documentary record, with no mention of kings or other elite figures and little evidence for economic activity outside the handful of sites already excavated.
The reason we should consider the state of the Durotriges at this point is that, if we assume (like Dumnonia) that they had resumed a tribal territory similar to that of the pre-Roman landscape, they would now find the aggressively expanding Wessex on their border.
In fact, it was in 584 that Ceawlin continued his westward march and met the Britons at a place called Fethanleag. According to the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle: ‘This year Ceawlin and Cutha fought against the Britons at the place which is called Fethan-leag, and there was Cutha slain; and Ceawlin took many towns, and spoils innumerable; and wrathful he thence returned to his own.’
Traditionally this has often been recorded as a Saxon victory, usually by citing the taking of towns and spoils. However, when we compare this entry to the previous victory at Deorham, the Chronicle is uncharacteristically coy about what towns these were, or indeed about who, if anyone, Ceawlin had defeated.
Instead there are two inclusions which seem highly significant. In the first instance there is the death of Cutha, Ceawlin’s brother. We have seen that in previous victories Ceawlin had won, Cutha (particularly if we equate him with the otherwise unknown Cuthwine) was a constant fixture at his side. Without knowledge of Ceawlin having any sons, it is even possible that Cutha was the Atheling, or next in line to the throne. His loss would have been a significant blow to Ceawlin and his ambitions for the still fledgling Wessex.
Cutha’s death may also tell us something about how the battle itself went. We would probably expect Cutha to be in the main body of the Saxon forces, surrounded by his own retainers and the best of the, by now quite experienced, soldiers drawn up for the campaign. If he was slain in such an environment it perhaps paints a picture of an incredibly-hard fought battle between comparably sized and skilled forces.
Additionally there is the closing line, about wrathfully returning to his own. While this can be translated in different ways, the common thread is that Ceawlin seems to have retreated back into his own territory. This seems a strange thing for a previously expansionist leader to do in the wake of a victory.
When analysed in this way, the chances that Fethanleag was a compelling Saxon victory as at Deorham seem remote. Instead, it appears that Ceawlin and his forces met a unified force that could rival their own and, after a fierce battle, were pushed back into their previously conquered territory. Potentially this battle may have occurred at the end of a period of raiding by the Saxon forces, explaining the mention of booty and conquest, if indeed there is any truth to it beyond face-saving on the part of the chroniclers.
The site of the battle is uncertain; many of the battles in the Chronicle use place names that were current at the time of writing (not always the same as the events themselves) but which have been superseded. This is particularly noticeable in the south-west, where a large number of Brythonic place names are mentioned or used that have disappeared into English or Norman-French names over time.
Two popular suggestions are Fretherne in Gloucestershire, obviously largely stemming from the similarity in naming, and Stoke Lyne in Oxfordshire. There are, however, obvious problems with both of these sites.
To eliminate the least likely first: Stoke Lyne is extremely far north and east when we consider that the overall push seems to have been westwards. Further, it’s entirely possible that it was already part of the Wessex heartland even before the battle of Deorham, but almost certainly was afterwards. The main point in its favour is a twelfth-century document recording a wood called ‘Fethealee’ in the town [Ellis, 1994]. However, this seems a thin justification given the other factors mentioned, particularly as this may just be a portmanteau of two Old English words ‘Firth’ and ‘Lea’, which would be something akin to a clearing within the woodland. (‘Firth’ is usually a suffix so this is not a perfect explanation; however, the link with woodlands makes it a compelling one.)
Fretherne seems to have a better claim in this context then, as it is west of Wessex’s traditional heartlands in the Thames Valley and the name obviously retains some similarities. However, Fretherne is perched on the southern side of the Severn Estuary right at the mouth of the Bristol Channel. It is close to due north of Bath, which was one of the towns seized after Deorham.
Given the importance usually attached to Deorham for severing the Britons of the south-west from their cousins elsewhere, it seems unusual for Ceawlin to have to move against a location so close to that border. It would also have made his border with the Britons into an unusual salient, which seems unlikely given the scope of victory at Deorham.
It is of course possible that, if the battle did occur at Fretherne, then it reveals an interesting alternative to the traditional interpretation – specifically, that this may represent a counter-attack by the Britons which pushed back into land seized by Wessex. However, given the lack of supporting information beyond the naming similarity it is perhaps safer to accept the simpler explanation that neither of these sites represents the actual location of Fethanleag.
In order to better site the battle, we have to consider the position of Wessex and Ceawlin following his victory at Deorham. As previously noted, the seizing of Bath and the other cities meant he now effectively controlled large stretches of the former Roman road network, including sections of the Fosse Way which led westward towards Exeter.
Roman roads were vitally important for the movement of goods and people long after the Romans left, with much of our modern road network still incorporating sections of these ancient trackways. Roads also served a distinctly military purpose: an army attempting to move cross-country would make slow progress and risked being separated or surprised by their opponents, while moving over the wide Roman roads (originally built by the legions for this express purpose) would be safer and logistically much easier.
The importance of the road to the Saxon military mind can be seen later in the period with the construction and maintenance of Herepaths, literally ‘army (Here) roads’, becoming of increasing importance from the reign of Alfred the Great onwards [Gelling, 1993]. So it seems logical that Ceawlin, invested in expanding his kingdom westward as we have already seen, would use the Fosse Way from Bath to move his army and attempt to bring the Britons to battle as he had done at Deorham.
Following the route of the Roman road towards Ilchester, there are no obvious place names to match with Fethanleag, but, as we have discussed, this is often the case when relying purely on place-name evidence. It is instead prudent to consider the problem from the perspective of Ceawlin’s opponents. They have a hostile army moving overland into their territory, likely focused on the Roman road but ranging from it to do some pillaging and raiding along the way. In order to stop them you need to face them in battle, ideally at a place of your choosing, where you have the advantage but they need to engage with you to advance.
As it happens, there is an ideal site around 16 miles from Bath just outside the modern town of Shepton Mallet. At a place called Beacon Hill, the Fosse Way climbs steeply up a slope and cuts through a series of ancient barrow mounds surrounded by an earth bank enclosure. Why the Romans would go to such trouble to build their road through the burial site is unknown, though it strongly suggests the site at one point held either political or religious significance to the Durotriges and the Romans wanted to make some kind of point.
The hill today is also surrounded by woodland, as the land was never enclosed, and it is easy to imagine this also being the case in the sixth century, potentially explaining the place name if we assume it does have a similar root meaning as Fethanlee in Oxfordshire.
The hill and the enclosure atop it would have made an ideal defensive location for the Britons, while the presence of the road cutting through it would have placed it squarely on Ceawlin’s path. More than that, by sitting astride the road and challenging Ceawlin to come to them it’s possible that the Britons were attacking Ceawlin’s pride as a warrior. In the Early Medieval world a loss of face, such as refusing such a battle, could be deadly for a royal’s ongoing ambitions.
There is one final feature of the barrows on Beacon Hill that is worth mentioning, and that is a single standing stone which seems otherwise out of place on the monument. While it is possible this was an original feature of the monument, it has also been suggested that it was moved to its present site at a later time. While it may be tempting to assign this significance as a marker of victory, such as is theorised with the Pictish Ablernmoe stones, it is impossible to say for sure. However, it is significant that stone markers like this were often used by Early Medieval armies as rally points, such as King Alfred gathering his forces at ‘Egbert’s Stones’ prior to challenging the Danes at Ethandun. Therefore this perhaps adds some weight to the idea of Beacon Hill as a potential militarily significant site for the native Britons.
As such, Beacon Hill seems to be the most likely location for Fethanleag, although, as noted, we can never be entirely sure due to the changing nature of the landscape over time.
The final question we should consider before moving on from Fethanleag is who exactly made up Ceawlin’s opponents. As is standard for the Chronicle, the opponent is just listed as the Britons or, often, as Wealas or ‘foreigner/Latin speaker’. This makes identifying them with any level of certainty extremely difficult. Of course, there are geographical clues – as we have already seen, the battle was taking place in territory normally associated with the Durotriges tribe – though, as discussed, we have very little information about what form, if any, the tribe and its organisation took in the sixth century.
The lack of information provokes many questions. Chief among them is whether the inhabitants of the region had the military power to defeat Ceawlin and his forces alone, or whether there is reason to believe they may have had additional support from their neighbours in the west – Dumnonia.
When considering this question we first need to look at the situation from the perspective of the south-west Britons following Deorham. The post-Roman status quo they had perhaps become used to – minor Briton powers to their east and a chaotic collection of small polities in the south-east beyond that – had been replaced in a handful of years with a single Anglo-Saxon kingdom suddenly pushing westward, with a number of other similar powers taking the place of those small and easily ignored polities.
This would have been a serious cause for concern for both the Durotriges and the Dumnonians, even with their distance from events. It is not unreasonable to think that Dumnonia, likely to be the richer and more powerful of the two as we have seen previously, would look to support its longstanding neighbours to avoid having to confront the Saxons closer to home.
Certainly, at the end of the sixth century and start of the seventh there seems to be an injection of funds into the region, as this is when Glastonbury Abbey was first founded. Significantly, evidence of this early date of occupation includes imported Mediterranean pottery shards similar to those found in high-status sites throughout Dumnonia. While this doesn’t mean Dumnonians built the abbey, it does indicate close trade links between the two groups which may have been closer with a single external enemy entering the region.
As such, it could be that Ceawlin found himself confronted with a larger force than that assembled by the three minor kings he’d previously defeated.
A close relationship between the Durotriges and Dumnonians may also help explain some of the missing information about the Durotriges in the post-Roman period. With Wessex pushing from the east and slowly gaining territory, as we shall see, it is possible that eventually the remnants of the Durotriges were incorporated into a single Briton state.
The final evidence for Fethanleag being a Briton victory is the simple fact that it marks the high point of Ceawlin’s ambitions. While the Chronicle is quiet on Wessex for several years, the next entry to feature him is in 591: ‘This year in Britain was a great slaughter in battle at Woddesbeorg, and Ceawlin was expelled.’
It’s interesting to note that in one version of the Chronicle, E, Ceawlin’s foe is identified as the Britons; however, none of the others share this identification. Woddesbeorg or Woden’s Barrow is traditionally identified as Adam’s Grave in Wiltshire, back towards the heartlands of Wessex, which further makes a Briton enemy seem unlikely (again, excepting a major counter-offensive).
Barbara Yorke [1990] suggests instead that Ceawlin’s opponent was his nephew Ceol, Cutha’s son. Certainly in 590 there is an entry declaring that Ceol reigned for five years, and although it is not specified where he reigned it fits neatly in the gap between Ceawlin and the reign of his other nephew, Ceolwulf.
It’s possible that the loss at Fethanleag and the death of Cutha weakened Ceawlin’s position to the point that, when his nephews reached maturity, they were able to usurp his throne. This suggests Cutha may have been even more critical of Ceawlin’s early successes than is usually credited.
There is little else we can say about the conflict between Wessex and the Britons for a few years, other than it does appear to be hotly contested. Returning to the Chronicle, the entry for 597 reads:
This year Ceolwulf began to reign over the West-Saxons; and he fought and contended incessantly against either the Angles, or the Welsh, or the Picts, or the Scots. He was the son of Cutha, Cutha of Cynric, Cynric of Cerdic, Cerdic of Elesa, Elesa of Esla, Esla of Gewis, Gewis of Wig, Wig of Freawine, Freawine of Frithogar, Frithogar of Brond, Brond of Beldeg, Beldeg of Woden. This year Augustine and his companions came to the land of the Angles.
The range of Ceolwulf’s enemies is interesting, although it is likely that both the Picts and Scots in this case are representative of Irish raiders attacking Wessex from its newly made border on the Severn Estuary, in the same way they had raided the older Brythonic kingdoms. Certainly the entry paints a picture of an unsettled period, and it doesn’t seem that the Saxon expansion was going uncontested or, as the traditional narrative holds, the Britons were busying themselves fleeing over the sea to Brittany.
Also of note to us is the arrival of Augustine in Britain. Augustine, known after his death as the ‘Apostle of the English’, was sent on behalf of Pope Gregory to convert the Anglo-Saxons to Christianity. He arrived in Athelbert’s court in Kent and was successful in converting the king and his nobles. However, Augustine was unable to assert his authority (granted by the Pope) over the native Briton clergy despite meeting with some of them near the borderlands of Wessex in Somerset around the turn of the seventh century. This was the beginning of a friction that continued, in the south-west at least, right through the Early Medieval period as the British clergy refused to change their own traditions to match those of Rome.
Bede, writing about these incidents, lays the blame squarely at the Britons’ feet and adds it to an overall narrative of anger against the native Church for not doing more to bring the Saxons to Christ. This does, of course, somewhat ignore the hostile relations in place between Britons and Saxons and the fact that, particularly in the Roman Church, the hierarchy of bishops had an intensely political element to it. Had the Britons accepted Augustine, it might have been seen as an acceptance of Aethelbert as king too.
Of note is that Bede records Augustine admonishing the Britons that, because they did not work to convert the Saxons, they would be ruined by the Anglo-Saxons. In Bede’s narrative this prophecy comes true when Aethelfrith of Northumbria wins the Battle of Chester in the early seventh century and slaughters 1,200 Briton monks (the Chronicle makes this number 200 Briton priests).
While this anecdote doesn’t immediately affect our tale, the obviously exaggerated detail of the monks’ deaths does have a parallel in our own narrative, so it is worth including as it provides greater context for the provision of large numbers of casualties.
There seems to have been a quiet period in the West Country for a time, with Ceolwulf more concerned with conflicts with the South Saxons and other Germanic groups rather than with attempting to push further west.
Eventually Ceolwulf dies and is replaced by Cynegils, his nephew, in 611. Three years later, the Chronicle records the next confrontation between Wessex and the Western Britons: ‘614. This year Cynegils and Cuichelm fought at Beandune, and slew two thousand and sixty-five Welshmen.’
This, on the face of it, is obviously a crushing defeat of the native Britons. However, for such a defeat, remarkably little seems to change in the actual landscape of south-west Britain. Certainly there is no mention of towns conquered, and there doesn’t appear to be any great expansion of English place names directly linked to this event. Further, no named kings or significant heroes seem to have died and there is no mention of it in Welsh or Irish sources.
Given that some estimates of Norman casualties at the Battle of Hastings [Marren, 2004] only just approach this figure following one of the largest battles of the age including a large and multinational force, it seems highly suspect.
Looking at it in the light of Bede’s narrative of large-scale punishment of the Britons, with which the scribes of the Chronicle are likely to have been very familiar, it seems more likely that the figure was arrived upon precisely because it sounded impressive and better served the concept of the slothful Britons receiving a sort of heavenly retribution.
Despite this somewhat obvious piece of propaganda, Beandun is often read entirely at face value as a massive Saxon victory which effectively delivered Devon into the hands of Wessex. As discussed previously, this is somewhat typical of historians largely interested in the later history of Wessex and the Vikings who wish to accelerate the narrative. Morris [1995] and Hoskins and Finberg [1970] suggest Bindon near Axford in Devon as the site of the battle, largely relying on the naming similarity and ignoring the geographical challenges this would present in the narrative of the Chronicle.
If Beandun did occur it was probably a victory for the West Saxons over a significant force of Britons, perhaps even the remnants of the Durotriges’ forces, that nevertheless does not seem to have conferred a speedy advance. Certainly, it would appear that the West Saxons are still on the eastern side of the Parrett judging by the subsequent battles and entries in the Chronicle, which we will shortly move on to. This would suggest that the most likely area for the battle is once more somewhere in central Somerset, near the Mendips and south of Bath, although this time there is not enough supplemental evidence to attempt to discern a potential location.
In the short term there appears to be a lull in activity in the west (also somewhat undermining any ideas of a sweeping, expansive victory, as this would have driven Wessex right into the heartland of Dumnonia) as inter-Saxon politics took over. Both Edwin of Northumbria and Penda of Mercia asserted their authority over Wessex at different times, and the overall politicking probably served to refocus attention on the main English regions. It’s worth noting that Edwin’s overlordship also included an invasion and, supposedly, the slaughter of several West Saxon kings (presumably meaning under kings of various regions like Sussex). St Birinus does arrive in 635 and is allowed to preach freely in Wessex, eventually converting the kingdom to the Roman Church.
It’s not until 652 that the Chronicle mentions events in the West Country again, with a short entry: ‘This year Kenwalh fought at Bradford on the Avon.’
There is no opponent named, and it’s certainly true that Kenwalh had no shortage of Saxon enemies – he would spend many years in exile having been driven out by the Mercian king Penda – but the site of the battle at Bradford upon Avon (Bradanforda be Afene), just south of Bath and right in the border country we have consistently identified between Wessex and the Britons suggests that he was fighting against the Britons.
Interestingly, the site of the battle being so close to Bath, coupled with the misfortunes that had befallen Wessex over the course of the recent decades, might suggest a counter-attack by the Britons that was threatening to seize back lands lost following Beandun. Regardless of the reasons for the battle, the lack of any particular accolades suggests it did not necessarily go well for the Saxons, highlighting that the western Britons (whether Durotrigan, Dumnonian or a confederation of both) were still able to effectively resist Wessex’s expansion.
The fairly firm citing of the battle at a place with a clear place name evolution also puts paid to any claim for earlier battles taking place in Devon. There is simply too large a gap between the Somerset sites on the one hand, which have the advantage of a consistent and frequent occurrence, and sites quoted in eastern Devon which would mean crossing significant natural barriers (the Somerset Levels, the Mendips, The Quantocks, Exmoor) for both to be true. As such, we must again accept that Beandun is simply a lost place name somewhere in Somerset.
In 658 it was Kenwalh’s turn to take the offensive, and he did:
This year Kenwal fought with the Welsh at Pen, and pursued them to the Parret. This battle was fought after his return from East-Anglia, where he was three years in exile. Penda had driven him thither and deprived him of his kingdom, because he had discarded his sister.
The location of the battle appears in the Old English text as Peonnum, another place without an obvious parallel in modern nomenclature; however, in some translations (such as that given here) it is replaced by the Welsh toponym ‘Pen’, which somewhat unhelpfully simply means ‘hill’ (i.e. the Pennines). Interestingly, the E version of the Chronicle notes the location as Penselwood, a site in Somerset that fits the timeline extremely well and which many scholars, though not all, now embrace.
Even if we do not accept Penselwood, though this seems the most likely spot, there is certainly no shortage of hills in that part of Somerset. By driving the Britons to the Parrett, Kenwalh had managed to significantly shift the border, however, achieving gains that hadn’t been matched since Ceawlin’s time. At this point the Durotriges must have been absorbed into either Dumnonia or Wessex, as the territory west of the Parrett is traditionally viewed to be Dumnonian. However, no king is mentioned as being defeated, nor indeed a major city taken; this seems to further support the possibility that the Durotriges had, at some point during the long interludes between fighting, become more closely integrated with Dumnonia to the point that they were essentially viewed as a single entity.
Despite the mention of the Parrett, usually proposed to be the eastern border of Dumnonia proper, there have still been proponents of a location in Devon, such as Hoskins and Finberg [1970] who propose Pinhoe in Devon, a modern-day suburb of Exeter. This is clearly extremely far west given what appears to be the pattern of events leading up to the battle. However, Hoskins and others tie themselves to a seventh-century date for the annexation of Devon in order to match timelines with the life of a Saxon saint – St Boniface.
Boniface is a fairly important figure in Early Medieval Christianity. He would eventually take on a mission to Germany and the Netherlands, the homelands of his ancestors, and attempt to convert them to Christianity. Eventually he would meet his end (so the story goes) at the hands of pagans whom he’d offended by cutting down their sacred oak. According to his official biography, the Vitae Boniface, compiled by his disciple Willibald sometime after his death in 754, Boniface was born in 675 somewhere in Britain to an Anglo-Saxon family. He was sent to a monastery at Exanceaster when he was a boy, at a time when Wulfhard was the abbot there.
The use of the English term for Exeter, rather than the Briton Isca or Isca Dumnorum, as well as the presence of an abbot with a Saxon name, is therefore used as proof of West Saxon control of the city at this time.
Later biographies of Boniface would take this a step further by placing his birthplace at Credeonstow or Crediton in Devon. However, this aspect is missing from the original Vitae and, as such, appears to be a later invention most likely tied to the Bishopric or See of Crediton, which was created at the start of the tenth century. Having a saint tied to the town would have no doubt been a great benefit for the legitimacy of the bishopric and the religious community around it.
However, there are problems with this interpretation, most notably that even if we assume the Vitae was completed in the year after the saint’s death, this is still almost fifty years after the time Boniface would have entered monastic life. The author of the Vitae is likely to have written his work with a contemporary audience in mind rather than an eye for historic detail. As such, all we can say for sure is that Exeter’s name was changed at some point in the latter half of the eighth century – we certainly cannot say for sure that it had changed in the seventh.
The other issue is the assumption that the monastery he entered was necessarily a Saxon one. It is worth bearing in mind at this point that the official conversion of the West Saxons only occurred in 635, and that the majority of Church apparatus was based around the diocesan seat at Dorchester. While the bishop’s seat will eventually move to Winchester, both of these locations are very far to the east of Exeter.
The western seat of Sherborne, still a good way from Exeter, won’t actually be founded until 705, suggesting the Wessex Church was expanding slowly from the east and certainly would not be in the position to support a monastery in what would, even with Hoskins’s very generous timeline, be the very hinterland of their royal patron’s power.
Instead, it seems more likely that the monastery Boniface entered, if it was indeed in Exeter, was probably a long-standing Briton institution. Indeed, we know from another saint, St Aldhelm of Malmesbury, that there were at least some institutions of that nature in Dumnonia and Cornwall in this time period. He notes a particular incident in his poetic letter, the Carmen Rhythmicum, when he was travelling ‘Through Dire Dumnonia and bare Cornubia’ and had stopped at a religious house in the region during a storm.
While celebrating matins, indicating this was likely to be a monastery, the storm blew the roof off the church and caused significant damage to the building. There are several things about this incident which are of interest, both to our general narrative and to the specific timelines at question in the late seventh century.
Firstly, as mentioned, it reinforces the presence of religious houses in the Brittonic west at the time that Boniface would likely be receiving his initial religious training. Secondly, it shows that – while the British and English Churches had significant differences in practice for which we must revisit Aldhelm shortly – there was still communication and even travel between the two institutions during this time. This means that finding a Saxon abbot, such as Wulfhard, in a theoretically Briton monastery is not only entirely possible but also extremely likely.
Particularly if we bear in mind the already noted slow expansion of the Wessex Church, it may well be that early Christian adopters in the westernmost regions of the new West Saxon kingdom were drawn to Briton institutions in the practice of their faith. This would counter the narrative Bede supposes of a standoffish Briton Church, but would perhaps make more sense on a more local level where issues of control and baptismal precedence were not as pressing. This also adds to the image of a Dumnonian state that is more outward looking and engaged in trade, which we have seen throughout this book.
The final item to consider is the distinction Aldhelm draws between Dumnonia and Cornwall. This may indicate, as the archaeology supports, that the infrastructure of the kingdom was different across the two regions, or may suggest a longstanding tribal differentiation underneath the overall Dumnonian banner.
This is also the first separate mention of Cornwall within the Early Medieval period, as well as being amongst the clearest specifically dealing with the inhabitants of the south-west peninsula. Older references, particularly pre-Roman ones, can sometimes be difficult to place, the root word ‘Corn’ simply meaning horn or spit of land. Thus there are many candidate sites for Cornovii references. Having this clear identifier of a potential separate Cornish identity can help flesh out the complex identities of Early Medieval people that we have only touched on earlier; it further supports the idea of layered identities where a national, regional and sub-regional identity may all mix in a given individual.
With the higher occurrence of finds and significant high-status infrastructure in Cornwall, it also raises interesting questions around how and where the two sub-regions identified by Aldhelm became united as a single Dumnonian kingdom. It is of course possible that Aldhelm is actually identifying two separate political units rather than merely regions. However, given the way he addresses his later letter to King Geraint, as Lord of the Western Kingdom, it seems unlikely that the intention is to identify two separate realms but instead may refer to a more geographic or traditional separation.
There is further support for a Dumnonia of small tribal units from an earlier source, the Life of St Samson, which is a Breton hagiography for the eponymous saint. During his travels from Demetae in Wales to Brittany, he passes through Cornwall and instructs the followers of a local war leader in proper Christian practices. The title of the war leader is the Latin Comes, which bears with it an assumption of deputised power rather than independence. This may suggest a Dumnonia made up of many separate pieces united under a ‘high king’ or overlord in a manner similar to Irish examples.
With that in mind, however, the inclusion of both regions as areas to journey through indicates that a significant amount of territory is still outside of West Saxon control, making a seizure of Devon extremely unlikely.
There is one final battle to close out this early stage of conflict between Dumnonia and Wessex, and it is another ambiguous entry in the Chronicle about which much has been made. The entry is for 682: ‘In this year Centwine drove the Britons to the sea.’
As we have seen throughout, the level of ambiguity in the Chronicle can lead to dozens of interpretations for this entry. For those seeking to accelerate the timeline for the conquest of Devon this has been taken to mean a full-scale sweeping away of the old Briton order. In The Westward Expansion of Wessex, Hoskins and Finberg [1970] put it as follows:
The Battle of 682 was fought in a place which will never be identified, but the phrase about driving the Britons as far as the sea becomes clear and unequivocal if we locate this unnamed battle somewhere west of the Taw and north of Dartmoor. As a result of a crushing defeat, the British were pushed westwards to the very coast of the Atlantic, into what is now north-east Cornwall. With the battle of 682 the West Saxons virtually completed their conquest of the eastern half of Dumnonia, the part that later became the county of Devon.
Not only does this ignore the evidence so far discussed which places Wessex at the Parrett, but it is also self-defeating if taken at face value. If we accept his premise of a location north of Dartmoor and west of the Taw, and select Hatherleigh in Devon and go straight west towards Bude on the north Cornish coastline, then it is a distance of 20 miles as the crow flies.
Twenty miles of, particularly at the time, extremely rough terrain is an extraordinary distance to drive a defeated army in the literal way Hoskins interprets. This would be true for almost any force, but particularly given the more limited use of cavalry employed by Anglo-Saxon armies when compared to their Briton opponents, at least so far as we can tell in their respective heroic literature.
This rather grandstanding placement and distance also ignores the reality of south-western Britain as a peninsula where you are never particularly far from the sea.
In an effort to combat this narrative, then, we have to look again at potential other placements for the conflict in 682. In the first instance we need to consider whether Centwine is likely to have been fighting the Dumnonians at all. In this we are not aided particularly by the Chronicle’s use of Welsh, or Wealas to use the Old English. This is a general term for a foreigner or, potentially, Latin-speaker. With earlier entries this ambiguity makes events harder to place due to the more chaotic nature of politics in the centuries following Roman withdrawal. However, by this point the status quo of Anglo-Saxon kingdoms had become more formalised, and while Wessex pushed westward they were equally pressured from their northern and eastern borders, particularly by the powerful kingdoms of Mercia and Northumbria.
There is, of course, the possibility that the foreigners in question were Irish raiders, as have been mentioned in the past both in Dumnonia and early entries of the Chronicle. However, in general the Wealas term seems to be used only in relation to native Britons, with the Irish sometimes interchangeably referred to as Irish, Picts or Scots, but not Wealas. This potentially supports a hypothesis that the term is more complex than simply ‘foreigner’.
So when this is all borne in mind, Dumnonia does seem the natural opponent for the battle in 682. We can then use the Parrett as a potential starting point, given its identification earlier in the Chronicle and the natural border it provides. The terrain surrounding the Parrett is extremely rough and difficult to move through, even in the modern day. Flooding in 2015 swamped the major routes through the region and effectively cut off Devon and Cornwall from the rest of the UK. As we have seen, modern roads are often reflective of longer-standing historical networks, so this would likely have been a fairly common occurrence in earlier ages.
The Somerset Levels in particular would have provided a significant natural barrier in the region, while the Quantocks similarly prevent easy movement through the region. This means there are only two routes that it is likely someone would attempt to move significant forces through, whether the aggressor in this case was Dumnonian or Saxon.
To eliminate the least likely first, it is possible that forces could be moved along the southern coastline and then upwards from there once the terrain on either side becomes more favourable. This has the advantage of being potentially more stable and also allowing for support from ships, if they were available. However, it would mean, in both cases, leaving a path potentially open towards an important site, Glastonbury Abbey and Isca Dumnorum both being within a few days’ march of the Parrett. For Wessex it would also mean moving forces southwards at a time when pressure from Mercia and potentially from Kent is building.
It therefore seems more likely that the conflict would have occurred somewhere close to the other path, the gap between the Quantocks and Blackdown hills where Taunton now sits. This is also where most modern routes, including the M5 motorway, now cross from Somerset into Devon. When we look at sites in this region – Bridgewater, for example – the claims about driving the Britons into the sea also make a good deal more sense. On the one hand the Levels, being at least partially salt water estuarine on their northern end, may have been considered close enough to sea by the distant writers of the Chronicle, making any battle in the region that ended in a rout likely to result in the losers being ‘driven to the sea’.
On the other hand, if we take the phrase entirely at face value, then we can get a distance of around 4–5 miles directly north before we reach the Irish Sea. This is obviously a far more manageable distance to pursue a foe if we are being entirely literal. Certainly it is more realistic than covering 20 miles of rough ground.
Whatever the exact details were, the battle in 682 marks an ending to this initial chapter of confrontation between Wessex and Dumnonia. While the Saxon kingdom has not always had things its own way, it has inexorably drawn closer to Dumnonia year on year, swallowing territory that was once in the hands of seemingly friendly neighbours and potentially client states.
Wessex had, in the minds of the Dumnonian elite at least, transformed from a distant and ill-defined collection of newcomers to the largest single threat to their continued ability to rule and trade as they had been doing since the time of the Romans. With the conflict now at their doorstep, they would have been forced to act in order to preserve their own interests.
At the same time, as Aldhelm’s ill-fated journey and the Saxon abbot of Isca Dumnorum show us, the newfound closeness of the two states was not only a source of conflict. It was also bringing together both sides and leading to an increasing exchange of people and ideas. The very first sparks of cooperation may well have emerged from this fractious period.
To understand how the Dumnonian elite reacted to this new situation, we need to look at perhaps the best documented Dumnonian king we have, Geraint of Dumnonia, and how his actions affected the wider relationship between the two states.