Identity Formation and Diversity in the Early Medieval Baltic and Beyond Communicators and...

Identity Formation and Diversity in the Early Medieval Baltic and Beyond

The Northern WorldNorth Europe and the Baltic c. 400–1700 ad.

Peoples, Economics and Cultures

Editors

Jón Viðar Sigurðsson (Oslo)Ingvild Øye (Bergen)

Piotr Gorecki (University of California at Riverside)Steve Murdoch (St. Andrews)Cordelia Heß (Gothenburg)

Volume 75

The titles published in this series are listed at brill.com/nw

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Identity Formation and Diversity in the Early Medieval Baltic

and Beyond

Communicators and Communication

Edited by

Johan CallmerIngrid GustinMats Roslund

LEIDEN | BOSTON

With support from the Bank of Sweden Tercentenary Foundation.

Cover illustration: Finnish firesteel depicting two horsemen, Skuttunge parish, Eke, Uppland. The Swedish History Museum finds nr SHM 27741.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Callmer, Johan, editor of compilation. | Gustin, Ingrid, editor of compilation. | Roslund, Mats, editor of compilation.Title: Identity formation and diversity in the early medieval Baltic and beyond : communicators and communication / edited by Johan Callmer, Ingrid Gustin, Mats Roslund.Description: Leiden ; Boston : Brill, [2017] | Series: The northern world : North Europe and the Baltic, c. 400-1700 AD : peoples, economics and cultures, ISSN 1569-1462 ; volume 75 | Includes bibliographical references and index.Identifiers: LCCN 2016036861| ISBN 9789004292178 (hardback : acid-free paper) | ISBN 9789004328471 (e-book)Subjects: LCSH: Baltic States--Ethnic relations--History. | Baltic States--Social life and customs. | Ethnicity--Baltic States--History--To 1500. | Cultural pluralism--Baltic States--History--To 1500. | Intercultural communication--Baltic States--History--To 1500. | Baltic States--History. | Kievan Rus--History. | Baltic States--Antiquities.Classification: LCC DK502.63 .I34 2017 | DDC 947.9/01--dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016036861

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Contents

List of Illustrations VIIList of Contributors xi

1 Identity Formation and Diversity: Introduction 1Johan Callmer, Ingrid Gustin and Mats Roslund

2 Societies East and West of the Baltic Sea: Prehistoric Culture Contacts Revisited 17

Marika Mägi

3 Riding to the Afterworld: Burying with Horses and Riding Equipment in Estonia and the Baltic Rim 48

Valter Lang

4 A Site of Intersection: Staraya Ladoga, Eastern Silver, and Long-Distance Communication Networks in Early Medieval Europe 76

Søren M. Sindbæk

5 Creating a Cultural Expression: On Rus’ Identity and Material Culture 91

Charlotte Hedenstierna-Jonson

6 “Varangian Christianity” and the Veneration of Anglo-Saxon and Scandinavian Saints in Early Rus’ 107

John H. Lind

7 The Rise of the Dominion of the ar-Rus in the Northern Parts of Eastern Europe, Seventh to Ninth Centuries a.d.: A Case of Culture Construction 136

Johan Callmer

8 Bringing “the Periphery” into Focus: Social Interaction between Baltic Finns and the Svear in the Viking Age and Crusade Period (c.800 to 1200) 168

Mats Roslund

Contentsvi

9 Contacts, Identity, and Hybridity: Objects from South-western Finland in the Birka Graves 205

Ingrid Gustin

10 Swords from the Carolingian Empire to the Baltic Sea and Beyond 259

Anne Stalsberg

11 Dirham Hoards from the Gulf of Finland Region 281Tuukka Talvio

Index 293

List of Illustrations

Figures

2.2 Reconstruction of Tõnija Tuulingumäe Roman Period tarand-grave, Saaremaa 24

2.3 Viking Age stone-circle graves at Piila, Saaremaa 312.4 Three examples of about 30 Estonian sword hilts and more than 30 spear-head

sockets decorated in Scandinavian animal styles 333.1 One of the typical find complexes of horse equipment from the island of Saare-

maa (a stone grave at Randvere) 493.2 Two examples of pendants with impressions of horses from the areas of the

eastern Finno-Ugrians 523.3 Pendants of eastern Finno-Ugrians representing female riders 533.4 A picture-stone at Klinte Hunninge, Gotland 613.5 A picture-stone at Alskog Tjängvide 623.6 An appliqué on a felt carpet from the fifth barrow at Pazyryk, Altai, fifth–fourth

centuries b.c. 633.7 A dedication relief from Yevpatoria, the Crimea, second century ad 633.8 Investiture scene from Sveshtari, Guinina Moguila, Balkan Peninsula, fourth–

third centuries b.c. 645.2 Mounts from the belt-set from Birka’s garrison. Each mount display a post-

Sasanian palmetto motif closely related to Volga Bulgar design 985.3 Reconstruction of an archer with eastern equipment, based on the archaeologi-

cal finds from Birka 995.4 Hilt from a sword of Petersen’s type D with Borre-style ornament. Found in

Gnezdovo, Smolensk, Russia 1017.3 Plan of the bottom of sopka 14: I at Pobedishche close to the former St

Nicholas monastery to the south of Staraya Ladoga. Excavation by Petrenko 1974–78 144

7.4 “Big house” at Zemlyanoe Gorodishche at Staraya Ladoga, excavated by Rav-donikas in 1947 and 1950 on level E3:2 (c.800) 146

7.5 Compound of contemporary buildings at Zemlyanoe Gorodishche, Staraya Ladoga 147

7.6 Pottery of Ladoga type from the settlement at Ryurikovo Gorodishche 1497.7 Hair ornament (decoration for tresses) typical of the people buried in the

sopki 1527.8 Neck ring of Glazov type (bronze) excavated by Kivikoski in 1959, barrow 49,

Kvarnbacken, Larsas, Saltvik Parish, Åland Islands (Finland) 160

List of Illustrationsviii

7.9 Finds of neck rings of Glazov type in northern Europe 1618.2 Regional divisions of Finland according to Jussi-Pekka Taavitsainen. Prehistoric

and historic regions correspond to general differences in choice of brooches for clothing (Taavitsainen 1990, p. 162, fig. 50). A higher resolution regional division can be seen in Sami Raninen’s and Anna Westman’s article “Finland as a part of the ‘Viking World’” 174

8.4 Round brooches of Baltic-Finnic D and E type from Sigtuna 1838.5 Strike-a-light with two averted horsemen from Tuna in Alsike, Uppland 1848.6 Karelian tortoise-shaped brooch of type H, from Varva in Gästrikland. Twelfth

or thirteenth century a.d. 1858.7 Karelian chain holder from Thorsäng, Mellösa Parish in Södermanland 1858.8 Low-profile Baltic Finnic vessel with convex base, Hemlingby in Valbo Parish,

Gästrikland 1858.9 Three vessels of Baltic-Finnic type found in Sigtuna with high profile and

polished surface 1868.10 Ves’ pendant duck from a grave in the Nunnan block, Sigtuna. Early to

mid-eleventh century a.d. 1878.11 Ves’ miniature bronze spoon blade found in Sigtuna 1888.14 Jewellery found in Gråträsk, northern Sweden. To the left, bronze pendants and

earrings preferred by Ves’ and Zavolochskaya Chud, to the right Sami reproduc-tions in pewter 194

9.3 Penannular brooches with faceted and pegged knobs on the terminals from grave Bj 1053B 218

9.4 Fire-steel with bronze handle in the form of mounted figures from Bj 776 2199.5 Fire-steel from Bj 644 2209.6 Round brooch from Bj 104 2209.7 Bird-shaped object from Bj 759 2209.8 Comb-shaped bronze pendant from Bj 1162 2219.9 Pottery of Baltic Finnish type from Birka, Bj 731 2229.10 Grave Seton vi 24110.1 Chart of variants of Vlfberht signatures and reverse marks. The number of

blades in brackets 26310.2 The phases of the chronology of the sword handles found with Vlfberht blades,

according to Petersen 1919 with adjustments 264

Maps

2.1 Map of the areas discussed 185.1 The Lake Mälaren region of east-central Sweden 96

ixList Of Illustrations

7.1 North-western Russia with important locations and trade routes . The stars mark 8th and 9th century dirham hoards and the black spots Khazar fortified centers of various importance 138

7.2 The distribution of barrows of sopka type in north-western Russia 1428.1 Baltic-Finnic, Volga Finnic and Permian groups between the Baltic Sea and

the Ural Mountains. These groups represent differences in language and material culture and are mentioned in historical sources. Their social content is dynamic, however, and must be seen in the light of interaction with external groups 171

8.3 Settlements, hoards, graves and stray artefact finds in Finland. Distinct agrarian and cattle-breeding landscapes in Finland Proper, Tavastia and Karelia contrast with sparsely populated or uninhabited resource areas further north. However, the territory must be seen as a whole, where resources supplemented each other 177

8.12 Baltic-Finnic artefacts in the Mälaren area cluster in Birka and along the waterway to Uppsala, in the coastal landscape of Uppland, in the northern part of Uppland and in the western part of Lake Mälaren 190

8.13 West European pottery and glass vessels in the Mälaren area from the ninth and tenth centuries a.d. A network along the waterways between Birka and Uppsala is suggested 191

9.1 Map of south-western Finland showing the regions and settlements mentioned in the text 210

9.2 King Valdemar’s sailing route 21210.1 General distribution of the Vlfberht swords (status 2007). Two of the swords

marked in Russia are found in Tatarstan (Volga Bulgaria) to the right of the frame of the map 275

10.2 Vlfberht swords datable to the early phase of the Viking Age. One of the swords marked in Russia is found in Tatarstan (Volga Bulgaria) to the right of the frame of the map 276

10.3 Vlfberht swords datable to the middle phase of the Viking Age. One of the swords marked in Russia is found in Tatarstan (Volga Bulgaria) to the right of the frame of the map 277

10.4 Vlfberht swords datable to the late phase of the Viking Age 278

Tables

9.1 Graves at Birka containing costume details from Finland or showing strong influences from there 217

9.2 Datings of graves containing Baltic Finnish ware. The period designations come from the scholars who dated the objects 225

9.3 The number and the percentage of Birka graves per period dated on the basis of bead sets (Callmer 1977: 155f.) and the percentage of datable graves with Baltic Finnish ware 227

9.4 The number and percentage of graves containing objects originating from or showing heavy influences from Finland in the cemeteries on Björkö. The desig-nations of the cemeteries come from Gräslund 1980 228

9.5 Distribution of Finnish costume details and Baltic Finnish ware between differ-ent grave types in Birka 232

9.6 Number of graves with Finnish costume details or Baltic Finnish pottery in graves where the gender of the buried person has been determined (from Arbman 1943) 234

9.7 Find combinations of Birka graves containing penannular brooches with faceted and pegged knobs 236

List of Illustrationsx

List of Contributors

Johan CallmerPhD (1977), Lund University, is professor emeritus of Humboldt Universität zu Berlin, Germany. He has published on early medieval urbanisation, identities among traders and artisans, as well as Scandinavian expansion into the East: From West to East: The Penetretation of Scandinavians into Eastern Europe ca. 500–900 (Lethielleux, 2000) and Herrschaftsbildung und Machtausübung: die Anfänge der ar-Rus (Rus’) ca. 500–1000 n. (Thorbecke, 2008).

Ingrid GustinPh.D. (2004), Lund University, is a researcher in Historical Archaeology. She has published a monograph and many articles dealing with Birka, Viking Age trade and eastern contacts including Mellan gåva och marknad: handel, tillit och ma-teriell kultur under vikingatid (Almqvist & Wiksell, 2004) and Trade and Trust in the Baltic Sea area during the Viking Age (Maney Publishing, 2015).

Charlotte Hedenstierna-JonsonPhD (2006) Stockholm University, is a researcher at the Swedish History Mu-seum and Stockholm University. She has published articles and anthologies on Viking Age people and identities, and networks of contacts between Scan-dinavia and the East: The Birka warrior: the material culture of a martial society (Stockholm University, 2006) and Close Encounters with the Byzantine Border Zones: On the Eastern Connection of the Birka Warrior (Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2015).

Valter LangPhD (1988), Academy of Sciences of the ussr, Leningrad, is Professor of Ar-chaeology at the University of Tartu, Estonia. He has published monographs and many articles on Estonia, including The Bronze and Early Iron Ages in Esto-nia (Tartu University Press, 2007) and Creating the prehistoric past and modern identity (Tartu University Press, 2015).

John Howard LindPhD, (1993), Copenhagen University, lately of the Centre of Medieval Stud-ies, University of Southern Denmark. He has published on the Finnish lan-guage, Russo-Scandinavian relations, and the Baltic crusades; he co-authored Jerusalem in the North. Denmark and the Baltic Crusades (Brepols, 2012) and

List of Contributorsxii

The “First Swedish Crusade” against the Finns: A Part of the Second Crusade? (Brepols, 2015).

Marika MägiPhD. (1968), Tallinn University, was Professor of Archaeology at that university, and is now senior research fellow at the Center of Medieval Studies. She has published three books and many articles, recently focusing on Viking Age com-munication over the Baltic Sea and eastern Baltic prehistoric societies: At the Crossroads of Space and Time. Graves, Changing Society and Ideology on Saa-remaa (Ösel), 9th–13th centuries ad (Tallinn, 2002), and Bound for the Eastern Baltic: Trade and Centres ad 800–1200 (Maney Publishing, 2015).

Mats RoslundPhD (2001), Lund University, professor of Historical Archaeology at the same university, has published on social identities, Viking and Medieval trade and ceramics such as Guests in the House. Cultural transmission between Slavs and Scandinavians 900 to 1300 ad (Brill, 2007) and At the end of the silver flow. Is-lamic dirhams in Sigtuna and the shrinking Viking network (Archeopress, 2015).

Søren SindbækPhD (2004), Aarhus University, is Professor of Medieval Archaeology at the same university. Previously he was a lecturer at the University of York, uk. He has edited and authored a number of books including Silver Economies, Mon-etisation and Society in Scandinavia ad 800-1100 (Aarhus University Press, 2011) and Aggersborg. The Viking Age Settlement and Fortress (Aarhus University Press, 2014).

Tuukka TalvioPh.D. in archaeology (2002), University of Helsinki, director of the Coin Cab-inet at the National Museum of Finland, and docent of numismatics at the universities of Helsinki and Turku. He has published books and papers on nu-mismatics, heraldry and cultural history: Coins and Coin Finds in Finland ad 800–1200 (University of Helsinki, 2002) and Myntstudier: festskrift till Kenneth Jonsson (Svenska numismatiska föreningen, 2015).

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chapter 1

Identity Formation and Diversity: Introduction

Johan Callmer, Ingrid Gustin and Mats Roslund

The self-identification of peoples and states in the Baltic region is heavily influ-enced by historical templates and stereotypes. Some of these stereotypes have been woven into highly influential national and nationalistic myths, despite the lack of historical evidence supporting them. Especially in the Baltic Sea region, the eastern part of which is commonly referred to as the Scandinavian or Norse cultural sphere, the existence of an all-encompassing, predominant Viking Scandinavian culture can be questioned in light of abundant evidence of intense interaction between East and West, as well as increasing evidence of cultural regionalization and complexity.

The dominant template of the Viking period in mainstream research still tacitly promotes the concept of a particular, homogeneous, and hege-monic Viking culture and of Scandinavian supremacy in the Baltic Sea. In the eastern part of the Baltic region, the reactions to this image of the early his-torical period have varied over the years, from happy acceptance to fierce opposition.

In Sweden, the myth of a homogeneous Scandinavian culture, as well as the myth of an original nation and an original homogeneous Swedish national identity, is traditionally projected onto the Early Middle Ages. In Finland and Estonia, the same general problems connected with early national history are maintained in mainstream research and in a wealth of popular historical literature. In north-west Russia, the main research is still very much occupied with the question of the earliest Slavic presence. This book, in contrast, aims at playing down the national concepts and works towards a new understanding of the early history of the Baltic region, focusing on regional diversity, plural-istic cultural identities, and inter-personal and inter-regional communication.

Due to the character of the available sources, the articles rely heavily on archaeology. Historical texts and sources do however play a considerable role in the analyses; for example, Anne Stalsberg’s chapter uses capitularia from the Carolingian Empire to shed light on the possible export of swords. The period in question can be characterized as proto-historic rather than prehistoric: while certain written sources were produced in the area, the society as such was still not a literate one. Additionally one finds written sources concerning the area but produced by others – visitors, travellers, or learned compilers of

Callmer, Gustin and Roslund2

geographical data. These sources should be understood as biased, with inten-tions deriving from the contemporary political and cultural context.

Though the role played by archaeologists and archaeological research in connection with nation-building has been heavily debated, the majority of archaeological studies are still performed on material located within the bor-ders of a single country; thus, the significance of current national borders is perpetuated, and they are implicitly treated as boundaries separating people long before the nation state came into existence. This book will instead under-take and pick up on research that goes beyond existing national borders, in order to capture interaction between regions. We will investigate in particular how this interaction contributed to regional diversity and to a variety of cultur-al identities within and between regions, some of which cut across current na-tional borders. For many, the trading networks, family ties, and formal partners around the Baltic were no less important parts of the self and cultural identity than were historical affiliations or existing embryonic states. Intermarriage between partners of different groups and regions was common on all levels of society, and one’s group identity was then likely to shift throughout life.

The book focuses on a selected number of regional social agglomerates with different lines of development, different patterns of interaction, and mu-table cultural identities. These social aggregates were located in eastern Cen-tral Sweden, Åland, Estonia, the northern and southern coasts of the Gulf of Finland, and parts of north-west Russia. The regions have different timetables for dynamic social and economic change. People of Finnic and Baltic origin contributed to the development of the Baltic region in several important ways from the late eighth to the thirteenth century. Especially in the north-easternmost parts of the region, strong processes of integration can be studied together with the Slavic expansion to the east and north from the late elev-enth to the thirteenth century in Novgorod, Pskov, and Suzdal’. Members of all groups acted as important trading partners, as families connected to all levels in society, not only aristocratic and royal, and as intermediate agents between the Baltic Sea area and the regions further to the east. Among them cultural and ethnic identities played an important role in the communication process.

Cultural Patterns, Cultural Identity, and Ethnic Identification

A large number of publications and articles were produced from the late 1980s to the late 1990s concerning cultural and ethnic identity. The topic has seen weak theoretical development since then. In this century the discussion has focused on early medieval ethnogenesis, chiefly in western and central Europe,

3Identity Formation And Diversity: Introduction

and the difficulty of detecting this in material culture.1 As an alternative to ethnic identity, other social categories, such as hierarchical relations, have attracted attention in connection with the kingdoms of the Migration Period.2

The authors of this book acknowledge the idea that one side of ethnicity is instrumental, changing, and related mainly to social aggregates rather than to constant large-scale linguistic entities. Several articles in this volume, for exam-ple those by Johan Callmer, and Charlotte Hedenstierna-Jonson, follow these lines of argument. Within the humanities identity is no longer seen as some-thing fixed or something that was forever definitely set. Nationalist histories based on the assumption that present ethnic or national groups correspond to distinct forbearers and territories are being dismantled. The construction of identities is now seen as a process undergoing constant change. Hence, archae-ology has shifted its centre of gravity from categorization to borders, frontiers, and interaction.

Identity as experienced within a group does not necessarily equate to iden-tity as experienced by others. An ethnic concept may be filled with diametri-cally opposite meanings, not infrequently causing misunderstandings to flour-ish among contemporary observers. As archaeologists and historians, we have the important task of preventing these misunderstandings by demonstrating how group affiliation and identity are not permanently fixed, but rather cre-ated, recreated, and filled with new contents and meanings over the years and generations. The challenging question is how these insights can be made operational in an archaeological context.

A fruitful approach to understanding how identities are created is to study cultural patterns, which are based on material similarities within a given group of people. The patterns that emerge may have arisen through intensive communication within the group, making it easy to distinguish it from other groups. Although a number of artefact types overlap in their geographical dis-tribution and boundaries between them are blurred, core areas are still evident for certain stylistic features. Examples include the ring brooches with faceted and pegged terminals that have a clear centre of gravity in south-west Finland from the ninth to the eleventh century, and the polished Baltic Finnish pottery that has a strong distribution in today’s Finland and Estonia.3 The communi-ties reflected in the cultural pattern may be assumed to be a part of a total

1 Brather 2002; Pohl 2002; Halsall 2003; Bierbrauer 2004; Brather 2004; Burmeister and Müller-Scheeβel 2006; Curta 2006; Bierbrauer 2008; Garipzanov, Geary, and Urbańczyk 2008; Halsall 2010; Curta 2011; Halsall 2011.

2 Brather 2011.3 See Gustin, Roslund this volume.


culture, both material and mental. In this way the totality becomes an expres-sion of a cultural identity.

Based on this contrast of similarity and dissimilarity between core areas, it is possible to go on to capture the parts of material culture that are exposed in order to express an ethnic identity. Whereas cultural identity is the pattern of lifeways an individual acquires within a group, ethnic identity is associated with the activation of signals within this pattern in relation to others whom one perceives as different or who perceive one as different. Ethnic identity may have its foundation in different needs and social processes. It can be a political rallying around shared goals in competition with others, or an attempt to solve internal social problems by stimulating internal interaction or emotional affili-ation. It can manifest itself as a heightened degree of identification expressed in the name of the group, a shared origin myth, or a demand for the right to a territory. Another, less instrumental definition posits ethnic identity as a form of territorially localized community across kinship boundaries. A community maintained in this way over time can be studied to explain how ethnic identity can arise in situations without political rallying.

This analytical separation of cultural identity from ethnic identity is use-ful as a means to make visible the processes of social change. Despite this methodo logical division, the analyses are associated with several problems. Of objectively observable cultural features, ethnic identity is only one possi-ble interpretation. The ability of archaeology to capture an individual’s sense of belonging is also limited. Only trends that have sufficient constancy and strength can be studied with good results. Anything else is, quite simply, im-possible to reach.

Ethnic identity has a twofold character. Fredrik Barth, in his studies of com-petition and intensive interaction in the borderland between Pakistan and Af-ghanistan, observed an instrumental ethnification of groups.4 His perspective, however, must be combined with studies of the acquisition of a habitus during childhood.5 To understand how ethnic identity comes into existence, both the individual’s willingness to change and the structuring normativity of everyday life must be included in the analysis. Identity creation thus becomes twofold. The inertia in the process sets limits to the individual’s creativity within the community. One is born in the group and learns the correct behaviour and a specific style. At the same time, during one’s own lifetime one adds one’s own in-terpretations of the cultural pattern. The temporal perspective is therefore very important. By observing the speed of the change we remain aware that people live in an inert framework, without regenerating an antiquated essentialist view

4 Barth 1969.5 Roosens 1996; Lucy 2005: 98.


of ethnic identity. Archaeology has the potential to capture this process, but this requires well-analysed source material and a very well-developed chronology.

During the period treated in this volume, there was a gradual strengthening of the link between ethnicity and the formation of territorial units. We discern a social process whereby the manipulation of different group identities facili-tated the construction of a growing community over time, from the eighth to the thirteenth century. External and internal stereotyping of the members of the eastern network clarified roles associated with ethnicity and hierarchy. The interaction between small Scandinavian groups, local Finno-Ugrian communi-ties, and a growing group of Slavic-speaking people increased in intensity and resulted in a polity that has subsequently been called Kievan Rus’.

Ethnic identity was thus the social cement both for small groups and for politically-founded territorial units. Both were emotionally constructed socie-ties with an envisaged permanence over time. The difference lay in geographi-cal extent and cultural complexity. It is important to emphasize this because ethnicity cannot simply be linked to territorial supremacy, as a retrospective version of later nations. Ethnic identity need not be bounded in area or fixed in place. Instead it is a boundary-crossing social categorization elevated above sta-tus, hierarchies, profession, gender and age in contact with other groups. “It is aligned to the construct of kinship, albeit larger than the group, clan or lineage”.6

A concept that has enriched the field is intersectionality, which means that the individual carries a multitude of social identities that are activated in the various encounters of everyday life.7 The categorization of people thus becomes extremely process-oriented and situational. The thesis that people even in the past carried and displayed different identities simultaneously is important, despite the difficulties of making it archaeologically operational. Hierarchies, gender, age, ethnicity, and constructed kinship can be considered within the same study. This proves the necessity of accepting social aggre-gates, often of a regional character, such as trading networks, guilds, and social elites, as the starting point for identity studies. It was during the early me-dieval period that many aggregates acquired their still valid shape, and they often functioned as building stones of various social and political units that emerged later in history.

Working with source material that is as multifaceted as possible in the ar-chaeological analysis provides an opportunity to contrast several individual identities with each other. For example, in his chapter John Lind discusses a Scandinavian ethnic group of Orthodox worshippers, a faith that he calls “Varangian Christianity”. Lind argues that Scandinavian individuals with

6 Meskell 2001: 189.7 Meskell 2001: 187ff.; Lucy 2005; Roslund in press.


Orthodox faith functioned as intermediaries when people in the East began to pray to Roman Catholic saints. Ethnic and religious identity among Scan-dinavians had an ecumenical effect and facilitated syncretism in Kievan Rus’ through the political and social importance of these persons.

For this volume, the communicative side of cultural distinctions is impor-tant. When parts of the material culture from one core area are found in an-other core area, we have a hint that a meeting between different social groups has taken place. Cultural boundaries have been crossed directly as a result of people’s conscious choices, or indirectly as an effect of social relations based on those choices. These choices have their background in various levels of in-centive, from the need for exogamy to the exchange of goods. Which of the biological, political, or social motives are direct causes of the contacts is often difficult to distinguish, but certain interpretations can be identified as more likely than others. The most important thing is that they are observable and have generated a need for the recognition and consolidation of identity in the actors. Our reading of the material signals, however, should not be oversimpli-fied, for there is a manipulative element in the identity process, which can strengthen an ethnic identity but also tone it down to ease communication.

Communication

Intensive communication between various social aggregates on the coasts of the Baltic and beyond is not an innovation of the Viking Age but has a much longer history. The general understanding of these communicative networks of the Early Middle Ages as components of a wider Scandinavian system of trade, exchange, and political domination, based on what would today be regarded as an economic rationale, is in our opinion in many ways mislead-ing and certainly not sufficient as an explanation. Communication is essen-tially a social practice in motion. The communication networks in the Baltic integrated various social groups and spread important cultural and economic impulses as well as technical knowledge in all directions. In order to avoid the nationally-oriented research traditions it is essential to reach a more complex understanding of how contacts and relationships between different social aggregates were established, developed, and in some cases institutionalized. It is necessary that archaeology integrate theories of interaction put forward by communication studies and sociology. Of special interest are the ideas of Goffman, Hymes, Barth, Blumer, Tajfel, and Latour.8 They all stress the social

8 Goffman 1956; Hymes 1964; Barth 1969; Blumer 1986 [1969]; Tajfel 1978; Tajfel 1982; Latour 1998; 2005.


and cultural dimension of communication on an everyday basis, and the part material culture plays in this. It is a human trait to stereotype others in an effort to simplify mutual understanding and incite action. In the words of Tajfel, we tend to categorize those we meet, contrast them with the in-group through internal social identification, and finally compare them to ourselves. To facilitate this, materiality is needed.

Material culture in archaeology can be understood as signs and symbols, used more or less intentionally. Material culture may actually be the best source there is for the small-scale stories and varied perspectives, away from the official historiography. As a consequence it may yield essential information about spe-cific communicative situations and practices, about routines as well as about extraordinary events. It is reasonable to think that this material side was espe-cially important in situations where verbal communication was difficult or even impossible, such as between people speaking different languages. This probably was the case in many encounters and exchanges in the Baltic Sea region. Com-munication, communicative networks, and communicative material culture and artefacts may thus be interpreted in terms of social and cultural relations.

Long-distance communication is a characteristic of the time from the eighth to the mid-tenth century.9 During the late tenth and later centuries this pattern changed due to territorialization.10 Studying the communicative networks is particularly important since they show patterns that were largely destroyed in the course of the Middle Ages as a consequence of the Slavicization of Russia, the German incursions into the Baltic states, and the Swedish conquest of Fin-land. Today, when post-national tendencies are increasing, regional networks very similar to the early medieval ones are cast anew.

Names associated with the various ethnic groups acting and communicat-ing in the eastern Baltic area are particularly significant. Seemingly unambigu-ous names of social groups have varied in meaning through the ages, referring to different peoples. Rus’, Varyagi, Finnish, and Slavic groups were present in a shared arena and interacted with one another. Clarifying the term Rus’ is one of the most important tasks for creating a shared set of concepts in the discussion. Rus’ is also a lucid example of how ethnic identity is created through a process.

Ar-Rus, Rus’, and Varangians: An Example of Dynamic Identities

The historical theatre of north-eastern Europe was dominated by political pow-ers of whom we know very little or nothing at all from written sources. Many

9 See Callmer, Gustin, Sindbæk, Talvio this volume.10 See Roslund this volume.


of these powers were small and in some cases probably rather weak in comparison with political entities further south and west. Other powers became strong and influential over time. Often we do not know the actual names of these early powers. Historical written sources provide some information from the twelfth century onwards, but earlier reliable information is scarce.

For several authors in this volume the political development in north- eastern Europe is of great interest, especially the development of pre-Mongol Russia and its predecessors. For those not familiar with the historical names of early Russia, a short explanation may be welcome. The easiest way to create some order is to sketch a chronological sequence. At some time in the middle or second half of the eighth century a political power was established, develop-ing trade links with the Khazar Kaganate of south-eastern Europe before 800. The most informative sources are fragments forming part of what is known as the Caspian collection of Arabic geographical works. These sources, along with Ibn Hordādbeh, call the trading agents of this power ar-Rus. Later Russian sources have nothing to say of this early phase. The name ar-Rus is used in this volume to designate this early period from c.750 to 860.

Some time in the second half of the ninth century this power was over-turned, and an essentially new, more aggressive polity was established. The dominion of this new power was forcefully extended, especially towards the south. Historical sources name this power Rus’. In the tenth century, especially in the second half, there is a process of transition of the Rus’ name from being the established name of this political hierarchy to a wider denomination, also covering inhabitants of the central dominions of the Rus’. Many individuals of Slavic, Baltic, and Finnish descent became Rus’. Both the ar-Rus and the early Rus’ had a distinctive Scandinavian core, but the ethnographical and cultural Scandinavian connotation was fading in the second half of the tenth century and superseded by a Slavic one. The need for a new term for Scandinavians, who still played a considerable role in eastern Europe, was then filled by the term Varangian. Unfortunately, Varangian is not infrequently used in historical and archaeological research as a term for Scandinavians in eastern Europe as early as the eighth century. This is highly misleading.

The Contents of This Book

Marika Mägi points out in her chapter that the historiography of areas on the eastern side of the Baltic Sea has often been influenced by an evolutionistic outlook and by political developments in the historian’s own country. The evo-lutionistic outlook has meant that hierarchical societies are defined as more


advanced. Societies that have a weaker hierarchy or are more collectivist, such as Iron Age societies in the areas that are now Finland and Estonia, have been regarded as underdeveloped. In cases where hierarchization has occurred in these areas, it has been believed that it came from outside.

The heavy influence of modern political development in the eastern Baltic area on the writing of history is obvious to scholars of the region’s prehistoric contacts and communication. The prehistoric influences and contacts that have been highlighted depend on the political situation prevailing at the time in the area, and contemporary leanings to either east or west. Historiography was especially affected during periods when nationalist currents were strong, leading to a desire to downplay external influences.

Mägi investigates how communication and cultural influences affecting ethnic groups in an area that today comprises Finland, Estonia, and Latvia changed over time. The shared feature of the research conducted in the last few decades, according to Mägi, is that the western contacts have generally been overemphasized. The historical survey presented by Mägi shows that there was considerable ethnic and cultural variation among different regions on the eastern side of the Baltic Sea, and that the contacts of the regions var-ied over time. Furthermore, the survey demonstrates that influences not only issued from Scandinavia; this region in turn received influences from the east-ern Baltic.

Valter Lang studies shared outlooks on either side of the Baltic Sea in the Iron Age, to emphasize the long-term contacts that have existed in the region and the occurrence of belief systems that transgress ethnic boundaries. The article uses graves with horses and equestrian equipment in the Baltic area to discuss the shared connotations of the journey to life after death. In west-ern and south-eastern Estonia, on the island of Saaremaa (Ösel), and in south-western Finland we find equestrian equipment and horses in graves from the sixth century a.d. The custom was spread over a broader area, reaching the north coast of Estonia in the seventh and eighth centuries. When a new wave of grave rituals originating in Scandinavia and associated with the horse gained a foothold in the north-eastern parts of the Baltic area in the late tenth century, it was therefore easy to make a cultural translation and transfer them to local conditions. Despite differences in the worldview of Germanic and Bal-tic areas, some beliefs were shared.

The occurrence of long-term contacts is also emphasized by Søren Sindbæk, who writes that contacts have always existed between regions from the Bal-tic to the Black Sea. What we must study is the dynamic over time and shifts in these connections, and the varying socio-cultural content. Sindbæk pro-ceeds from the foundation of Staraya Ladoga. From this place, located by the


River Volkhov south of Lake Ladoga, communication routes could be reached in the area of today’s north-western Russia. The earliest structures in Staraya Ladoga date from the mid-eighth century, and from this time there are also objects from both Scandinavia and the Middle East. The place has therefore often been interpreted as a station for transcontinental trade routes. Sindbæk criticizes the excessive focus on long-distance trade as a precondition for the establishment of the place. There is admittedly numismatic evidence that ‘Abbasid coins were brought westwards to the Baltic area at a very early stage, but instead of seeing Staraya Ladoga as a trading site that arose suddenly as a response to the ‘Abbasid demand for furs, according to Sindbæk one should view its establishment as an expression of a network that had existed for a long time. Furs came before silver in a discontinuous development towards urban-ism on the shore of Ladoga.

The next three chapters in this volume – by Johan Callmer, Mats Roslund, and Ingrid Gustin – are direct responses to Sindbæk’s question of how com-munication between east and west was established and maintained. Johan Callmer provides an interpretation of the development in north-western Rus-sia that is both a synthesis and a detailed presentation. Like Sindbæk, he begins by pointing out that the Scandinavians were not the ones who initiated trade and trade routes in the area. Using a combination of archaeological and writ-ten sources, Callmer argues for a dynamic cultural process behind the emer-gence of dominion over this wide area. Graves, houses, domestic pottery, and dress suggest the multifaceted composition of the groups of people who set-tled along the communication routes. As early as the sixth century a.d., people moved from the Mälaren Valley and Åland into the Baltic Finnish areas. The establishment of Staraya Ladoga in the eighth century in a centrally located region increased the interaction between different groups, which was further strengthened over the next two centuries. People were organized in a complex multi-ethnic social system based on linguistic and cultural competence. The area displays an economic upswing from the end of the eighth century. In the late ninth century this older system underwent dramatic changes, with a great influx of new Scandinavians as the driving force. Despite this, essential parts of the older tribute system survived. The beginning of the end of the ar-Rus and Rus’ eras began around 947 when Princess Olga reorganized the kingdom. After this time the Slavic-speaking groups gained increasing political and cul-tural influence.

Mats Roslund points the spotlight at Baltic Finnish contacts with the Mälar-en Valley to illuminate a relationship that has seen little research. Instead of viewing the Finnish-speaking groups as always being on the periphery in rela-tion to the Svear and as part of a general “eastern connection”, he demonstrates


the dynamic way in which relations changed from the eighth to the thirteenth century, with special reference to the Baltic Finnish presence in the Mälaren area. First he presents the socio-economic base that existed for the Finns, Tavasts, Karelians, and Ves’. They constituted a heterogeneous population which was embraced by the contacts. The communication can be followed in artefacts and written sources, where a growing symmetrical relationship can be seen in the Merovingian Period, becoming pronounced during the Viking Age. Jewellery and pottery in the Mälaren Valley hint at both female and male presence on farms in the landscape. After a break in contacts from the mid-eleventh century to around 1200, the network was renewed, but now with an asymmetrical relationship, as crusaders attacked people practising both pre-Christian religion and Russian Orthodoxy. Roslund argues that the break in relations in the mid-eleventh century reflects the establishment of direct links with actors in Novgorod, who at this time were the most important intermedi-aries with the rich resources of the forests.

Ingrid Gustin shows in her article that there were close contacts for millen-nia between the Mälaren area and the mainland of south-western Finland, and that the influences went both ways. The contacts that existed during the Viking Age between the Mälaren Valley and the Finnish mainland have often been mentioned by Finnish scholars, whereas Swedes have not devoted as much study or attention to these links. Gustin’s article specifically discusses the traces of contacts between the Viking Age trading site of Birka, located on an island in Lake Mälaren in Sweden, and the Finnish mainland. In the article Gustin pres-ents the artefacts from the Finnish mainland found in graves at Birka. She also examines what contexts and find combinations say about the social status, gen-der, and group affiliation of the deceased. Did the objects occur in the better-equipped graves on the site? Had the dead been dressed in the same costume as people buried in cemeteries in mainland Finland, or did the dress express a more hybrid cultural identity? In the article Gustin answers these questions and also discusses what artefacts and find combinations can tell us about the nature and duration of contacts between the Finnish mainland and Birka.

The central topic of Charlotte Hedenstierna-Jonson’s chapter is Rus’ group affiliation and identity, and how it was expressed through material culture. Hedenstierna-Jonson believes that when the Scandinavians established them-selves along the rivers of European Russia, they selected symbols and reshaped them to represent the community that was being formed. The archaeological evidence from places like Staraya Ladoga, Gnezdovo, and Kiev shows that these centres functioned as meeting places where different cultural expressions merged, and that a separate new Rus’ culture arose as a result. One feature of the Rus’ culture was the inhabitants’ proto-urban lifestyle, with great mobility and


far-reaching contacts as important components. The Rus’ culture, especially in the beginning, also had a Scandinavian base. Hedenstierna-Jonson believes that even the inhabitants of Birka in the tenth century probably regarded them-selves as Rus’. This applies in particular to the warriors in Birka’s garrison. In this environment the Rus’ expressions were very clear, and this, according to Hedenstierna-Jonson, indicates that they originated among the warriors of the time, with an ideal influenced by steppe nomads and the Byzantine army.

The Christianization of Scandinavia is often regarded from a Western per-spective, from the point of view of the Roman Catholic Church. Orthodox Christianity – with its roots in Byzantium and the Rus’ polity – receives less attention in the history of the Christianization process. We see from histori-cal sources that there were early Christian links between Scandinavia and the areas to the south-east. A treaty between Rus’ and Byzantium from 944 shows that the Christian religion in Rus’ at this time had achieved official status. John Lind has pointed out elsewhere that Scandinavians or people of Scandinavian background were driving forces in this process.11 In this volume Lind employs the term “Varangian Christianity” to explain the spread of Scandinavian and Anglo-Saxon saints to Rus’. There, for example, Saint Canute was worshipped in the second half of the eleventh century in a church dedicated to him in Novgorod. During travels between Scandinavia, Rus’, and Byzantium from the ninth century onwards, the Norsemen accepted a pragmatic form of belief. The travels also made it necessary to be less formal in the practice of religion. This confessional openness also created opportunities for contact in the flow of people between west and east for a long time. Artists from the Novgorod area were active as church painters in Dalhem, Eke, Sundre, Garde, and Källunge on Gotland around 1200.12 This early individual form of Christianization can also be discussed in connection with the change of religion in Finland. Words that were used in Christian ritual and parts of the material culture which sig-nalled Christian faith were established in this area before the crusades, which in south-western Finland are considered to cover the period c.1025–1300.

The main explanation for why Scandinavians began to settle along the riv-ers of Russia can be found in the wealth existing in the form of raw materials in the area. The Scandinavians are usually thought to have made a significant contribution to the development of a network of long-distance trade in this region. There are, however, few archaeological traces, apart from Islamic and Byzantine coins, testifying to the trade and exchange pursued by Scandina-vians and subsequently by Rus’. Judging by the written sources, the two main commodities that the Rus’ obtained and traded in were furs and slaves. Both

11 Lind 2012.12 Lagerlöf 2005.


these assets could be acquired through peaceful or more or less hostile con-tacts with groups around the Baltic Sea and along the rivers in European Rus-sia. Written sources, however, mention other goods in which the Rus’ traded. According to Ibn Hordādbeh, swords were one such commodity. In the Carolin-gian Empire, the western European superpower of the day, swords of very high quality were produced. These included some inscribed with the name Vlfberht, a group of artefacts examined here by Anne Stalsberg. In her chapter she dis-cusses whether swords really were a legal export product from the Carolingian Empire during the Viking Age, and by what routes the Vlfberht swords found in Rus’ and the Volga Bulgar kingdom could have been brought there. Were they really trading commodities or did they get there by some other means?

In terms of quantity, the largest type of archaeological evidence revealing contacts between the Baltic area, European Russia, and the Caliphate consists of Islamic coins. To date no fewer than 85,000 coins of this type have been found in the Baltic area. The majority have been found on Gotland, Öland, and along the east coast of Sweden. The focus has therefore often been on the population of these areas and their activities in the Baltic area and along the rivers of European Russia. Hoards of Islamic coins have also been found, however, in the areas on both sides of the Gulf of Finland and on Åland. These finds are presented by Tuukka Talvio, who also examines the significance of these areas for communication and how their contacts changed direction over time.

The Åland Islands are particularly interesting. These islands have long been a link between Uppland in Sweden and Finland Proper. The Islamic coins from Åland make up the vast majority of the dirhams found in Finland, and it has long been claimed that the population of the islands belonged to Scandina-vians who were active in the east. Both Talvio and Callmer in this volume view the clay paws found both on Åland and in the Vladimir area along the Volga as an indication of early, lasting, and close contact between the areas. Yet another contact that is clear as regards Åland is with Birka. Finds of Islamic dirhams come to an end in the 960s, in both Birka and Åland. Talvio believes that, in the case of Åland, the decline in silver imports from the east was crucial for the discontinuity of settlement and the possible depopulation that affected the islands.

Conclusion

This book does not cover the whole of the Baltic region and the lands to the east of it. Instead it concentrates on the central part of this region and what lies beyond it in the east. This geographical zone no doubt was the theatre of many


of the most important social and economic processes and developments in the Early and High Middle Ages. This axis was also one of the major lines of com-munication in northern Europe. It would have been very interesting to include in the volume some articles dealing with problems related to the island of Got-land and its rich archaeological find material. However, in the opinion of the editors we must await further progress in modern Gotlandic research before this can be feasible.

This collection of essays on connections and interaction between groups and communities in northern and north-eastern Europe in the Early and High Middle Ages takes up a classical theme in European archaeology. The exam-ples given here, however, show clearly that it is possible to come back to old questions with new eyes and that new results can be obtained. This is not only the result of a spectacular growth of source material during the last twenty years but also the effect of ideas derived mainly from contemporary sociology. This dialogue with sociology is essential in archaeology, where this relevant theoretical basis could never have been developed on its own.

The book also has as one of its aims to show to the international archaeo-logical research community the riches and potential of work in these parts of Europe. It is unfortunate that research problems of the Baltic region have remained in the background of European studies of medieval archaeology, where the problems of the West are so prominent. There are some obvious rea-sons for this, perhaps most importantly the language barrier; this is however much less a problem today than it was yesterday. It is the sincere hope of the contributors to this volume that the research activity and the open discussion in this special field of European medieval archaeology will be intensified and develop dynamically.

Acknowledgements

This volume emanate from the “Communicators and communication across cultural boundaries in the Baltic and beyond ca. 400–1200 ad” conference in Lund 2007. The editors and authors are grateful for the support from the Bank of Sweden Tercentenary Foundation, making the conference and this volume possible.

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Bierbrauer, Volker. “Zur ethnischen Interpretation in der frühgeschichtlichen Archäol-ogie.” In Die Suche nach den Ursprüngen: Von der Bedeutung des frühen Mittelalters, edited by Walter Pohl, 45–84. Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2004.

Bierbrauer, Volker. Ethnos und Mobilität im 5. Jahrhundert aus archäologischer Sicht: Vom Kaukasus bis Niederösterreich. München: Verlag der Bayerischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2008.

Blumer, Herbert. Symbolic Interactionism: Perspective and Method. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1986 [1969].

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Brather, Sebastian. Ethnische Interpretationen in der frühgeschichtlichen Archäologie: Geschichte, Grundlagen und Altertum. Berlin: de Gruyter, 2004.

Brather, Sebastian. “Ethnizität und Mittelalterarchäologie: Eine Antwort auf Florin Curta.” Zeitschrift für Archäologie des Mittelalters 39 (2011): 161–171.

Curta, Florin. “Some Remarks on Ethnicity in Medieval Archaeology.” Early Medieval Europe 15 (2006): 159–185.

Curta, Florin. “Medieval Archaeology and Ethnicity: Where Are We?” History Compass 9/7 (2011): 537–548.

Differentiation between Social Groups: Studies in the Social Psychology of Intergroup Relations. Edited by Henri Tajfel. European monographs in social psychology 14. London: Academic Press, 1978.

Franks, Northmen and Slavs: Identities and State Formation in Early Medieval Europe. Edited by Ildar H. Garipzanov, Patrick Geary and Przemysław Urbańczyk. Turnhout: Brepols, 2008.

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Lagerlöf, Erland. “Gotland och Bysans: Östligt inflytande under vikingatid och tidig medeltid.” In Från Bysans till Norden: östliga kyrkoinfluenser under vikingatid och tidig medeltid, edited by Henrik Janson, 139–152. Skellefteå: Artos, 2005.

Latour, Bruno. Artefaktens återkomst: Ett möte mellan organisationsteori och tingens sociologi. Stockholm: Nerenius & Santérus, 1998.


Latour, Bruno. Reassembling the Social: An Introduction to Actor-Network-Theory. Oxford: University Press, 2005.

Lind, John. “‘Vikinger’, vikingetid og vikingeromantik.” Kuml (2012): 151–170.Lucy, Sam. “Ethnic and Cultural Identities.” In The Archaeology of Identity: Approaches

to Gender, Age, Status, Ethnicity and Religion, edited by Margarita Días-Andreu, Sam Lucy, Stasa Babić, and David. N. Edwards, 86–109. London: Routledge, 2005.

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© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ��7 | doi �0.��63/97890043�847�_003

chapter 2

Societies East and West of the Baltic Sea: Prehistoric Culture Contacts Revisited

Marika Mägi

When comparing countries around the northern part of the Baltic Sea at pres-ent, it is impossible to deny a certain cultural “togetherness”, although this has been greatly restricted by the difficult political circumstances of the twentieth century. Still, we wear similar clothing, use the same artefacts, share similar tastes in design and music, practice similar burial customs, and so on. All of that would seem sufficient for an outside observer or even for future archaeologists to consider us a common cultural sphere. Northern Europe can be identified as a particular cultural sphere from the perspective of central or southern Europe, let alone more distant areas.

However, from a closer perspective, considerable differences between the northern Baltic Sea countries appear, especially in the field of social order, differences which can hardly have emerged solely from the historical cir-cumstances of the twentieth century. What is more, one cannot stress only the differences between east and west, as divergences of similar scale appear between north and south. The following chapter tries to demonstrate the exis-tence of similarities and divergences throughout the prehistoric period as well. The focus will be on Estonian archaeological evidence and its comparison with areas with which contacts have traditionally been regarded as important in the formation of the local culture, in a longer temporal perspective. First of all rela-tions over the sea, and thus mostly archaeology of present-day Latvia, Lithu-ania, Finland and Sweden, in addition to Estonia, will be discussed (fig. 2.1).1

The Evolutionist Development Model and Prehistoric Society in the Northern Baltic Sea Area

For interpreting prehistoric societies in these areas, two concepts are inescap-able: the dominant evolutionist worldview, and the interconnectedness of sci-entific research and the political situation.

1 The writing of this article was conducted in the framework of Project No iut 18–8 of the Estonian Ministry of Education and Research, and Grant No. ETF9027 of Estonian Science Foundation.

Mägi18

In the definition of social development, clear-cut paradigmatic differences between archaeologies on the eastern and western shores of the Baltic come to light. Eastern Europe of the twentieth century has been most influenced by the Lewis Henry Morgan – Friedrich Engels – Karl Marx scheme of social development, while on the western shore, the leading scheme is that of Mar-shall Sahlins, Elman Service, and Morton Fried.2 Although the two schools employ seemingly disparate terminology, both schemes rely on an evolution-ist paradigm, according to which human society develops from a lower level to a higher one according to certain universal rules. In the archaeologies of Estonia and Latvia in the 1980s, this situation allowed the earlier Marxist so-cial model to be replaced with the Service system without substantial friction. The pre-state stages of social development were now categorized as band, tribe (or segmentary society), and chiefdom.3 The researchers, however, have

2 For eastern Europe: Engels 1884/1958; Ligi 1995: 187–89; Šnē 2002: 23–97, 440–45. For western Europe: Fried 1967; Service 1971; Sahlins 1972.

3 E.g. Ligi 1995; Šnē 2002.

Figure 2.1 Map of the areas discussed

19Societies East and West of the Baltic Sea

organized the stages mentioned and their typical traits in the societies under consideration according to a certain hierarchy, as had been done previously; inevitably, certain societies are defined as “more highly developed” than others.

According to the evolutionist viewpoint, a social order with relatively egal-itarian social relations will precede a more hierarchical one. Iron Age Esto-nia and Finland, which have been defined as societies with egalitarian social relations by almost all investigators, should thus have witnessed retarded social development in comparison with their neighbours. According to that line of thinking, if conquest and Christianization from abroad had not taken place, these societies instead would have witnessed, by virtue of intra-societal resources alone, a more developed hierarchy and thereafter, apparently, even the evolution of statehood.

However, it seems that the egalitarian, or more precisely collective social model has been implanted more deeply in some areas than in others, and its inevitable transition into a deeply hierarchical society even without for-eign impulses is far from certain. Furthermore, the term “egalitarian society” is somewhat inaccurate, as it suggests a false impression of general equality. Certain power relations still exist in all societies, and their presence in late Iron Age Estonia and Finland is beyond doubt. Thus, a more promising approach is to focus on the modelling of how power relations are organized and how great a proportion of society has access to power.

Throughout the Middle Ages, the territory of present-day Estonia and Latvia remained politically fractioned, preserving the social relations already typical of the prehistoric periods. In addition to various seigneurs, a strong vassalage existed, and the influence of the latter on political decision-making varied markedly from region to region; in a large part of the territories under consid-eration, this influence can be considered greater than in contemporary Scan-dinavia, let alone most countries in western Europe (Raudkivi 2007). Certainly the political authority of the members of the vassalage also varied, and families that were more influential could be clearly distinguished. However, collective traits occasionally appeared in power arrangements, and the society as a whole could be defined as more egalitarian than societies elsewhere Europe – the continuation of a tradition that can be traced back to the prehistoric period.

During the medieval period, a hierarchical social structure with relatively egalitarian or collectivistic traits has usually been regarded as a cultural pecu-liarity, rather than evolutionary backwardness.4 Recognition of similar pow-er structures in Estonia and Latvia has been hindered by the ethnic conflict caused by the German and Danish conquest in the thirteenth century, which

4 Compare, e.g., medieval society in Iceland or Gotland, Yrwing 1978; Sawyer 1982: 56–59.

Mägi20

developed into national segregation in later centuries. The latter situation has often been projected back into the Middle Ages by historians, who suppose a highly hierarchical social organization simply on the basis of (assumed) ethnic origin.5

Evolutionist prejudices about social order should also be avoided when discussing pre-state structures. A society that appears more egalitarian in its social relations does not necessarily need to be classified at a lower level of development. It would rather be appropriate to speak of cultural singularity, which should also appear in other aspects of society in addition to social rela-tions, e.g. modes of subsistence, gender relations, mythological worldview, or material culture. The roles played by the natural environment in and around the area, the population size, and the regional political situation in the persis-tence of such a social order is beyond doubt. The existence of a society with a hierarchical social order in the vicinity accordingly influences the situation in a society with more egalitarian relations, and vice versa.

Another essential influence on the interpretation of definite prehistoric societies is the political situation contemporary to the act of interpretation, especially when the contemporary social order is associated with communica-tions in different directions.

In Estonia and Latvia, the essence of archaeology of the nineteenth cen-tury was mostly determined by the Baltic Germans, who proposed a so-called Gothic theory. According to this theory, the majority of archaeological monu-ments of the area were interpreted as a legacy of the Goths, who stopped in the Baltic countries during their peregrinations. The theories developed by the Baltic Germans relied upon the Kulturträger concept, according to which archaeological sites could be created only by Germanic peoples, i.e. Goths or Vikings, and never by “primitive” indigenous populations.6

The beginning of national movements at the end of the nineteenth century also brought about the association of antiquities with local peoples. Particu-larly in Estonian archaeology, the heyday of cultural-historic theories resulted in the displacement of the concept of Germanic relations and Gothic theory by that of a strong Scandinavian influence on prehistoric Estonia. In Latvian archaeology of the 1920s and 1930s, the focus was not so much on the role of Scandinavian connections in the formation of local prehistoric culture, but rather on the influences from the south, including Germany.7 This clear differ-ence in conceptions about cultural relations in Estonia and Latvia is probably

5 E.g. Moora and Ligi 1970; Raudkivi 2007: 19ff.6 Vasks 1999; Tvauri 2003.7 Vasks 1999.


correlated to the markedly stronger influences of Finnish archaeology in Estonia.8

The interpretations of the prehistoric period in Finland have long issued from the idea that the coastal areas of Finland have undergone strong Scandinavian influence for most of the period; thus, these areas were seen as peripheries of the Scandinavian cultural sphere. While analysing the formation of the con-cept, one cannot overlook the fact that Finland belonged to the Swedish state for a long time, and the Swedish-speaking minority still has a rather prominent role in Finnish state and culture. The national movement of Finland, on the other hand, has stressed the importance of Finns during the prehistoric pe-riod. Derek Fewster has thoroughly described the spread of anti-Swedish senti-ments and the influence of these on interpretations of the prehistoric period, particularly since Finland was incorporated into the Russian Empire at the be-ginning of the nineteenth century.9 During the 1920s and 1930s, the idea that influences originating from Scandinavia were central to the formation of local cultures prevailed in both Finnish and Estonian archaeology; these were suc-cessfully combined with nationalist interpretations of the prehistoric period.10

During the Soviet period, connections with the Slavs to the east became a compulsory part of the archaeology of Estonia and Latvia.11 Identification of contacts with Scandinavia in the archaeological material, on the other hand, turned into a form of passive resistance. According to the positivist paradigm dominant in archaeology at that time, such “contacts” were mostly reduced to parallels that could be found in the finds collected, and in similar grave types that could be identified in both territories. The contemporary Finnish archaeology, on the contrary, could operate within an independent state, and the diminishing importance of the Scandinavian influences when interpret-ing prehistoric society was a characteristic feature of it. Although the coastal areas especially were still considered part of the Scandinavian cultural sphere, a specifically Scandinavian population was no longer assumed to have lived in these areas. Even in the territories where the archaeological material appeared very similar to that of Sweden, the preference was to speak of a Scandinavian-Finnish mixed population.12

8 For connections between Finnish and Latvian archaeologies during the interwar period, cf. Buža et al. 1997.

9 Fewster 2006.10 Kokkonen 1993; Ligi 1995; Vasks 1999; Fewster 2006.11 Vasks 1999; Ligi 1995: 187–89; Mägi 2002: 8–14; Lang 2006b: 13–40.12 E.g. Salo 1970: 140ff.

Mägi22

In Estonia and Latvia, a new wave of Scandinavian orientation in interpret-ing the prehistoric societies appeared in the 1990s, following the restoration of the independence of these states.13 Without a doubt, this orientation was con-nected to the Baltic countries’ shift toward political and cultural affiliation with the West, especially the Nordic countries.14 Similarly to the period of interwar independence, the two most recent decades of Estonian archaeology can be characterized by a relatively greater emphasis on Scandinavian contacts.

The valuation of the influence of Scandinavia or any other region on the archaeology of Estonia and Latvia explicitly depends on the region and the period in question, but in my opinion, an undue emphasis on communication links originating solely from the west has characterized the archaeologies of the eastern coast of the Baltic Sea in recent decades. As the present chapter aims to provide a critical overview of the cultural contacts between the territo-ries under consideration, we will turn now to a discussion of the character and change of these connections over time.

From the Bronze Age Until the Migration Period

Estonian archaeologists have traditionally considered the Bronze Age a period with an especially strong Scandinavian cultural influence on the present Esto-nian territory. In the prevailing view, the late Bronze Age Scandinavian cultural influence was so significant that it fundamentally shaped cultural develop-ment in the current Estonian area during the following millennia. Important keywords in this context include the beginning of the burial tradition in stone graves, the cult of ancestors, and more recently farming; all are considered late Bronze Age cultural loans from Scandinavia.15

Although the majority of publications emphasize Scandinavian influence on the eastern shore of the Baltic Sea, the relations were definitely not one-sided. This especially affects central Sweden directly, where pottery from a few Bronze Age fortified settlements even suggests a degree of immigration of colonists from the east.16 Tarand graves dated to the late Bronze Age and the pre-Roman Iron Age have been found from the coast of Södermanland and

13 See e.g. Lang 1995; 1996; Ligi 1995; Mägi 2002 for Estonia; Šnē 1999b; Zariņa 2006; Spirğis 2008 for Latvia.

14 See e.g. Andersson et al. 1997.15 Lang 1996: 337ff.; Lang 2007: 260–65; Jonuks 2009: 158–215.16 Jaanusson 1981: 123; on eastern influences see also Bolin 2004.


Uppland. Björn Feldt has connected these with analogous graves distributed in Estonia, Finland, and Latvia and the cultural influences from the east.17

Eduards Šturms is of the opinion that during the Bronze and pre-Roman Iron Age significant Scandinavian features characterized primarily Estonia, the part of Latvia situated north of the Daugava River, and northern Curonia, whereas impulses from the south prevailed in the southern part of Latvia.18 Among the Latvian archaeological material of the period under discussion, the ship graves located on the coast of the Kurzeme Peninsula possess the most direct connections to Scandinavia, which, according to Andris Šnē, indicates a short-term Scandinavian colony or the possibility that local inhabitants adapted to Scandinavian practices.19

It is impossible to disregard Scandinavian traits in the culture of the Bronze Age and the first half of the Iron Age in the Finnish coastal areas. According to Unto Salo, the Bronze Age archaeological material found there is evidently a part of the central Swedish bronze culture – he sees it as the same cultural area. As indicated by Salo, this also meant a population originating from Scan-dinavia, or more exactly, the current Swedish territory, although he does not consider an outright Scandinavian settlement possible as did the researchers in the 1930s.20 In Finland the treatment of the Scandinavian cultural sphere likewise rests predominantly on similar grave forms, while at the same time ample influences from southern Scandinavia, the east, and the territory of Lusatian culture can be seen in artefactual material. According to Salo, a cer-tain influx of inhabitants from Scandinavia is also implied by house remains and building culture typical of Scandinavia.21

In the Finnish pre-Roman Iron Age, on the other hand, Salo sees southern influences of the tarand-grave culture, in both grave forms and artefacts. In his view, the influence of the Curonian cultural sphere at the beginning of the Roman Iron Age is so strong that a definite Curonian settlement can be identi-fied at the estuary of the Kokemäen River. Salo considers that the distribution of tarand graves indicates new residents from the south as well.22

As in Finland, the interpretation of Scandinavian influences in Esto-nia relies mainly on graves. The tradition of connecting Estonian stone-cist graves persistently with Scandinavian influence started with Birger Nerman

17 Feldt 2005: 127–39.18 Šturms 1935.19 Šnē 1999a.20 E.g. Tallgren 1937.21 Salo 1970: 140–52.22 Salo 1970: 152–67.

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and is directly linked to the evolutionist and political factors in interpreting prehistory presented above. According to Nerman, the founders of Estonian stone-cist graves might have been migrants from Gotland or central Sweden.23 Estonian archaeologists have generally considered local people the erectors of stone-cist graves, although the idea of the direct takeover of the grave form from Scandinavia has persisted as well.

In Estonia stone-cist graves have long been interpreted as family burial sites in which the head of household was buried in the central cist and other family members in the part of the grave enclosed with a circle surrounding the cen-tral cist. With the Marxist view of social formations ascendant, the Bronze and pre-Roman Iron Ages in Estonia began to be observed as “the period of patri-archal clan society”; accordingly, the stone-cist grave was now identified as the burial place of a nuclear family, with groups of graves representing extended families.24 In a rather similar interpretation of tarand graves (fig. 2.2), a single tarand was suggested to be the burial site of a nuclear family, with the grave as a whole belonging to an extended family.25 Although Marxist terminology has since been discarded, a new treatment of the organization of the society that

23 Nerman 1933.24 Moora 1954; Lang 2006a: 86–87.25 Moora 1954; Lang 2006a: 87–88.

Figure 2.2 Reconstruction of Tõnija Tuulingumäe Roman Period tarand-grave, SaaremaaPhotograph by the author


buried their dead in the stone-cist and tarand graves has yet to be proposed by most Estonian archaeologists dealing with this period; thus by default the old interpretation remains in force. Nevertheless, the terminology has changed: Estonian society since the late Bronze Age has been now defined explicitly as a chiefdom, or more vaguely as a social order that, in its characteristic features (e.g. the private ownership of arable lands), is still akin to a chiefdom.26

Since the mid-1990s biological analysis has begun on the generally excellently-preserved osteological material of Estonian stone-cist graves as well as the so-called early and classically joined tarand graves of the first half of the Iron Age. This has implied a picture of the buried people different from the earlier one, a result that should change the concept of the society that erected the graves. In the case of Estonian stone-cist graves we should not discuss individual but rather collective burial sites, where bones of many individuals, including those of males, females, and children in relatively equal proportions, which had previously been placed elsewhere, have been brought. Collectivist tendencies in Estonian burial tradition were even further intensi-fied in the pre-Roman and Roman Iron Age tarand graves, whose construction does not allow the display of particular parts of some of the buried individuals.

According to anthropological parallels, the secondary burial customs, where bones of individuals from different sex and age are mixed together, primarily characterize segmentary societies with extensive agriculture. These are mostly societies whose members reside in communal houses and where clan origin is of major importance. Even in these cases a complete burial ritual is not avail-able to all individuals but only to a certain section of the population, for exam-ple only for the members of the single dominant family from every longhouse. The perceptions of death and the beyond will vary, but as a rule the rituals used to emphasize the connection to ancestors have especially enormous signifi-cance in analogous societies.27

Another characteristic feature of pre-Migration Period stone graves is the scarcity or total absence of weapons, with the exception of a short period around the beginning (c.1 a.d.) of the era under consideration here, as will be discussed below. Neither a single warrior grave nor even a collectivist burial site with abundant weapons is known from Estonia from such an early period. Although in some periods a similar phenomenon characterizes certain regions around the Baltic Sea – for example, the area of Wielbark culture in Poland – the burial customs there still emphasize individuality.28 In the case of Estonia

26 Lang 1996: 465ff.; Lang 2007: 221–65.27 For anthropological examples and the analysis of rituals see e.g. Metcalf and Huntington

1991: 79–161; Carr and Knüsel 1997: 167–69.28 E.g. Kaliff 2001: 26–41; Pawleta 2003.

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the occurrence mainly of jewellery as grave goods stresses the suggestion of a segmentary ranked society, which had formed on the basis of the unquestion-ably collective burials and where the rank-based membership of a clan took precedence over warrior status. Although jewellery cannot be connected to in-dividuals, one might suggest that the majority of these adorned the represen-tatives of both sexes, thus meaning that we are dealing with the “ungendered” items.

The Roman Iron Age with copious jewellery in Estonian graves is in marked contrast to the period’s abundant finds of weapons in the graves of the major-ity of countries directly surrounding Estonia. The latter, however, are mostly connected to individual burials.29 The absence of weaponry in Estonian graves implies that in this society warriors did not have as important a role as in many neighbouring countries, and social prestige was rather emphasized by means of “soft” elements based on family origin – jewellery and perhaps the burial site itself.30

The structure of society is more or less directly connected with subsistence practice. Until the mid-1990s researchers shared the opinion that a simple two-rotation system and swidden cultivation dominated in Estonian territory until the fifth or sixth century.31 In 1995 Valter Lang proposed that the communal ownership of land and shifting slash-and-burn agriculture by the end of the Bronze Age had already been replaced by the individual ownership of land and permanent fields, the direct evidence of which is the emergence of Celtic and Baltic field systems.32 In the opinion of the present author the emergence of Celtic fields need not have symbolized the ownership of arable lands by single farmsteads; the latter is not indicated by defining stone graves as the burial sites of families either – presuming that only the members of the domi-nant family were allowed to be buried there.33 The burial custom as a whole, as demonstrated above, rather indicates collective ownership of land, as sug-gested even before Lang’s publications.

In the second half of the 1990s the physical anthropologist Jonathan Kalman, in his analysis of bones from multiple gravesites, indicated that the prevalence of dental caries among the people of the first half of the Estonian Metal Ages

29 E.g. in Finland, Sweden, and western Lithuania, see e.g. Nerman 1935: 121–29; Tautavičius 1968; Salo 1984; Rasch 1994; Banytė-Rowell 2001; Michelbertas 2002.

30 Mägi 2007.31 E.g. Jaanits et al. 1982: 300.32 Lang 1995.33 Lang generally portrays these as the dwelling sites of nuclear families; see Lang 1996:

355–58. For earlier similar opinions in Sweden and their respective counter-arguments see e.g. Göthberg 2000: 93–122.


was significantly lower than is usually characteristic of areas with intensive agriculture. As the disease is positively correlated with the use of subsistence farming – which caused more sugar- containing plant material to become a larger source of food – Kalman accordingly suggests that agriculture, although known in the present Estonian territory, hardly formed a dominant part of the economy during the first half of the Iron Age. Whereas in agricultural Neolithic Denmark the prevalence rate of caries was 2.3 per cent, on the basis of the bones from graves the rate in Estonia was only 1 per cent during the Bronze Age and 3.5 per cent in the pre-Roman Iron Age. However, the prevalence of caries gradually increased in Estonia as well, which according to Kalman corresponds to the intensification of agriculture.34

Kalman’s observations support the interpretation of collectivist features of Estonian burial custom. In most cases segmentary societies form during the transition to agriculture and are characterized by minimally-intensive farm-ing. From North American areas where environmental conditions are simi-lar to those in Estonia, examples of segmentary societies can be cited among corn-growing, partly hunting tribes before and immediately after European colonization.35 In southern Scandinavia the mixed secondary burials were characteristic of the Megalith culture, thus reflecting the period of the transi-tion to farming economy there as well. The Danish researcher Niels Andersen has connected the burials with mixed bones from the Funnel Beaker Culture directly with the period of extensive agriculture.36 In northern and central Eu-rope, the intensification of agriculture coincided with the emergence of the Single Grave culture, the end of the erection of huge cultic structures charac-teristic of the Megalith culture, and the change of the social structure already at the end of the Neolithic.37 The transition to individual burials occurred in tandem with the transition to a more intensely hierarchized form of social organization, which has often been called chiefdom. According to Kristian Kristiansen, the process took place in southern Scandinavia approximately 1600 b.c. and was a result of settlement expansion and increased exploitation of the landscape.38 Estonia did not undergo a comparable process until the Migration Period.

Some changes in the local culture took place around the turn of the era, thus at the end of the pre-Roman Iron Age when more grave goods – including

34 Kalman 2000a; 2000b.35 Fagan 1991: 305–426.36 Andersen 2000.37 E.g. Bradley 1998; Andersen 2000; Guilaine and Zammit 2005: 158ff.38 Kristiansen 1987.

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weapons – were placed in graves almost everywhere on the eastern shore of the Baltic Sea. In the general picture, differences among the burial customs of various regions of Estonia, Finland, and Latvia were vividly expressed during this period and thereafter.

In Estonia graves from the end of the pre-Roman Iron Age are mostly known from coastal areas. Single weapons occurred around the turn of the era among the grave goods, which generally consisted of jewellery, belt fragments, and pottery. Archaeologists have been unable to connect these weapons to indi-vidual burials, as the bones in these graves have been completely mixed; while the weapons (as other artefacts) at the time of burial were probably associ-ated with a particular person, as a result of the burial rites we are unable to ascribe the ownership of a given weapon to a particular set of bones. To a lim-ited extent, the placing of weapons in graves seems to indicate an elevated importance of the warrior in society and thus perhaps the intensification of intra-social hierarchy. The emergence of small fortifications in several places in Estonia supports the latter interpretation. Both weapons and fortifications, however, had already disappeared by the beginning of the Roman Iron Age, thus remaining a short-term phenomenon. The burial custom of tarand graves, which during the Roman Iron Age spread everywhere over the present Esto-nian area, seems to manifest a completely collectivist social organization.

The present Latvian and Lithuanian coastal areas welcomed a new grave type around the turn of the era, named stone-cist graves in the literature, which were characterized by abundant grave goods of weapons and by indi-vidual burials.39 During the following period weapons became more common in graves than previously, and single, richly-furnished warrior graves seem to reflect an abrupt intensification of social hierarchy.40

Weapons were already being placed in the Scandinavian-like burial sites in Finnish coastal areas during the Bronze Age. The pre-Roman Iron Age there was generally poor in grave goods, but at the end of the period and espe-cially during the Roman Iron Age richly-furnished individual warrior burials emerged; these are usually associated with population from either Scandinavia or continental Europe.41 Although tarand graves also spread in Finland dur-ing the end of the pre-Roman Iron Age, the Roman Iron Age, and the Migra-tion Period, their find material differed from Estonian tarand graves due to the presence of weapon graves – admittedly, not found in all similar graves.42

39 Tautavičius 1968; Banytė-Rowell 2001; Michelbertas 2002.40 E.g. Banytė-Rowell 2007; Bliujienė and Butkus 2007.41 E.g. Pihlman 1985; Salo 1984: 220–23; Salo 1995.42 Salo 1984: 199–223.


In Finland, individual burials occurred alongside collective burial sites. The amount of the latter increased after the third century a.d. as cremation and the custom of destroying grave goods became dominant.43

Thus, after the turn of the era at the latest, a different development can be traced in the social organization of the eastern shore of the Baltic Sea. This development possibly could be associated with ethnic origin – strongly col-lective traits in burial custom seem to characterize the areas inhabited by the Baltic Finns to a greater degree than other areas. Strong cultural uniformity with Scandinavia is continuously illustrated in Finnish coastal areas, whereas communication between Scandinavia and the present Estonian and Latvian territory seems to have significantly diminished. While in Lithuania and the majority of Latvia archaeological material may well suggest a hierarchized so-ciety, in the present Estonian area we are most likely dealing with a persis-tently segmentary society throughout the Roman Iron Age.

Some researchers have proposed a relatively short existence for so-called segmentary societies – having adopted cultivation, it quickly became inten-sive and fostered the continuous growth of social hierarchization.44 On the basis of the above it can be suggested that in some northern areas, e.g. Esto-nia and Finland, cultivation remained modest for a considerably longer time, thus maintaining a social structure more egalitarian than those in the regions with intensive agriculture.45 The society of the Bronze Age or the first half of the Iron Age in Estonia and Finland cannot be defined as a chiefdom if only due to the lack of individual burial sites and weapon graves. This, however, indicates a very significant difference; if early Metal Age Estonia is compared with contemporary southern Scandinavia, this simultaneously throws doubt upon the theories of a particularly strong Scandinavian influence during the late Bronze Age.

The difference in social structures apparently resulted in a difference in ideology between the eastern and western shores of the Baltic Sea during the first half of the Metal Age. The cult of ancestors is a universally distributed phenomenon and therefore it is difficult to prove whether its emergence in the present Estonian area proceeded from a particular Scandinavian cultural im-pulse. Moreover, on the basis of several indicators, the cult of ancestors might be considered more intense in the areas inhabited by Baltic Finns than in Scandinavia.46 Mythological worldview is connected with social organization,

43 Salo 1984: 208.44 Fried 1967: 109–85.45 On Finland see also Shepherd 1999: 33–47.46 See e.g. Shepherd 1999: 45–46.

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and therefore the worldview of one society is unlikely to take over directly in another society with a different social organization. Thus, in the case of the Baltic Finn areas, it is impossible to discuss with certainty whether there was a direct linkage into the Scandinavian cultural sphere during the Bronze Age, let alone the first half of the Iron Age. A part of the Finnish coastal areas has to be excluded from this interpretation, as in some places there a population ethni-cally and culturally uniform with Sweden can probably be suggested.

Still, there are ample grounds for discussing communication, which in some periods became more intense than in others. Here too the automatic treatment of communication as unilateral should be avoided as an assumption that often rests only on traditional attitudes. Nevertheless, Bronze Age impulses from the east are apparent in the archaeological record in central Sweden, thus indicat-ing that relations were reciprocal.

From the Migration Period Until Christianization

All over Europe, the period from the fifth to the seventh century was one of momentous transformation. For most areas surrounding the northern part of the Baltic Sea, this period witnessed the appearance of burials richly furnished with weapons. Usually, these are interpreted as an increase in the role of war-riors in society, a rapid increase of hierarchization and in some areas as first indi-cations of the appearance of states. On the eastern shores of the Baltic, changes from that period have been explained almost universally as a sudden increase of Scandinavian cultural influence.47 The extent of the changes that actually took place in the societies of various areas on the eastern shores of the Baltic seems to be directly connected to earlier developments in the respective societies. The peculiarity of the archaeological material from Estonia and parts of Finland in comparison with that of their neighbours nevertheless still catches the eye.

In Estonian burial customs, the changes were reflected in the first place by the appearance of weapons in graves from the fifth to seventh century, as well as individual cremation burials that have been recorded in western Estonia.48 Individual burials also took place in the sand barrows of south-eastern Estonia from the fifth and sixth centuries, and in the stone-circle graves of Saaremaa from the seventh century (fig. 2.3).49 Judging from the weapons found together with cremated bones, most of the individual burials seem to be male, thus

47 E.g. Pihlman 1990: 17–19; Schauman-Lönnqvist 1996; Høilund-Nielsen 2000; Žulkus 2000; Bitner-Wrobléwska 2001: 121–27; Raninen 2005.

48 Mandel 2003.49 Aun 1992: 78–113; Mägi 2002: 125–32.


reflecting the triumph of warrior attributes as well as individuality. The same situation has been noted in Finland, where these phenomena have formed the basis for suggesting that a so-called double ideology dominated in the society: on the one hand, stressing individuality and warrior attributes, which, howev-er, only included a section of the male inhabitants; and on the other hand, em-phasizing collectivity, which had already begun during the previous period.50

The number of Estonian burials from the fifth to the ninth century is sur-prisingly small, especially compared to the contemporary abundance of finds from the neighbouring areas. From the fifth or sixth century onwards, stone cemeteries without formal structure with indiscernible cremation burials are known; during the following centuries, this type emerged as the dominant grave type.51 In the coastal areas and islands of Estonia, so-called single-tarand graves spread during that period; these were possibly one-time mortuary

50 Purhonen 1996: 126–28; Wickholm and Raninen 2006.51 Selirand 1974; Mägi 2002: 125–32; Mandel 2003.

Figure 2.3 Viking Age stone-circle graves at Piila, SaaremaaPhotograph by the author

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houses, where the human bones – either cremated or not – appeared in a mixed form, in accordance with the older tradition.52

In both Estonia and Finland, individual burials with weapons spread in the coastal areas, i.e. in territories where communication across the sea played an important role.53 According to the present author, in Estonia it was during the fifth to seventh centuries that Scandinavian influence was remarkably intense, affecting even changes in social structure, apparently accompanied by ideol-ogy justifying the latter. Directly in archaeological material, i.e. grave types and finds, however, the similarity to Scandinavia during the fifth to seventh cen-turies appeared only partial, and even that was limited to certain areas. Items of Scandinavian origin can be found, as expected, in luxuriously furnished weapon graves, both individual and collective ones, while in most of collective stone graves, either items widespread in the eastern Baltic or those developing further local traces prevailed; in the main, these were ornaments.

As in Finland, the archaeological material from Estonian coastal areas bears witness to a sort of duality. One the one hand, the period is characterized by the appearance of rich and sometime individual burials of warriors; the items in the burials, and occasionally the burial custom itself, demonstrate a sort of similarity to contemporary burials in Scandinavia, especially Sweden. It may be assumed that those buried in this way belonged to a military elite, which had recently increased its influence in society. The Scandinavian element pres-ent in their burials indicates the possibility that their contacts with elites in Scandinavia constituted one source of their social prestige. It seems likely that these contacts in fact involved their military service for the leaders of the na-scent petty kingdoms in the region of present-day Sweden and Denmark.

On the other hand, one of the characteristics of Estonian archaeological finds from the Migration Period and pre-Viking Age is that the ornaments in use develop stepwise more specific, local traces. These ornaments bear sig-nificant similarities to those of other areas on the eastern shore of the Baltic, but few similarities to the ornaments of Scandinavia can be seen. In graves, the same tendency can be seen in the collective burials that still dominate. Anna Wickholm and Sami Raninen have interpreted the collective burials in Finland during the later part of the Iron Age – where ornaments constitute a large share of the grave goods – as the burial places of women and non- warrior men.54 The present author considers the persistence of collective buri-als, where ornaments comprise the most dominant group of grave goods, as

52 Mägi 2005; 2006.53 E.g. Mägi 2002; Pihlman 1990; Raninen 2005.54 Wickholm and Raninen 2006.


an indication of the continuation of older social structures. There should be no great difference, in the ideological sense, in whether the partial skeletons of the members of some kind of unit, probably a large family, either cremat-ed or not, were brought to a common tarand grave, as was the case during the previous period, or whether the cremated remains of skeletons were scat-tered between the stones of a grave without a formal structure. The persist-ing domination of that burial practice seems to point to the endurance of clan-based segmentary societies, although a new military elite was forming among them.

Warrior burials, richly furnished with weapons, appeared in other areas on the eastern and south-eastern coast of the Baltic Sea during the Migration Period, where these have been directly connected with the cultural influence of Scandinavia and the appearance of a military aristocracy (fig. 2.4). As a characteristic pattern, it should be pointed out that also in other eastern Bal-tic areas apart from Estonia and Finland, cultural orientation to Scandinavia mostly influences coastal areas, while in the inland regions changes in social order remain modest, at least according to archaeological sources.55 Still, in

55 E.g. Žulkus 2000; Bitner-Wróblewska 2001: 121–27.

Figure 2.4 Three examples of about 30 Estonian sword hilts and more than 30 spear-head sock-ets decorated in Scandinavian animal styles. Nos. 2 and 3 represent local variants1 – Liiva-Putla (Museum of Saaremaa 6048), 2 – Maidla (Estonian History Museum 839: 1, 2), Viltina (Institute of History 3884: 3905). From: Jets 2013, Figs. 13: 1; 18; 16: 1

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the territories of present-day Latvia and Lithuania, individual burials pre-vailed, and numerous occurrences of weapons in male graves were character-istic of the latter. Especially in the burial practices of Lithuania, a few princely, furnished inhumation burials stand out, indicating that the social structure was deeply hierarchical, due in large part to the military aristocracy.56 The con-stitution of Iron Age societies in the territory of present-day Lithuania thus included greater similarities with southern Scandinavia than has ever been proposed on the basis of material from Estonia or Finland.

In the burial customs of the territories on the eastern side of the Baltic Sea, the dominance of warrior attributes usually continued after the Migration Period. In Estonian territory, on the other hand, this phenomenon remained relatively short-lived. The eighth to tenth centuries in these areas were char-acterized again by generally collectivistic burial customs with remarkably limited grave goods, among which weapons were relatively exceptional. The existing individual burials are concentrated on Saaremaa and south-eastern Estonia, but usually weapons were not used in these to manifest status.57 The archaeological material in general, however, still indicates certain changes in the structure of society. In the first place, this is evident in the numerous hill-forts that were constructed throughout Estonia during and after the Viking Age. The social structure had become clearly more hierarchical, but parallel to this, older, evidently clan-based structures continued to exist.

A pivotal change in the archaeological material from Estonia can be seen around the year 1000. From then on, throughout the country, considerably more graves contained weapons. At the same time, the number of grave goods increased, although stone graves without formal structure and with indiscern-ible cremation burials remained the dominant grave type. From the end of the tenth century onwards, inhumation burials began to spread. The amount of weapons and other grave goods in all types of graves increased through the next centuries, reaching a peak in the mid-twelfth century.58 In tandem with the changing burial customs, new and stronger hillforts were erected. Without doubt, the society existent at the end of the Iron Age in Estonia was much more hierarchical than it had been previously; it might be defined as a chief-dom. The latter term, however, is rather vague, and the chiefdom in late prehis-toric Estonia cannot be strictly compared to the social structure in Viking Age Scandinavia, or for instance in Lithuania.

56 E.g. Tautavičius 1981; Vaitkunskienė 1995.57 Mägi 2002: 125–32; Aun 1992: 85–134.58 Mägi 2002: 142–45.


Relations between genders are connected to the general structure of society, and some investigators have considered more egalitarian gender relations as characteristic of societies more egalitarian in a social sense.59 Comparatively egalitarian relations between the genders are more widespread in segmentary societies than in those where warrior status generally had greater importance. In regions with climatic conditions similar to northern Europe, such as parts of North America, quite a number of segmentary societies have been matrilin-eal.60 The different presentation of social values in the archaeological material of Estonia and Finland as compared with other areas may thus be correlated to a difference in the role of women in traditional social order, which in Estonia and Finland was manifested in “soft” values and was not so much affected by the cultural influence of Scandinavia.

In the territories on the eastern shore of the Baltic Sea inhabited by ethnic Balts, the clear distinction between male and female grave goods is charac-teristic, appearing especially clearly in the material from the later part of the Iron Age. Although even male graves are rich in ornaments in these territo-ries, these usually belong to types different from those in female graves.61 Such a clear distinction of gender in grave goods, and thus probably among items used in real life, is characteristic of other chiefdoms with a military aristocracy, including larger parts of Scandinavia during most of the prehistoric periods.62 In Estonian territory, on the other hand, the amount of ungendered artefacts seems to be remarkable. A large proportion of ornament types, for example, could be used by either men or women.63 This tendency is much less distin-guishable in the archaeological material from Finland, especially the coastal areas, and in Estonia it also seems to diminish toward the end of the Iron Age. The great number of ungendered items in Estonian archaeological material can however be logically connected to other collectivistic and egalitarian ten-dencies in society, which appear in other types of material.

Although the Viking Age has traditionally been depicted in the archaeologi-cal writings of the countries on the eastern shore of the Baltic as a period sec-ond only to the Bronze Age in terms of strong Scandinavian influences, this assumption should be treated with certain reservations. At least in some areas, the hierarchization of society and enhancement of the warrior status may not

59 E.g. Kent 1999.60 E.g. Rothenberg 1980; Leacock 1981: 13–32; Rapp 1997; Williams 1997; Kent 1999; Trocolli

1999.61 E.g. Volkaitė-Kulikauskienė 1997; Bliujienė 1999; Radiņš 1999; Žiemgaliai 2005.62 E.g. Rundkvist 2003; Jørgensen 1990; Härke 1992.63 Mägi 2002: 75–124; Mägi 2009b.

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be a direct Scandinavian influence, but rather the aftermath of influences from a more general political and cultural background. The social organization of Estonia, and in a broad sense that of Finland, differed from that of neighbour-ing countries so markedly that certain changes were inevitable. The persis-tence of collective burials, and their even greater distribution in some regions, e.g. Saaremaa, thus reflects the strong position of collective tendencies even in the altered social order.64

A certain similarity appears in the Estonian and Swedish artefactual mate-rial during the Viking Age. Whether it involves the mostly one-sided Scandi-navian influence as has been traditionally believed is questionable.65 Accord-ing to new data, an entire series of artefact types that have previously been considered to proceed from Gotland or Finland have their roots east of the Baltic Sea, and only afterwards spread into Scandinavia.66 Numerous artefact types shared in Sweden and the eastern Baltic were, on the western shore of the sea, distributed mostly in areas where the artefactual material is generally characterized by the richness of items of eastern origin – primarily in Gotland and the Mälaren Valley in central Sweden. Plenty of artefact types, which were simultaneously spread in the eastern Baltic, including the island of Saaremaa, occurred as grave goods in the burials known from Gotland from the period under discussion.67 A possible opposite direction of distribution is also indi-cated by, for example, the large quantity of artefacts of eastern origin gathered from Birka, including the so-called Baltic Finnish pottery.68 However, it is es-pecially the jewellery connected with women, as well as the ornamentation on jewellery, that is clearly different in Estonia and elsewhere in the eastern Baltic from the contemporary Scandinavian material.69

With reference to burial customs, few parallels can be found between Viking Age Estonia and Scandinavia, especially considering that west of the Baltic Sea Christian burial customs were already spreading during the Viking Age. Excluding the exceptional cemeteries of Birka, we are predominantly dealing with cremation burials in Viking Age central Sweden, which were, however, in-dividual burials, unlike Estonian and Finnish stone settings. Still, certain simi-larities do exist in places between the individual cremation burials of Sweden

64 Mägi 2007.65 E.g. Nerman 1929.66 Mägi 2002: 83–124.67 E.g. Stenberger 1961; Thunmark-Nylén 1983; Thunmark-Nylén 1990.68 Ambrosiani and Bäck 2007.69 E.g. Tõnisson 1974; Mägi-Lõugas 1993; 1994; 1995; Mägi 1997; Vaska 1996; Vaska 2008;

Bliujienė 1999.


and Saaremaa.70 Cremation burials, including burials of a collective character in big burial pits, also dominated at the end of the Iron Age in Curonia.71

With regard to the Scandinavian influence, the areas on the eastern shore of the Baltic Sea differ from each other during the Viking Age. The Finnish archae-ological material traditionally has more features in common with Scandinavia, also comprising the female jewellery where several types are considered local developments of jewellery from Gotland or central Sweden.72 In Karelia or the Liv areas, local women adopted Scandinavian oval fibulae, though developing these into local types.73 Several artefact types found in Curonia are associated with Scandinavian influence, but in the inland areas of Latvia and Lithuania the influence from across the sea remained more modest, as expected.74

There is no doubt that communication across the sea played an important role in the northern region of the Baltic Sea during the Viking Age; also the role of eastern Vikings, who mostly originated from Sweden, cannot be over-estimated in the process. The latter are connected with trade, and the Scandi-navian cultural influence seems to be more intense in the areas traversed by international trading routes. However, the intensity of cultural contacts with Scandinavia is not merely defined by geopolitical location. The Viking Age con-tacts and influences seem rather to proceed from the surface of cultural simi-larities and differences that had already characterized previous periods. The distinctiveness of Estonian territory compared to several close neighbours can be detected in this respect as well.

The cultural presence of Scandinavians is observable in the lower reaches of the Daugava River, where a Scandinavian colony might be indicated by the trading centre situated next to the Daugmale hillfort.75 In other coastal areas, including Curonia and the island of Saaremaa which were assumed to play significant roles in the international trade directed to the east, intense rela-tions with Sweden can be observed in the archaeological material of the Viking Age; compared to some neighbouring regions, however, the cultural unifor-mity with Scandinavia appears to have remained relatively modest.76 The lat-ter statement is primarily valid for artefacts associated with women, whereas weapons and jewellery of men were considerably more international.

70 Mägi 2002: 125–32.71 E.g. Balodis 1940; Kulikauskas et al. 1961: 387–88; Stankus 1995; Žulkus 2000; Mägi 2007.72 Lehtosalo-Hilander 1984.73 Kochkurkina 1982: 80–125; Spirģis 2008.74 Bliujienė 1999; Radiņš 1999; Bertašius 2005; Žiemgaliai 2005.75 Mägi 2011.76 Bliujienė 2008; Mägi in press b.

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In the opinion of the present author, the fact that Scandinavian features on Estonian territory are mostly limited to warrior attributes can be attributed to the differences in social structure and ideology that could already be observed in all previous periods. Although the society of the final centuries of prehistory in Estonia might be considered hierarchical, nevertheless, judging by the buri-al customs, it had strongly collectivist traits. One might suggest that society was divided into clans, each with a single dominant family. The representatives of the clan during periods of peace as well as the military leaders were chosen among the clan members; they could vary and possess control only over cer-tain social aspects. Some of the dominant families probably had a bigger role than others but this authority rested on collective ownership and power, i.e. that of families, and could not be directly associated with specific individu-als. One might guess that gender relations in this society were more balanced than in the more individually hierarchized and warrior-centred neighbouring societies. The role of women in this social structure might have ensured them an independent social position within certain limits – it is possible that the society was matrilinear or women participated in the administration of the clans (as in, for example, several indigenous North American societies).77 Nev-ertheless, one might suggest that the position of some of the women in society was high and the status was indicated after death by weapons that sometimes appear in richly-furnished female burials in the areas inhabited by the Baltic Finns.78

The continuation of the more collective social model in the areas inhabited by the Baltic Finns in contrast to that in the neighbouring countries may have been partly fostered by the harsh northern climate and excessive stoniness of the soil, which held cultivation to a less intense level for a longer period of time than was the case with the southern neighbours. According to Shepherd, who has dealt with Finnish burial customs, the collective mode of burial was con-ditioned by the widespread swidden cultivation and the system of extended families supporting it.79 At the same time, it would be an over-simplification to attribute the long-term preservation of collectivist features in social structure solely to subsistence practice. Estonian farming practices in the second half of the Iron Age are widely held to have differed little from those in the neigh-bouring countries. During the previous periods similar natural conditions for

77 Mägi 2009; see also Blomkvist 2005: 172–91.78 Tõnisson 1974: 109, Tabs ii, vi; Kochkurkina 1981: 92–93, pl. 15; 1982: 46; Lehtosalo-Hilander

1982: 36–37; 1984: 402–03; Korkeakoski-Väisänen 1988: 70–72; Šnore 1996: 123; Mägi 2002: 71–81; Zariņa 2006: fig. 1.191; Laul and Valk 2007: 45.

79 Shepherd 1999: 33–47.


cultivation could be found, for instance, in central Sweden; however, differ-ences in archaeological material in these areas could be detected as early as the Bronze Age.

Shepherd points to the conservatism of burial customs whereby collectiv-ity in burial traditions could continue long after significant changes in social structure had already taken place.80 However, one should avoid the mistaken evolutionist interpretation of cultural and social backwardness in the more egalitarian – or more collectivistic – social organization. We are rather deal-ing with a specific cultural distinctiveness that characterizes certain regions through history and has apparently developed as the most appropriate for the natural, economic, and perhaps also political conditions of a given society.

A difference in social structures can pose an obstacle to cross-cultural con-tacts. Differences in the social organizations of Estonia and Scandinavia thus probably generated ample misapprehensions and perhaps even impediments, for example, to forging alliances or contracting marriages. However, the inter-nal contacts were dense and mutual and have left their trace in archaeological material.

Summary

In the course of defining communication, cultural influences, or a common cultural sphere, the depiction of the societies participating in these processes plays a significant role. The interpretation of prehistoric societies, especially on the eastern shores of the Baltic Sea, has been strongly influenced by con-temporary political factors and the evolutionist paradigm. According to the latter’s imagined hierarchical scale of human development, prehistoric societ-ies range from primitive to developed. The subjective tendency to depict the ancient society of one’s own land as “equal” to that of the neighbouring coun-tries has produced several instances of archaeological facts being disregarded.

When interpreting ancient communication across the Baltic Sea, new pos-sibilities are opened if we delve more deeply into the structure of the societ-ies that participated in the communication; more precisely, its interpretation possibilities are expanded. The eastern shore of the Baltic Sea is characterized by ethnic and cultural diversity that remarkably exceeds that of the western shore. Similar variation is shown by communications locally as well as with the neighbours across the sea.

80 Shepherd 1999: 33–47.

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Political factors and the evolutionist paradigm have biased the traditional approach, so that the contacts across the sea in the northern region of the Bal-tic Sea are seen primarily as one-sided and proceeding from Scandinavia. The factors indicating contacts in the opposite direction have attracted more atten-tion only during the last decade. One might suggest that the interaction with the neighbours across the sea did not bring only single artefacts of eastern ori-gin to the western shore of the Baltic Sea; to some extent the influence affected the social organization and ideology as well. However, the way in which the influence could have been expressed more specifically in, for example, central Swedish or Gotlandic prehistoric society, currently remains outside the scope of this chapter.

Acknowledgements

The author is thankful to Arvi Haak and Kristiina Johanson for translating this chapter, and to Alan Crozier and Gordon Snow for editing the English version of the text.

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nica, Vuosikirja xv: B: 5 (1937): 1–17.


Lietuvos archeologiniai paminklai: Lietuvos pajūrio i–vii a. kapinynai. Edited by Adolfas Tautavičius. Vilnius: “Mintis”, 1968.

Tautavičius, Adolfas. “Taurapilio ‘kunigaikščio’ kapas.” Lietuvos Archeologija 2 (1981): 18–34.

Thunmark-Nylén, Lena. “Dräkt och dräktsmycken på Gotland under vikingatiden.” In Gutar och vikingar, edited by Ingmar Jansson, 153–182. Stockholm: Statens Historiska Museum, 1983.

Thunmark-Nylén, Lena. “Vikingatid eller medeltid? Om datering av gotländska grav-fynd.” Tor 23 (1990): 141–202.

Tõnisson, Evald. Die Gauja-Liven und ihre materielle Kultur (11. Jh. – Anfang 13. Jhs.): Ein Beitrag zur Ost-Baltischen Frühgeschichte. Tallinn: Eesti raamat, 1974.

Trocolli, Ruth. “Women Leaders in Native North American Societies: Invisible Women in Power.” In Manifesting Power: Gender and the Interpretation of Power in Archaeol-ogy, edited by Tracy L. Sweely, 49–61. London: Routledge, 1999.

Tvauri, Andres. Balti arheoloogia maailmaajaloo pöörises ehk gooti teooria saatus. Estonian Journal of Archaeology 7, 1 (2003): 38–71.

Vaitkunskienė, Laima. 1995. “The Formation of a Warrior Elite during the Middle Iron Age in Lithuania.” Archaeologia Baltica 1 (1995): 94–106.

Vaska, Baiba. “Latgaļu 8.–9. gs. manšetaproču ornaments.” Arheoloģija un etnogrāfija xviii (1996): 137–146.

Vaska, Baiba. “Kuršu pakavsaktas un to ornaments.” Pētījumi kuršu senatnē. Latvijas Vēstures Muzeja raksti 14. Arheoloģija (2008): 105 –128.

Vasks, Andrejs. “Latvian Archaeology: Research and Conclusions.” In Inside Latvian Archaeology, edited by Ola Jensen, Håkan Karlsson and Armands Vijups, 3–88. Got-arc Series A, Vol. 2. Göteborg: Department of Archaeology, 1999.

Volkaitė-Kulikauskienė, Regina. Senovės Lietuvių drabužiai ir jų papuošalai (i–xvi a.). Vilnius: Lietuvos istorijos institutas, 1997.

Wickholm, Anna and Raninen, Sami. “The Broken People: Deconstruction of Person-hood in Iron Age Finland.” Estonian Journal of Archaeology 10, 2 (2006): 150–166.

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Yrwing, Hugo. Gotlands medeltid. Visby: Gotlandskonst, 1978.Zariņa, Anna. Salaspils Laukskolas kapulauks 10.–13. gadsimts. Riga: Latvijas Vēstures

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Archaeologia Baltica 4 (2000): 89–108.


chapter 3

Riding to the Afterworld: Burying with Horses and Riding Equipment in Estonia and the Baltic Rim

Valter Lang

Introduction

In the late Viking Age, several new elements occurred in the burial customs of the ancient Estonians: assemblages of grave goods became rich in various ar-tefacts, male and female furnishings became more clearly distinguished from each other, and weapons together with riding gear and horse harness spread among the grave goods. Although none of these occurrences was absolutely new in what is today Estonia (their roots can be seen already in the middle Iron Age), their distribution now achieved such systematic features that one has to suppose some important changes in underlying ideology. And essential changes in prehistoric religion, which started to take shape since the Migration Period, have been already suggested by some researchers.1

Many studies of burial customs in Estonia during the Viking Age and the late Iron Age can be cited here.2 One important feature of it – burial with horse harness and riding gear (Fig. 3.1) – has not attracted enough attention so far.3 The discussions of probable religious beliefs behind, and the symbolism of, burying with horse harness are actually missing here. Until now, the details of horse gear have been usually taken as proof that the Estonians made use of horses and riding or that they were characteristic of burials with high so-cial status.4 Among Finnish and Latvian researchers, the latter interpretation, stressing power, wealth, and aristocracy, likewise has been the most popular way of understanding the matter.5 Others have been more cautious in this re-spect.6 The idea that prehistoric people considered it important to have horses available in their afterlife has been quite commonly accepted.

This interpretation, however, is clearly insufficient for understanding the semiotic meaning of the use of horses in a burial context. Why horses and

1 E.g. Jonuks 2005; Jonuks 2009.2 E.g. Selirand 1974; Mägi 2002; Mandel 2003.3 However, see Paulsen 1938.4 Selirand 1974: 126; Mägi 2002: 123.5 Taavitsainen 1976; Vilcāne 2007.6 Lehtosalo-Hilander 1982: 64.

49Riding to the Afterworld

not cows or sheep, for instance? The use of horses has been quite varied and long-lasting in European funeral practice, extending from the deposition of single details of horse harness or riding gear to the burial (or sacrifice) of whole

Figure 3.1 One of the typical find complexes of horse equipment from the island of Saaremaa (a stone grave at Randvere)After Mägi 2002: pl. 41

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horses. The chronological diapason spans from the Bronze Age until late pre-historic times. Here one can distinguish three main groups of corresponding findings, which can occur independently, in combination with each other, or all together: (1) riding gear (spurs and stirrups), (2) horse harness (bridles, mounts for straps), and (3) horses or parts of them (usually skulls, teeth, and leg bones).7 While spurs belonged to the riders, everything else represented the horse (either directly or symbolically according to pars pro toto principles); quite often spurs and other horse equipment do not occur together in burial contexts. One may suppose, therefore, that spurs and horse equipment had separate symbolic meanings, the former most likely referring to a wealthy and powerful man who might not even have had any direct connection to riding. In this sense the symbolism of spurs might have been similar to that of swords and other military equipment connected with higher social rank.8 The burial of horses, or objects that represented horses, can be separate from the ideology of power and wealth, therefore, although in one important sense they certainly coincide and complement each other.

This article aims to discuss the symbolic meaning of burial with horse har-ness and riding gear in a northern European context, to study the origins and distribution of this custom and ideas behind it, and to analyse why this occur-rence was so late not only in Estonia but also throughout the northernmost part of the eastern Baltic region. The article will begin with a general survey of the distribution of the custom, concentrating on the Iron Age and leaving the earlier evidence more or less aside.

Burials with Horses, Horse Harness, and Riding Gear around the Baltic Sea

Estonia, Finland, and Northern LatviaAfter some probable late Bronze Age examples, proper burials with horse har-ness and burials of horse bones occurred in Estonia beginning from the fifth or sixth century a.d.; the corresponding influences arrived from two opposite directions. In western Estonia (the graves at Lihula, Ehmja, and Maidla i) and on the island of Saaremaa (Lepna, Liiva-Putla), the details of horse harness

7 One additional group of findings comprise offerings of horses and/or horse gear, known from different areas around the southern Baltic Sea and beyond (Müller-Wille 1972: 180ff.). As such offerings seem to be absent in the northernmost eastern Baltic region (with a few probable exceptions), they will not be treated in this article.

8 Cf. Hedeager 1992: 160; Wikborg 1997: 232ff.


(bridles and trap mounts) occurred together with artefacts of Scandinavian origin, and at least some bridles have direct parallels on the island of Gotland.9 The complex of two bridles together with mountings and buckles found be-neath the stone grave at Ehmja without human bones is comparable to of-ferings of horse gear known from southern Scandinavia at that time.10 Horse bones and teeth were found together with other animal and human bones at Lihula; it is not clear, however, whether they should be classified as grave goods or rather as the remnants of funeral feasts.11 Judging from the character of arte-facts, the custom of furnishing some burials with horse harnesses was obvious-ly influenced by Scandinavia (Gotland); all the burials in questions were rich in grave goods, including weaponry (mostly spearheads and socketed axes). Yet, this custom was distributed only in a rather small area of western Estonia and, as it seems on the basis of present knowledge, during a short period of time.

In the south-eastern corner of Estonia, some burials of horse bones are re-ported from the cultural sphere of long barrows, which started to spread in the fifth and sixth centuries. These barrows, at least in what is now Estonia, are exceptional in their abundance of horse bones and nearly complete absence of bones of other animals.12 In long barrows, the distribution area of which extends far to the east and south-east of Estonia, pieces of horse equipment (spurs, bridle bits, and mountings) and weapons (spear- and javelin-heads, ar-rowheads, and axes) are sometimes found as well. According to Michel Kazan-ski, the artefacts in question originate from two main directions: the eastern Baltic region (Western Balts) and the Danube–Dnieper–Dniester area (mixed Slavonic population).13 Further to the east, in the region of the Volga, Oka, and Vyatka rivers settled by the eastern Finno-Ugrians, the tradition of bury-ing both men and women with horses, parts of horses or horse equipment oc-curred during the fifth to seventh centuries and lasted until historical times.14 Also very popular there were various pendants representing horses and riders (Figs. 3.2–3.3).

Details of horse harness did not become more common in Estonian cem-eteries before the tenth century. Unlike the Migration Period when horse harnesses and horse burials were spread only in two rather limited areas, the

9 Mandel 2003; Mägi 2004.10 E.g. Müller-Wille 1972: 185-244; Stenberger 1977: 266, 333f. For Ehmja see Mandel 2003: 32,

pl. 3.11 Maldre 2003.12 Allmäe and Maldre 2005; Maldre and Luik 2009.13 Kazanski 2007.14 Golubeva 1979; Ryabinin 1981.

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custom of furnishing burials with details of horse harness was now distributed over the country.15 However, there are some areas where horse equipment and weapons occur more often, such as the island of Saaremaa and western and south-western Estonia, while they are rare in interior and south-eastern parts of the country.16 Estonian stone graves of the time usually contain mixed cre-mations where the separation of individual burials is impossible or at least speculative; therefore it is difficult to establish whether the grave goods in question belonged only to male or to both male and female burials. Accord-ing to some analyses, however, it is likely that a few female burials were also furnished with details from horse harness.17

As mentioned, the custom of furnishing burials with horse gear spread more widely after the tenth century. The custom disappeared after 1200, or possibly earlier. What happened with this custom between the Migration Period and the late Viking Age remains unknown, due to the limited data about burial customs in Estonia during that time. Perhaps only one spur from

15 Selirand 1974: 123ff.; Mägi 2002; Mandel 2003.16 Selirand 1974: 126.17 Mägi 2002.

Figure 3.2 Two examples of pendants with impressions of horses from the areas of the eastern Finno-UgriansAfter Golubeva 1979: pl. 8


Kurna stone grave and a bridle bit from grave iii at Lehmja-Loo, both in north-ern Estonia, could belong to this intermediate period.18 However, it seems clear that although the custom may have been known to some extent, it was not widely distributed or practised. Therefore it is highly remarkable that

18 Lõugas 1973: 124, fig. 5.21.

Figure 3.3 Pendants of eastern Finno-Ugrians representing female ridersAfter Golubeva 1979: pl. 16

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contemporaneously to western Estonia, similar grave goods also occurred in several south-western Latgallian cemeteries in eastern Latvia in the late tenth and eleventh centuries. The number of such cemeteries is only five (altogether 16 burials) at the moment and they are distributed in a rather limited area in the Dubna River basin.19 All burials in question belonged to richly furnished and armed men. In addition to these five cemeteries, only a few artefacts of the kind have been discovered in other Latgallian cemeteries; they are rare also in the areas of the Selonians who were the south-western neighbours of the Lat-gallians.20 According to Antonija Vilcāne, this “unusual feature of burial prac-tices” could be a result of some influences from the direction of Lithuania and indicate some kind of social change in local communities, connected with the establishment of military retinues.21

In the area of Gauja-Livs in northern Latvia, burials with horse harness and riding gear are quite rare and they all belong to the very late Iron Age, i.e. from the eleventh to the beginning of the thirteenth century.22 The custom was to some extent more frequently distributed on the lower reaches of the Daugava River, also inhabited by the Livs.23 Bridle bits and spurs have been found only in single pieces likewise from the Votic graves in north-eastern Estonia.24

The earliest burials furnished with pieces of horse gear in Finland are dated to the late Migration Period.25 One of the earliest is the Ainola weapon hoard, where bridle bits together with swords, shield bosses, and spearheads from the sixth century had been deposited in the ground without clear indications of a grave.26 It is likely that this find was also an offering similar to that at Ehmja in Estonia and many others in Scandinavia and elsewhere. Graves with horse equipment spread more widely in Finland in the Merovingian and Viking Ages, i.e. in the seventh to eleventh centuries, and disappeared after that.27 It is likely that the custom was influenced from the west of the Baltic Sea. The majority of closed-find complexes belonged to wealthy and armed men but there are also some certain female burials and “poorer” men furnished with horse harness.28

19 Vilcāne 2007.20 The Selonians 2007: 180, 188; Vilcāne 2009. However, there are some remarkable excep-

tions, such as the wealthy burial with a horse at Beteļi in the Jēkabpils district (Šnore 1987).

21 Vilcāne 2007: 280.22 Tõnisson 1974: 117.23 Brūzis and Spirģis 2009.24 Ligi 1993: 45.25 Kivikoski 1973: n. 387.26 Hirviluoto 1976.27 Taavitsainen 1976.28 Taavitsainen 1976; Lehtosalo-Hilander 1982.


Thus, although the earlier evidence belongs to the Migration Period, one may suppose that there was a new wave of cultural influences involving burial with horse harness and riding gear that spread over the northernmost eastern Baltic region in the late tenth century, except perhaps in Finland. As far as it is possible to conclude on the basis of the available archaeological record, the majority of burials in question are male and rich in other grave goods, which usually also include weapons. Female burials with horse harness are rare but they do exist in limited numbers in both Estonia and Finland as well as in the areas inhabited by the eastern Finno-Ugrians.

Lithuania, East Prussia, and PolandThe role of horse and horse harness in burial rituals was very different in south-ernmost eastern Baltic region, in what are today Lithuania, Poland, and the Ka-liningrad district of Russia (formerly East Prussia), through the entire Iron Age a.d. The earliest burial with horse remains (skull and fragments of hoof and leg bones) at Kvečiai in western coastal Lithuania is dated from the fifth century b.c.29 Other burials of this type are known from the late pre-Roman Iron Age (Kurmaičiai). Burials with riding gear and parts of horses (mostly skulls and leg bones), however, became more common everywhere on the south-eastern shores of the Baltic Sea in the second and third centuries.30 After the Migration Period burials with horses and especially with horse gear were widespread – albeit unevenly – over the whole of Lithuania and Poland. The Semigallians, for instance, occupying what are today northern Lithuania and southern Lat-via, along with the Selonians and Latgallians, usually did not bury their dead with horses, as did their southern and western Baltic neighbours. However, the wealthy and apparently highborn Semigallians were buried from the sixth to the eleventh century with spurs, usually worn on the left foot, and from the sixth to the eighth century also with horse equipment.31 After the seventh cen-tury, the Curonians in western Lithuania and south-western Latvia buried their dead without horses but with horse equipment.32 The Zhemaitian wealthy male graves contained a horse head and sometimes also horse legs, while grave goods included riding gear (spurs), horse harness, weapons, drinking horns, and ornaments.33 In eastern Lithuania and north-western Belarus, in the areas inhabited by the Lithuanians, horses (both inhumations and cremations) were

29 Varnas 1998.30 Kulikauskas 1968; Nowakowski 1996: 63; Bliujienė and Butkus 2007.31 The Semigallians 2005: 127ff.32 Varnas 1998.33 Vaitkunskienė 1981. According to Vaitkunskienė, the proportion of the wealthy male

graves is 7–17 per cent (mostly 11–12 per cent) of all burials in a cemetery.

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included with human male burials in barrows, or were buried in their own bar-rows, or even in separate cemeteries. Horses were often equipped with bridles, stirrups, iron bells, brooches, and the like; an artefact common in such graves is the sickle.34 In central Lithuania, cremated males were buried with inhumed horse remains, which usually were located in a separate part of the cemetery and furnished with splendid equipment and ornaments (including amber beads, necklaces, and brass rings similar to bracelets).35 The variety of burial customs connected with horses in what is today Lithuania is not exhausted by this description.36 The custom disappeared with the arrival of Christianity at the end of the fourteenth century.

ScandinaviaIn Scandinavia, the earliest finds of riding gear (spurs) in burial contexts come from the late pre-Roman Iron Age weapon graves on the island of Gotland.37 In the early Roman Iron Age wealthy burials with spurs occurred both in Swe-den and in Denmark, but horse gear together with weapons was deposited in bogs.38 Offerings of horses and horse furniture, mostly in bogs, were numerous in Denmark and Sweden (including Gotland) already in the Bronze Age and early Iron Age, while only horse harness was often deposited in the Roman Iron Age and Migration Period.39 In the Iron Age, particularly after 200 a.d., burials with horse harness and riding gear became quite common in many parts of Scandinavia; often complete bodies of horses or big parts of them were also buried as grave goods, together with dogs and other domesticated animals.40 Burial with horses and/or horse harness lasted until Christianiza-tion; at least in some areas (Iceland) this custom was common for both male and female burials.41 It must be stressed, however, that different areas in Scan-dinavia display quite remarkable differences. In Denmark, for instance, the majority of burials with a standardized set of weapons and horse equipment – consisting of a pair of spurs, a bridle bit, a pair of stirrups from the saddle, and a sword, spear, and sometimes also an axe – occured only in the tenth

34 Varnas 1998; Juškaitis 2005.35 Ibid.36 See e.g. The Horse 2009.37 Stenberger 1977: 246.38 Hedeager 1992: figs. 1.3, 3.26, and 3.41–46; Wikborg 1997.39 Müller-Wille 1972: 180ff.; Ullén 1996: 162.40 Jennbert 2006.41 Loumand 2006.


century. According to Anne Pedersen, the grave contents, the combination and the choice of objects may reflect a way of life comparable to or at least attempt-ing to emulate western European court life rather than customs or ideas on the afterlife in Valhalla prevalent in Norway and Sweden.42 A common feature for Denmark, Norway, and Sweden is, however, that horse equipment occurs only in the graves of geographically limited areas when compared with the Viking Age burial finds as a whole.43

On the island of Gotland, the furnishing of burials with horse gear was in-troduced by the transition from the Migration to the Vendel Period; during the Vendel and Viking Ages the parts of horse equipment only belonged to the grave goods of wealthy males.44 In the second half of the first millennium, horses and horse equipment often accompanied burials in boat-graves, widely distributed in Norway, southern and eastern Scandinavia and Gotland. Both ships/boats (one of the most common images on the picture-stones) and hors-es are regarded as means of transport of the deceased to the other world.45

In Viking Age Birka, riding gear and horse equipment have been found in 44 graves (both cremations and inhumations), which mostly – as much as it was possible to establish the sex of the dead – belonged to men (only three certain female graves).46 Twenty burials of horses were discovered, the major-ity of them with complete horse gear.47

Central, Eastern and South-Eastern EuropeGoing from the Baltic Sea region further to the south-east, it is worth men-tioning that burials with peculiar horse harness – disc-shaped cheek-pieces – were spread in a wide zone reaching from the Urals in the north-east to the Mycenaean graves in the south-west already in the early second millennium b.c.48 The next and more widespread wave of horse-related burials followed a thousand years later, in the early first millennium b.c., and can be connected with cultural influences from the Caucasus area and steppes north of the Black Sea. Burials with horses, horse harness, and wagons, occurring this time in large regions of central and western Europe, were initiated from the westward

42 Pedersen 1997.43 Pedersen 1997: 181.44 Thunmark-Nylén 1995; Rundkvist 2003a; Rundkvist 2003b: 49ff.45 Andrén 1993: 47.46 Forsåker 1986.47 Gräslund 1980: 39ff., 48f; Forsåker 1986.48 Penner 2004: figs. 10–12; Tkachyov 2004.

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movement of the Cimmerians, followed later in the sixth century b.c. by the Scythians.49 Although wagons and horses had long been known also within the Urnfield culture, these new influences now caused the change towards the emphasis of riding, integrating social and military dominance into ritual, and adding new beliefs and myths to Urnfield religion.50

In the Roman Iron Age, the majority of horse-related graves are concentrat-ed on the middle reaches of the Danube River but they are also occasionally known from the whole of western Europe.51 The custom spread more widely in the areas of Germanic tribes (in what are today mostly Germany, north-eastern France and Great Britain) after the fifth century and it disappeared during the Viking Age.52

To sum up, the custom of burying with horses and horse and riding gear started to spread in eastern and south-eastern continental Europe in the Bronze Age, first under the Early Iranian, later Cimmerian and Scythian influ-ences. This does not mean that horses were unknown or not used at all in ritual behaviour before that or between these waves, but remarkable changes in reli-gious beliefs had to occur at least in the early first millennium b.c. In Scandi-navia, the cultic use of horses also spread in the early Bronze Age (in rock art, design of artefacts, and offerings).53 Yet, it was rather late in burial custom. The pre-Roman Iron Age is poor in findings of horse-related burials everywhere around the Baltic Sea; they became more common only in the first centuries of our era, particularly in the areas of the Western Balts (the initial step being mostly the occurrence of spurs). After the late Roman Period and the Migra-tion Period the burials with horses and horse gear are extremely numerous in the regions around the southernmost Baltic Sea, and at this time they also occurred in the northernmost eastern Baltic region. The custom disappeared with the transition to Christianity.

Pictographic Images of the Ride to the Afterworld

What do the findings discussed above signify? The traditional interpretation of grave goods, particularly those including weapons, horse gear, and rich ornaments, as markers of the high social status of the dead person during his/

49 Kristiansen 1998: 201ff.50 Kristiansen 1998: 205.51 Müller-Wille 1972: 169ff., fig. 38.52 Müller-Wille 1972.53 See below and e.g. Ullén 1996.


her lifetime cannot picture the entire symbolic meaning of burial rituals. Fu-nerals mark, among other things, a transformation of the status of the once living member of society into one suitable for the dead. It might follow that grave goods are more likely related to who the deceased has become and not to who he/she was in life.54 But not only this; if there were beliefs about the exis-tence of the afterworld then there also had to be some imagination of how to reach that world. And if the way to the afterworld was complicated somehow then there had to be some means to overcome these difficulties. A classical example here is viaticum (travelling money) – a coin which had to be deliv-ered to the boatman who transported the traveller across the River of Death to the underworld. This motif in religious imagination, originating from ancient Greek and Roman mythology, has been distributed widely and was known and practised sporadically in burial customs (by placing coins in the grave) until rather recently – by the Estonians, for instance, even until modern times.55 Thus, a coin in the grave was originally not meant for “buying something” in the underworld but only for the entering into that world.56

It follows that one important function of grave goods was not only to provide the deceased with necessary things for the afterlife but also with the means to reach that afterworld, i.e. for the transformation. Unfortunately, we do not know what this afterworld looked like for the late prehistoric Finnic (and some northern Baltic) peoples, nor what kind of difficulties might be encountered on the way to that world. Tõnno Jonuks has suggested that ideas about the afterlife as the continuation of real life after death started to spread in Estonia only after the Migration Period when “real” artefacts that could be used for ev-eryday purposes (tools and weapons) made their appearance among the grave goods.57 Although such ideas could have been spread much earlier, it still is obvious that important changes in religious beliefs took shape in the late first millennium a.d. and these new beliefs found expression in burial custom as well. Remarkable changes also took place in religious practice in Scandinavia after the Migration Period, when old sacrificial sites with thousands of years

54 Ekengren 2006: 109f.55 Valk 2001: 57, 77.56 However, this motif could also obtain over nuances when spread over space and time.

For instance, in south-eastern Estonia it was believed that the coins were needed either for travelling or for buying necessary things in the otherworld (e.g. food or vodka); some notes explain it as a means of bribing St Peter for access into Paradise or as an investment that would guarantee a sufficient supply of money in the afterlife (Valk 2001: 80).

57 Jonuks 2009.

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of continuity were abandoned in favour of new sites with connections to elite families.58

Scandinavia, particularly the island of Gotland, was one important source of the cultural influences that brought the custom of furnishing burials with horse harness to Estonia. It is probably reasonable to interpret those mate-rials as representative of the religious beliefs about the afterlife of the time around the southern and central Baltic Sea. As mentioned above, burials of horses and with horse harness and riding gear played an important role among funeral practices on Gotland, particularly after the late Migration Period. More importantly, however, we also have an important code here for the trans-lation of archaeological evidence into semantically more understandable language – the picture-stones whose images can be interpreted with the help of (later) written sagas.

Of particular importance here are the later Gotlandic picture-stones, which previously were mostly dated to the Vendel Period but which nowadays are regarded as originating rather from the Viking Age, c.800–1000.59 One group of stones have images of a rider-warrior in their upper sections (Figs. 3.4–3.5). These are depicted in various compositions (e.g. participating in processions, fighting), most commonly as a proud rider-warrior received by a female person offering him a drinking horn. Sometimes the rider also has a drinking horn, and on several stones a dog runs ahead of the rider. As the horses on some picture-stones have eight legs, they have been interpreted as Sleipnir – the horse of Odin.

Due to the location of these and other images on the upper sections of the picture-stones, they have been interpreted as images of Valhalla, the after-world of northern Germanic people. Sune Lindqvist has seen in these pictures dreams of the heroes about their happy fate in the future and final arrival in Valhalla, where valkyries welcome them and offer drink and sometimes even food.60 These scenes on the picture-stones already have been used briefly for the interpretation of Swedish burials with horses from the Vendel and Viking Ages.61 Of the other possible interpretations of these depictions, at least some of them do not contradict Lindqvist’s but help to see it from other angles. The depictions of rider-warriors, for instance, have been compared with the iconography of the imperial Roman and early medieval Frankish adventus

58 Fabech 1994.59 See Andrén 1993: 36; Lundin 2006 and literature cited there.60 Lindqvist 1941: 96–103.61 Gräslund 1980: 43; Andrén 1993: n. 3.


ceremony, i.e. the triumphal reception of the lord on his arrival.62 Another connection with ancient Roman mythology has been seen in the goddess Victoria who wreathed the hero-emperors, as there are also depictions of (female) beings with a wreath sending the rider-warriors on some Gotlandic picture-stones.63

62 Lundin 2006 and literature cited there.63 Lindqvist 1941: 98.

Figure 3.4 A picture-stone at Klinte Hunninge, GotlandAfter Lindqvist 1941: fig. 128

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Many parallels to the depictions of Gotlandic rider-warriors have been found from iconography elsewhere in Europe.64 They demonstrate the importance of this sign in the mythology of many peoples. On the other hand, these parallels are not exact copies of the scenario depicted on Gotlandic stones. Therefore the comparisons recently made by D.A. Korol’ between the scenes on the Got-landic picture-stones and those found on various artefacts and gravestones of Scythian and Thracian origin north of the Black Sea are of the greatest impor-tance here (Figs. 3.6–3.8).65 The latter also involve pictures of a rider-warrior on horseback with a drinking horn in his hand and a female person welcoming him, usually sitting on a throne; sometimes the warrior is standing without

64 E.g. Lindqvist 1941: 124ff.; Nylén 1983; Lundin 2006.65 Korol’ 2005.

Figure 3.5 A picture-stone at Alskog TjängvideAfter Lindqvist 1941: fig. 137


a horse. The similarity is amazing, although the difference in space and time is great – the Scythian parallels are dated from the second half of the first millennium b.c. and the first centuries A.D. Korol’ has also found similar traits in the religious beliefs of Scythian–Iranian–Anatolian and Scandinavian tribes, which include a concept of both the journey to the afterworld – where the horse served as means for overcoming obstacles between the worlds of

Figure 3.6 An appliqué on a felt carpet from the fifth barrow at Pazyryk, Altai, fifth–fourth centuries b.c.After Korol’ 2005: fig. 3: A

Figure 3.7 A dedication relief from Yevpatoria, the Crimea, second century a.d.After Korol’ 2005: fig. 4: ab

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the living and the dead – and of the traveller welcomed by the female being (most likely a goddess).66 There are also interpretations according to which the scene in question depicts the action of the sacred marriage (hieros gamos), through which the person who arrived in the afterworld achieved sacral power.67

Korol’ explains the spread of Scythian–Iranian–Anatolian beliefs across the huge geographical expanses to the north-west through the coexistence of representatives of northern Germanic and Iranian tribes in the formation called Chernyakhov culture.68 Sites characterized as belonging to this cul-ture were distributed north of the Black Sea from the second to the fifth (or even to the seventh) century a.d., and many archaeologists have interpreted it as a multi-ethnic formation.69 I am not able to evaluate this supposition; suffice it to say that these religious beliefs could have found expression in forms not limited to iconography. As we are dealing with beliefs on death and the afterlife, burial customs are, of course, of particular importance here. It is conceivable that the burials with horses or horse harnesses that were distributed over large regions of Europe for many centuries might have been connected somehow with religious beliefs about horses as a means of travelling to the underworld. And in this way, these burials might indicate

66 According to the beliefs of the Scythians, this travelling was sacral and identical to the mythological journey of the primeval ancestor, the cultural hero, and it had to be repeated later in a metaphorical way for other dead people in burial custom (Korol’ 2005 with refer-ence to V.S. Ol’khovskii).

67 Korol’ 2005 and literature cited there.68 Korol’ 2005.69 Symonovich and Kravchenko 1983: 8 and literature cited there.

Figure 3.8 Investiture scene from Sveshtari, Guinina Moguila, Balkan Peninsula, fourth–third centuries b.c.After Sǐrbu 2006: fig. 5: 1


the spread and importance of these beliefs in intermediate space and time. The great variety of nuances in the burial customs in question can be ex-plained by the alteration of myths and beliefs in their spread over that space and time (see also below). The striking similarity between Gotlandic and Scythian examples – the two extremes, in both space and time, of icon-ographic expressions – requires further study. Was this a result of the first Viking raids to the Black Sea? Or of a wide range of contacts between Scan-dinavia and the Danube region already in existence during the Vendel and Migration Periods?70 Or of the Danubian influences on the south-eastern shores of the Baltic already found during the Roman Iron Age and Migra-tion Period?71

As is known from Norse sagas, all mythological horses (of which Odin’s Sleipnir is the prime example) can mediate between earth and sky and be-tween the world of mortal men and the underworld.72 It is difficult to establish precisely when such beliefs were born in northern Europe, i.e. when the horse became mythologically loaded; a possible starting point could be the Trund-holm “sun chariot” and other early Bronze Age images of horses carrying the sun across the sky.73 The connection of the horse-as-mediator with death might have been elaborated from this early mythology, either independently or as a result of cultural influences from the south-east. Bronze Age contacts between Scandinavia and the Mediterranean and Caucasus regions are well-known. Yet, it seems likely that more important influences were received later from the areas settled by the Cimmerians and Scythians, evidenced, perhaps, by the impact the latter had on the development of warfare in central and western Europe in the early first millennium b.c.74 The horse and riding also were part of this impact, and judging from the burial evidence (see above), some ideas of corresponding mythology must have spread over the continent already at that time, if not before. On the other hand, the myths as cultural phenomena could not be adopted if there was no suitable ground for that, i.e. without pre-existing mythological similarities. This explanation stems from the theory of cultural translation, according to which there cannot be deeper interaction be-tween cultures completely different from each other (or completely identical to each other); the translation of foreign impacts into a society’s own cultural

70 E.g. Fabech 1994: 178.71 Skvortsov 2009.72 Loumand 2006: 133.73 E.g. Ullén 1996; see also Bradley 2006 and literature cited there.74 Nylén 1983; Kristiansen 1998: 195ff.

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language requires some overlapping element that can be mutually understood by both interacting cultures.75

As for the Scythians, the burials with horses and horse harnesses were widespread already in the centuries around the middle of the first millennium b.c., and they are well-known to archaeologists.76 Burials with horse harness (bridles) are known in this region already from pre-Scythian times, i.e. long before the seventh century b.c. During the later phase of the Scythian era, around the birth of Christ, the role of horses decreased remarkably in burial customs, however.77 In the sphere of the Chernyakhov culture, horse harness was only seldom put in the graves.78 This complicates (but does not contradict) the interpretation of the Chernyakhov culture as a mediator of corresponding beliefs to the north and north-west; such an interpretation is not impossible because we cannot expect to find a one-to-one relationship between the myths about the underworld and the material culture of death. The spread of burials with horses and/or horse harnesses over wide regions of central and western Europe from the first century a.d. may also indicate the distribution of the beliefs in question north-westwards from the Scythian territories.

However, all burials with horses or horse gear throughout the continent should not be interpreted as the reflection of perfectly identical religious beliefs – they are too widely differentiated. What we see from Scythian and Gotlandic iconography is a rider-warrior – i.e. not a common man or or-dinary soldier but a wealthy, powerful, and most likely highborn chief. His chiefly origin is stressed by the welcoming goddess sitting on the throne in Scythian iconography, and by wreaths of victory on Gotlandic picture-stones, the use of which was perhaps influenced by Roman and Frankish adventus semantics (see above). Therefore it is more likely that only wealthy male burials with horses or horse equipment can be taken as direct reflections of this belief, while other corresponding burials (poorer men, women, and girls) may reflect some alterations and variations of it. For instance there is a fifth–sixth-century chiefly burial with weapons, ornaments, a drinking horn, and a horse from Taurapilis, Lithuania.79 This grave seems to have been a real model for the artists carving later the Gotlandic picture-stones. On the other hand, many other Lithuanian and East Prussian burials of the time, or numerous Icelandic female burials with horses of much later times, did not follow this

75 Lotman 2001.76 E.g. Davis-Kimball et al. 1995.77 E.g. Grakow 1980; Stepi evropeyskoy chasti sssr v skifo-sarmatskoye vremya 1989.78 Symonovich and Kravchenko 1983: 33, table 13.79 Tautavičius 1981.


canon of chiefly warrior riding to Valhalla.80 Yet, the two groups shared the idea that the horse was an important means of getting to the underworld. Close parallels to this occurrence can be found in syncretistic religions dur-ing the period of transition to Christianity: alongside purely Christian religion (and strictly Christian burial), there also existed many traits of earlier pagan-ism with corresponding expressions in burial customs. In the Estonian coun-tryside, for instance, such a syncretistic religion with its reflections in burial custom lasted over half of the millennium.81

Judging by its frequent occurrence in both Scythian and Gotlandic iconog-raphy, the drinking horn was an important detail in burial customs. According to Korol’, the drinking horn or cup at the hand of the rider or his receiver refers to the “drink of eternity”; whereas the motif of eternal circulation of sacral mead was well-known in Scandinavian mythology (drinking the inexhaustible mead eternally prolonged the life of the inhabitants of Valhalla).82 The fur-nishing of burials with drinking horns was widely distributed in Scandinavia ever since the Roman Iron Age; for instance, on the island of Gotland both male and female wealthy burials contained drinking horns, which most likely referred to the widespread feasting custom among groups of higher social sta-tus.83 In the eastern Baltic region (e.g. East Prussia) drinking horns occurred in the second and third centuries, later also further inland.84 However, they never became as popular as in the areas west of the Baltic Sea. In Estonia there are only a few bronze mountings of drinking horns known from Migration Period graves, while in late Iron Age burial contexts they are almost totally missing (with a few exceptions); however, the tradition of furnishing burials with fine-grained decorated pottery was quite common. It is not impossible that such vessels partly fulfilled the same purpose in the ritual as did the drinking horns elsewhere.

The comparison of archaeological evidence proves that where the percent-age of horse-related burials in cemeteries was small, these burials tended to be wealthier, more “warrior” and “aristocratic”, and most likely only male. On the contrary, where burials with horse gear are numerous, women and poorer men were also furnished with such grave goods. Therefore one has to look for the re-flection of myths about the “riding to the afterworld” (as seen in Gotlandic and Scythian iconography) in burial custom, first of all, among the groups where

80 For the Lithuanian and East Prussian burials see e.g. Jaskanis 1966.81 Valk 2001.82 Korol’ 2005: 340.83 Cassel 1998: 46ff.84 Tautavičius 1996: 270.

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burial with horse equipment became densely interrelated with the warrior ide-ology. The pattern of distribution of such groups with the mounted warrior ideology may vary from one area to another; yet, they are always more limited in size and spread than those burying either with horse gear or with weap-ons. One of the substantial features of the warrior ideology through the ages has been elite hunting, and at this point we will discuss briefly one more be-ing on the Gotlandic picture-stones occurring together with horses and rider- warriors, namely, the dog.

According to Lindqvist’s interpretation, the dog on Gotlandic stones simply represented a fellow hunter, a good friend of the warrior.85 Other interpreta-tions of the dog symbolism, however, range from the dog as a guardian of the underworld (Hades, Valhalla) or the dog as a battle-dog to the dog as a marker of the chiefly status of the buried person.86 Already for the Old Iranian people the dog was a holy animal with high status, both mythologically and in reality, and dogs played important roles at the funeral ceremonies.87 In Greek mythol-ogy, as well as in many other Indo-European mythologies, dogs played a part in three important phases of man’s relationship with death: (1) the passage from life to death, (2) the time spent in the underworld, and (3) the return to life as a spirit.88 Dog burials have been discovered in several Greek and Roman cem-eteries.89 However, they were distributed over large regions of Europe mostly during the second half of the first millennium a.d.90 The dual role of dogs in re-ligious belief has been stressed: they were both nature and culture, both good and evil, and they stood between this world and the other world. The dogs could bear the souls to, and they could act as guards at the entrance of, the underworld.91 Thus, it is evident that the dog bears a mythological meaning in burial rituals similar to that of the horse: they both act as a mediator between the world of the living and the world of the dead. Therefore it is not surprising that in many cemeteries in Scandinavia and elsewhere in Europe both dogs and horses/horse equipment occur together, in this way adding an important element to make the similarity between these burials and the scenes on Got-landic picture-stones precise.

85 Lindqvist 1941: 103.86 Gräslund 2004; Jonuks 2006 and literature cited there.87 Gräslund 2004: 171.88 De Grossi Mazzorin and Minniti 2006: 62ff.89 De Grossi Mazzorin and Minniti 2006: 64.90 Gräslund 2004: 169f. Gräslund states that dog burials are known already since the Meso-

lithic in Scandinavia. However, the Mesolithic burials are not relevant in this context.91 Gräslund 2004: 171 and literature cited there.


In Estonia, dog burials – sometimes accompanied with dog figurines – were distributed during the tenth to twelfth centuries in the western part of the country and on the island of Saaremaa,92 i.e. in the areas where horse-related burials played the most significant role in burial customs. The dog burials in Estonia can mostly be associated with male burials but there are also some examples where they could have been buried together with females. Nothing in Estonian folklore links dogs to the guarding of the underworld, however.93

Conclusions

From the beginning of its domestication until modern times, the horse has played an increasingly important role in human life. It has shared a significant role in everyday work, transport, and warfare, and as a result gradually also took on far-reaching religious characteristics, including a connection with the theme of the underworld. In archaeology, beliefs concerning the underworld and the ways to reach that world are mirrored in burial customs. This article has discussed one prehistoric myth about horses as means of transportation from this world to the world beyond, which can be traced in both ancient graves with horses and/or horse equipment and Gotlandic-Scythian iconog-raphy. I proceeded from the burial customs in my home country in the middle and late Iron Ages and extended the analysis over the Baltic Rim; yet, as the roots of the custom in question reached the steppes of the northern Black Sea region in the earlier Iron Age i had to follow them in time and also over geo-graphical expanses.

As to the northernmost eastern Baltic region, the earliest appearance of horse gear in stone graves of western Estonia, and parts of horses in barrows of south-eastern Estonia, can be dated from the sixth or possibly the fifth century. The same date is valid for south-western Finland. This custom spread stepwise more widely on both sides of the Gulf of Finland, also reaching the northern coast of Estonia in the seventh–eighth centuries. It seems that what happened in the late tenth century was a new wave of cultural influences from Scandina-via, particularly from the island of Gotland, mostly touching the western parts of Estonia, including the island of Saaremaa. As to Latgallia, the corresponding influences most likely came from the southernmost Balts, but the coincidence in time – the late tenth century – is intriguing.

92 Jonuks 2006.93 Ibid.

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The second half of the first millennium was a period of crucial changes in Estonian prehistoric religion, when ideas about the afterlife as a continuation of real (or ideal) life in the afterworld spread more widely. As much of these new religious beliefs originated in Scandinavia, it is quite conceivable that the myth about the ride to and reception in the afterworld also became somehow acknowledged in the northernmost eastern Baltic region at that time. This myth was most likely born long before this somewhere in the Black Sea region and afterwards distributed over large expanses of the European continent. In its course of its distribution the myth acquired new nuances and modifica-tions; among other things, it probably encountered another myth about dogs as guardians and companions on the way to the underworld. In the archaeo-logical record, the religious symbolism of both animals was expressed in burial rituals, either by furnishing graves with horses and/or horse equipment or with burials of dogs. In a most impressive way these beliefs figured in Scythian and Gotlandic iconography, giving us the key to understanding this record. The symbolic use of dogs in burial contexts reached western Estonia and the island of Saaremaa in the tenth century, but it is difficult to establish what the actual content of this symbolism was. Most likely the Christianization of the country completely extirpated this relatively thin layer in Estonian prehistoric religion.

Acknowledgements

This research was supported by the European Union through the European Regional Development Fund (Centre of Excellence in Cultural Theory) and the Estoman Ministry of Education and Research(iut 20–7).

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nom Priural’ye.” In Psalii. Elementy upryazhi i konskogo snaryazhenya v drevnosti. Sbornik statey, edited by Anatolij Mikolajovich Usachuk, 62–81. Arkheologicheskiy al’manakh, 15. Donetsk: 2004.

Tõnisson, Evald. Die Gauja-Liven und ihre materielle Kultur (11. Jh. – Anfang 13. Jhs.): Ein Beitrag zur ostbaltischen Frühgeschichte. Tallinn: Eesti Raamat, 1974.

Ullén, Inga. “Horse and Dog in the Swedish Bronze Age. A Close-up Study of the Rela-tion of Horse and Dog to Man in the Bronze Age Settlement of Apalle.” Archäolo-gisches Korespondenzblatt 26: 2 (1996): 145–166.

Vaitkunskienė, Laima. “Žirgų aukos Lietuvoje.” Lietuvos Archeologija 2 (1981): 58–77.Valk, Heiki. 2001. Rural Cemeteries of Southern Estonia 1225–1800 AD. CCC Papers 3.

Visby: Centre for Baltic Studies, Gotland Univ. College, 2001.Varnas, Algirdas. “Horse Burials in Lithuania.” Archaeologia Baltica 3 (1998): 291–294.Vilcāne, Antonija. “Tenth to 11th Century Warrior Burials with Horse-trappings in the

Latgallian Area.” Archaeologia Baltica 8 (2007): 273–282.Vilcāne, Antonija. “Findings of Harness Items and the Cult of the Horse in Latgallian

and Selonian Territories.” Archaeologia Baltica 11 (2009): 254–269.Wikborg, Jonas. “Sporrar från äldre järnålder i Västmanland, Södermanland och Upp-

land.” Tor 29 (1997): 199–239.


chapter 4

A Site of Intersection: Staraya Ladoga, Eastern Silver, and Long-Distance Communication Networks in Early Medieval Europe

Søren M. Sindbæk

Staraya Ladoga in north-western Russia is one of the most intriguing and most debated archaeological sites in Europe. In recent decades this early medieval river port has gained particular fame as part of a historical grand narrative of long-distance communication. This model sees the site as emerging during a breakthrough of long-distance communication along the Russian rivers, prompted by the growth of the ‘Abbasid world system. As such, it funnelled the transport of dirhams and other forms of Eastern sil-ver into the Baltic Sea Region. This chapter argues that the image of a sud-den transition from absence to presence of contact issues from a simplistic understanding of pre-modern long-distance communication. Arguing from a perspective of network theory, it is suggested that long-distance interac-tion in the early Middle Ages was characterized by distributed networks of interaction, which varied in terms of closeness, degree, and regularity. Re-viewing the archaeological evidence from Staraya Ladoga, it is shown that the phasing of the site is difficult to reconcile with a sudden emergence as a trading station for long-distance communication. An alternate model is outlined, in which the site appeared as a regional centre that eventually grew to assume a role as a nodal point for long-distance river routes.

From Cultural Boundaries to Degrees of Separation

Long-distance communication is an implicit condition to many subjects stud-ied by archaeology, but is often approached rather simplistically in terms of “contact” or “exchange”, i.e. as infrequent points of intersection. In the main-stream of archaeological studies, the active agents in long-distance commu-nication are tacitly or explicitly imagined as social groups, bound by shared identities, located within particular spatial regions, and constructing symbolic distinctions in interaction with “others”.1 Accordingly, communications are

1 Jones 1997; Lucy 2005.

77A Site of Intersection

perceived to proceed between discrete groups and regions, and explanations focus on reasons why particular groups might be either receptive or reluctant towards particular contacts.

Recently a more inclusive network approach to pre-modern communica-tion has been asserted.2 This has been encouraged more broadly by growing research into communication and social networks.3 A common point for the various approaches to social and cultural studies which verge on the concept of networks is the idea that durable social order exists in complex, heterarchi-cal forms. In spatial terms, social order is not necessarily locally or continuous-ly organized. Association between certain people, groups, or things are only sometimes defined within continuous and well-defined spatial regions.

Long-distance communication is a case in point of a spatially discontinu-ous social order. In pre-modern periods, it was often the privilege of a modest number of people. They could be individual mediators or mediating gateway communities, sometimes distributed as “trade diasporas” to particular cen-tres.4 Through their actions, some disparate places came to be much more closely related socially than they appear geographically. Discussing early me-dieval Europe, Paul Hohenberg and Lyn Lees note that if “the links among its cities could be described mathematically, it would be with topology rather than Euclidian geometry”.5

To understand such places in their wider setting, we must look to the “non-Euclidian geometry” of communication. In current understanding, archaeolog-ical sites where long-distance communication convened are often approached from a binary question of contacts or no contacts. Regarded instead as the sites of intersection of a distributed, intersecting, and geographically discontinuous social order, their study is transformed into one concerning the closeness, reg-ularity, and character of interaction networks.

Staraya Ladoga and the “Northern Arc”

The significance of this change of perspective can be illustrated with regard to one of the most famous episodes of long-distance communication in the northern world in the early Middle Ages: the emergence of routes along the

2 LaBianca and Scham 2006; cf. Castells 1996; Graham 2006; Sindbæk 2007; Müller 2009; Sindbæk 2010.

3 E.g. Latour 2005; Models and Methods in Social Network Analysis 2005.4 Cf. Curtin 1984.5 Hohenberg and Lees 1996: 70.

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Russian rivers leading from the Baltic to the Black Sea and the Caspian. The appearance of these routes is usually identified with two archaeological phe-nomena: on one hand the arrival of coins and other Eastern artefact types in northern Europe; on the other hand the foundation of Staraya Ladoga.6

Staraya Ladoga is situated south of Lake Ladoga by the Volkhov River, at what was through the Middle Ages the preferred landing site for ships coming from the Baltic Sea to north-western Russia. Extensive excavations have taken place in the site almost continually for over a century and results are reported in numerous papers.7 The earliest structures are dated by dendrochronology to c.754–760 a.d.8 There is scarce evidence of permanent human settlement in the wider region before the appearance of the site.9 Yet the location was a significant one in terms of communication: this was the furthest convenient landing-place that seagoing vessels could safely reach up the river, and from this point riverboats or land transport allowed easy access to the Novgorod region, and more generally into north-western Russia.

The archaeology of Staraya Ladoga is characterized by numerous finds of Scandinavian or Middle Eastern provenance, which occur in the deposits from the earliest documented levels.10 Because of these, and because of its position astride a main artery into the east European river corridors, Staraya Ladoga is generally accepted as a major station for transcontinental trade routes. This concept has roots in a long history of research, and is in a general sense well founded in the find material from the settlement. Yet a particular version of the argument, which has gained special prevalence in recent decades, takes this association in a problematic direction.

The first modern scholar to systematically assess the archaeological evi-dence for early medieval communication along the Russian rivers, Ture J. Arne, saw the influx of Eastern silver in the northern lands as the result of voyages of discovery by Swedish explorers.11 Staraya Ladoga features only marginally in Arne’s account, since substantial excavations had only recently commenced when his study was published.12 In 1930, however, Arne’s Russian colleague, I.V. Ravdonikas, explicitly presented the site as a nodal point for trade between

6 Coins: Kilger 2007; other artefacts: Callmer 1990; Callmer 1995; Sindbæk 2003.7 Among the most significant Ravdonikas 1949; Ryabinin 1985; Kirpichnikov 1997; a useful

introduction is provided by Uino 1989.8 Chernykh 1985; Ryabinin and Chernykh 1988.9 Nosov 2000: 166.10 Davidan 1986; Davidan 1995.11 Arne 1914: 221.12 Arne 1914: 22f.


Sweden and the Orient.13 In this form, the site was soon enrolled in the Swed-ish numismatist and economic historian Sture Bolin’s famous thesis of “Mo-hammed, Charlemagne, and Ruric”, which presented Scandinavian activities in Russia, and Eastern silver in Russia and Scandinavia, as a hitherto overlooked link between the ‘Abbasid caliphate and the Carolingian Empire.14

Arne, Ravdonikas, and Bolin all saw the activities of Scandinavians in Russia as the primary cause and condition for the Eastern imports. This included the founding of Staraya Ladoga – a “Swedish trading place” (“schwedishe Faktorei”) according to Ravdonikas.15 This coalition of Vikings and Arab silver was also the model adopted decades later when the numismatist Thomas S. Noonan began to publish a series of influential studies in the 1980s on coin hoards in the northern lands.16 Noonan introduced one notable change, however, by re-versing the order of the argument: rather than seeing Swedish Vikings as prime movers, he proposed that it was the influx of Arab silver coins – dirhams – in the eighth century, brought to the north by fur trade, which should explain the appearance of Scandinavians in the Staraya Ladoga region, and eventually the founding of the settlement itself.17 By this stroke, the link between Staraya Ladoga and eastern trade shifted from one among several aspects of the settle-ment to its whole purpose.

As a numismatist, Noonan might be excused for placing special emphasis on coinage. However, the defining point of his model is not the silver dirhams themselves, but the idea of instant, global change induced by the economic incentives of a world system. Noonan made a special point of linking Staraya Ladoga as well as early dirham hoards in Russia to the détente policy and pro-motion of trade instigated by the ‘Abbasid dynasty, which seized power in the 750s.18 The prompt foundation of a trading station deep in the taiga, almost instantly after the ascent of the ‘Abbasids, would appear to present a definitive vindication of the power of this world system.

It is the idea of Staraya Ladoga as a distant yet swift consequence of the ups and downs of an economic world system that has caught the imagination of scholars in recent decades, and has given the settlement a life of its own in English-language literature in particular. Noonan’s model has come to feature

13 Ravdonikas 1930: 141.14 Bolin 1939; English translation Bolin 1953.15 Ravdonikas 1930: 141.16 Noonan 1980; Noonan 1981; Noonan 1984; Noonan 1986; Noonan 1988; many reprinted in

Noonan 1998.17 Noonan 1981: 52; cf. Noonan 1986.18 Noonan 1984; Noonan 1986.

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prominently in narratives about Viking Scandinavia and even early medieval western Europe. It is a crux of Richard Hodges and David Whitehouse’s influ-ential Mohammed, Charlemagne and the Origins of Europe, and an important metanarrative in Simon Franklin and Jonathan Shepard’s standard textbook The Emergence of Rus.19 More recently, Michael McCormick endorsed it as the basis for the concept of a “Northern Arc” of communication in his much-quoted synthesis Origins of the European Economy.20

The one-sided vision of Staraya Ladoga in this model contrasts with the plethora of interpretations seen in Russian and Scandinavian literature. Many Russian researchers have indeed stressed the significance of long-distance contacts for the site, and have linked its emergence to a breakthrough of trans-continental contacts.21 In particular, the leader of the excavations for three decades, Anatolij Kirpichnikov, has continually emphasized the importance of transcontinental trade and indeed silver dirhams in Staraya Ladoga “from the very first beginning”.22 Yet assessments of the site’s origin have ranged from a rural Slavic colony to rather inflated claims of a “first capital of the Rus’”.23 Scandinavian scholars also note the long-standing pattern of Scandinavian military expeditions and rural colonization in the eastern Baltic Sea area as a context for the origin of the site.24 In Russian and Scandinavian receptions, the origin of Staraya Ladoga is thus related to developments internal to north-ern Europe, rather than simply to the external forces of a world system or the agency of its political centre.

Staraya Ladoga without Baghdad

In Noonan’s argument, the case for Staraya Ladoga’s origin in the ‘Abbasid world system involves an extremely tight causal link from, on one side, the end of war in the Caucasus in the mid-eighth century and the subsequent move of the ‘Abbasid court from Damascus to newly-founded Baghdad in 762 and, on the other side, the appearance of Staraya Ladoga by c.760 a.d. at the latest.25 If

19 Hodges & Whitehouse 1983: 125; Franklin & Shepard 1996: 14.20 McCormick 2001: 563.21 Davidan 1995: 166; Nosov 2000: 168f.22 E.g. Kirpichnikov 1997: 16; Kirpichnikov 2002: 51; Kirpichnikov 2004: 183.23 Ravdonikas 1949; Ryabinin 1985: 75; Machinskii 2003; cf. Arne 1914: 22; critique by Selin

2005.24 Jansson 1997: 27f.; Callmer 2000: 27ff.25 Noonan 1981: 51; Noonan 1984: 201.


Ladoga did indeed emerge as a trading outpost, which would match northern furs with eastern silver in response to events in the Middle East, the speed of reaction in itself assumes the existence of previous contacts. How could knowledge otherwise have been mediated more than 3,000 kilometres north of Baghdad?

Moreover, the archaeological finds from the earliest strata of Staraya Ladoga give reason to question this conception as an original “silver faucet”. Eastern objects occur in very modest quantities in the earliest stratigraphical horizons at the site.26 In the Baltic Sea area, the influx of dirhams and other types of Eastern imports supposedly funnelled through Staraya Ladoga is only attested from the 780s at the earliest, several decades after the site’s foundation.27 It is evident that Staraya Ladoga developed during its existence into a nodal point for long-distance communication. For later phases, investigations continue to amplify the evidence of exchange not only with the Near East, but also with Scandinavia and western Europe.28 What is less certain is whether this role was present at the time of its first appearance.

The view of Staraya Ladoga’s foundation as a momentous transition is not suggested by the site’s archaeology, but issues from the quest to identify a spe-cific point in space and time when long-distance contacts between previously unrelated actors began along the “Northern Arc”. As discussed above, this is an improbable model. There is unlikely to have been any age when contacts could not be followed in some form between the Baltic and the Black Sea. The ques-tion is how they were organized.

To explain this point, we could ask how many links of direct encounters it would take in various periods to follow a continuous trail of contacts across Europe from the Black Sea to Scandinavia, say, from Byzantium to the Lofoten Islands in northern Norway. In other words, what is the degree of proximity of these regions in a communications network? As a proxy, suitable for periods when archaeological finds are our main form of evidence, we can ask what number of assemblages with shared artefacts is needed to produce the con-nection. For some periods the task is easy, as for the cosmopolitan eleventh century. Sherds of Byzantine amphorae are found in Schleswig, Hedeby, Lund, and Sigtuna.29 Each of these sites also produces finds of walrus ivory, probably

26 Davidan 1995.27 Sindbæk 2005: 236 with references; more recently Kilger 2007: 214ff.28 E.g. Bessarabova 2001; Kirpichnikov 2004; Plokhov 2007.29 Kelm 1997; Roslund 1997.

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brought through northern Norway or the White Sea coasts, if not from Iceland or Greenland.30

What, then, of the seventh century, allegedly the period before long- distance communication emerged through eastern Europe? Even here it is possible to trace a surprisingly short chain of material links. Silver vessels from imperial workshops in Byzantium are found in the famous seventh-century hoard from Martynovka in Ukraine.31 This find also contains locally produced buckle-brooches, of which a close parallel, certainly of south-east European workmanship, was recently found in the rich settlement Sorte Muld on the island of Bornholm.32 Sorte Muld is well known for the hundreds of distinctive, tiny gold-foil figures found there. The site appears to have been a centre for the production of these enigmatic tokens, examples of which have been found as far away as in Borg and Kongsvik in the Lofoten islands.33

In this manner we can trace an unbroken chain of more or less contem-porary artefact movements, spanning across Europe from the imperial centre of Byzantium to the Arctic Circle in no more than three jumps. Each of these jumps is marked by actual imports rather than copies or emulations, and is unlikely to have involved more than a few links of exchanges; they may even reflect direct, personal contacts. As the example shows, there certainly were contacts between Scandinavia and the Black Sea area in the seventh century. In notable contrast to the eleventh century, there is no evidence of direct con-tact. The links of the seventh century are both shorter and less frequent than was the case four centuries later. Yet the difference is not between the absence and presence of long-distance contacts, but in their frequency and degree.

How could we approach Staraya Ladoga if we were not seeking for a point of emergence, but for a change in the organization of communication networks? As Russian and Scandinavian researchers have pointed out, there is evidence of a long history of long-distance interaction in north-western Russia prior to the appearance of Staraya Ladoga and the Eastern silver. Evidence can be shown of contacts between groups of Finns and Balts in the eastern Baltic Sea area and groups further east, including intriguing signs of direct long-distance links between the Åland Islands and the Kama River region.34 Sporadic finds of beaked brooches and other metal ornaments trace links from central Sweden

30 Roesdahl 2005.31 Pekarskaja and Kidd 1994.32 Callmer 2008.33 Watt 2008.34 Callmer 2000: 27ff.


into the eastern Baltic area, including the Ladoga region, as early as during the sixth and seventh centuries.35

All this suggests that north-western Russia had attractions beyond its posi-tion as a shortcut from the Baltic Sea to the Middle East. One of these attrac-tions must have been the high-quality furs of the cold taiga region. A high ap-preciation of fur as a luxury commodity is well attested in Viking Age sources in western Europe as well as in the Middle East. Scandinavian archaeologi-cal sources give ample evidence of the significance of fur hunting and the fur trade. In Ladoga fur hunting is attested by an exceptional proportion of bones from fur-bearing animals. Beaver in particular makes up approximately 40 per cent of all game.36

Fur is a tantalizingly “mute” issue in the archaeological record, but the ear-ly evidence of long-distance contacts from the Baltic Sea area into some of the finest fur-trapping areas in the Old World makes it plausible at least that furs took precedence over silver as an object of long-distance exchange at the northern end of what was to become the Russian river routes to the Black Sea and the Caspian. The wide catchment zone required to supply beaver pelts in particular may serve as a background for understanding how this essentially Baltic trade came to affect regions as far east as the Volga and Kama rivers.

Finds from early Staraya Ladoga give important clues as to what might at-tract fur hunters. The site shows quantities of refuse from a number of special-ized crafts, including metal casting, comb making, production of glass beads, and above all the manufacture of high-quality iron objects. Iron technology in north-western Russia remained weakly developed until the ninth century.37 In particular, the technology of welding steel and iron, practised in the Baltic Sea area since the Roman Iron Age, was unknown here.38 The first occurrence of this technique in European Russia is found in the earliest strata of Staraya Ladoga, from where welded three-layered knives spread widely in the follow-ing centuries.39

Alternative visions of early Staraya Ladoga, which issue from similar ob-servations, have been presented before. In an unjustly neglected article, Haio Vierck replaced the spontaneous appearance of a transcontinental trading sta-tion with a pre-urban “Schmiedeplatz”, an entrepôt for the exchange of “furs as objects of barter against small iron objects, bronze ornaments and other

35 Kazanskii 2007.36 Ravdonikas 1949: 51f.; Kasparov 1997: 27.37 Bashen’kin et al. 1999.38 Peets 1995: 74; cf. Callmer 2003: 347-48 for comparison.39 Khomutova 1984: 207.

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things” (my translation).40 He asked: “Does this model of a sporadically or seasonally conducted trade – perhaps at certain market periods – provide a better yardstick for the interpretation of the production site than the anticipa-tion of the future conditions in the large settlement of Old Ladoga on its way to urbanization?” (my translation).41

Sergei Kuz’min has made a case for even more modest beginnings in an original, controversial, and strongly discontinuist reassessment of the site’s de-velopment.42 Kuz’min argues that Staraya Ladoga’s early history is marked by several phases of destruction or abandonment, followed by re-settlement by new actors. He finds that the earliest phase of activities belonged to a group of Scandinavian settlers, but concerned one or two farmsteads at most, and rep-resented a strictly rural colonization. Only after 780, when Kuz’min claims that the settlement had been taken over by Slavic colonists, does evidence of long-distance communication appear regularly among the archaeological finds.

Even in the recent past, academic trench warfare has been waged over the question of the cultural identity of Staraya Ladoga’s first inhabitants: Scandi-navians, Slavs and Finns, or a “multiethnic” mixture?43 The longevity of this debate illustrates the predicament in distinguishing cultural groups within networks of communication. Kuz’min’s reading disregards many indications of continuity and almost certainly exaggerates the changes in the ethnic com-position of the inhabitants and their contacts. If the stratigraphy can be trust-ed, the very earliest inhabitants of the site did indeed possess Eastern objects, which at that time would have been extremely rare in Scandinavia.44

If we return to the point outlined above – that social relations do not always separate into well-ordered classes – it is striking that this debate over cultural affiliations has proceeded largely separate from the questions concerning tech-nology and resources. The silver, fur, and iron, believed to be chief incentives for the interaction, are confined to a different orbit of thought. If we acknowl-edge instead that historical processes consist in heterogeneous associations between human and other agents, we can outline the following process:

In the mid-eighth century individuals in north-western Russia became more frequently involved in cycles of long-distance exchange. Some of these

40 Vierck 1983: 35.41 Vierck 1983: 21.42 Kuz’min 2000.43 Scandinavians have been suggested by e.g. Davidan (1995: 166). Slavs and Finns have been

emphasized by Kirpichnikov and Nosov, while Jansson has found a multiethnic mixture likely (Jansson 1997: 30; Kirpichnikov 1997: 6f.; Nosov 2000: 163).

44 Cf. Davidan 1995.


individuals, perhaps, were Finnish fur hunters, others settling Scandinavians or Slavs. What brought them together were common opportunities. These cen-tred on the superior and prestigious manufactured products, which increas-ingly became available from distant production centres. Commodities includ-ing high-quality iron tools and attractive metal and glass ornaments entered north-western Russia from the Baltic Sea region, just as they did from the Mid-dle East into the Volga region. They could be acquired in return for the excel-lent furs of the taiga, which were highly esteemed as luxuries by distant elites. Increasingly active exchanges took place at seasonal fairs or production sites at strategic points on communication routes, creating incentives for anyone able to trap animals – or to craft products that fur-hunters desired.

This process was well advanced before any silver dirhams are known to have reached the northern lands. When they eventually did, they did not enter into a terra nullius, but were funnelled into the mesh of pre-existing communica-tion, redefining the stakes for the involved agents and setting the stage for a new episode of more intense and far-reaching communication.

Conclusion

Outlining a network approach to communication in the early Middle Ages, this chapter has argued that the question how and when long-distance con-tacts “began” is a misleading one, since indirect chains of communication would have existed – and are documented by archaeology – between almost any regions in any historic or prehistoric period. Any real investigation of long-distance communication must concern changes to its organization, spe-cifically to the frequency and degree of contacts. The formation of commu-nication networks must be considered principally in terms of topology, as a process which often occurs between widely separate actors, events, or sites, and in which particular locations like Staraya Ladoga became particular focal points of interaction.

The archaeology of Staraya Ladoga does not suggest a single, sudden break-through of long-distance communication as a consequence of developments in the ‘Abbasid caliphate. Rather, the interaction between travellers overseas from Scandinavia and inhabitants of the taiga, convening in this place, was an inde-pendent development that intersected with the flow of exchange issuing from the new central polity of the Near East to produce a surprising outcome. These and other developments in western Eurasia in the eighth and ninth centuries support the notion of a world system, in which social change resulted from the economic incentives of millions of silver dirhams; as a true world system,

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this was an assemblage of many independent actors. Without the pre-existing networks of communication which focused on Staraya Ladoga, the silver of the ‘Abbasids might have flowed in other directions, and the history of northern Europe would have developed in ways that can only be imagined.

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Kuz’min, Sergei. “Ladoga, le premier centre proto-urbaine russe.” In Les centres proto-urbains russes entre Scandinavie, Byzance et Orient, edited by Michel Kazanskii, Anne Nercessian and Constantin Zuckerman, 123–143. Paris: Lethielleux, 2000.

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http://adrianselin.narod.ru/art_e/3.htm


chapter 5

Creating a Cultural Expression: On Rus’ Identity and Material Culture

Charlotte Hedenstierna-Jonson

In order to understand the great network of trade and political alliances stretching from Birka to Constantinople we need to consider the cultural iden-tity of the people moving along this trade route and the people inhabiting the trading posts. Their culture was based on trade, travel, and warfare, where warfare created an ideological superstructure that affected all: warriors, trade families, and the like. The cultural expression of these people was maintained throughout a vast area by exceptionally close-woven – and not necessarily un-problematic – contacts. The topic of this chapter is the expression of affiliation and identity through the means of material culture, with special focus on the people living along the eastern trade route, referred to as Rus’.

Expressing Identity through Material Culture

When studying aspects of cultural expression and identity one must face the difficult and ambiguous terminology of culture and ethnicity. The concept of identity includes both of these terms, and the explicit symbol of identity is material culture. According to Fredrik Barth, ethnicity consists of the subject boundaries created by a group, while identity is a projection of the individual’s self-image and the image of the group.1 When the group is newly formed or geo-graphically dispersed the need to stand out tends to become especially strong. In the formation of a new society, e.g. the settlement of Scandinavians in Ice-land or in early Rus’, symbols were chosen and altered to represent the mem-bers of that society. Material culture, design, and ornamentation in particular function as a medium negotiating cultural boundaries, and when a group of people needs to relate to another group or culture, the use of particular design or ornamentation increases.2 These enhanced stylistic expressions become a tool when material culture is used as a means to detect cultural groups. The anthropologist Edward Schortman introduces the concept of “salient identities”

1 Barth 1969.2 Cf. Wobst 1977; Lager 2004: 147, 150f.

Hedenstierna-Jonson92

when studying patterns of distribution. Salient identities are the affiliations or sets of affiliations that are used more commonly than others and which ren-der their members a strong feeling of common purpose and support.3 Schort-man presupposes that social identities must have an overt symbolic expression which enables us to recognize them in the distribution patterns of these sym-bols. He emphasizes that salient affiliations cannot alone explain the distri-bution of material patterns; rather, the salient-identity concept in itself raises important questions and helps to specify important new research directions.4

The function of style and design in material culture has been a topic of aca-demic discussion since Martin Wobst initiated the debate in the 1970s by defin-ing stylistic behaviour as a strategy of information exchange.5 In this model, messaging through style made social intercourse more predictable, and arte-facts functioned to support ethnicity and strengthen networks as well as to support processes of social differentiation.6

Wobst nevertheless restricted the level of communication and specified that “only simple invariate and recurrent messages will normally be transmitted stylistically”.7 Polly Wiessner draws on Wobst but expands his reasoning and argues that “style transmits information about personal and social identity”.8 The theoretical discussion on the topic of style as a means of social commu-nication has to a large extent been based upon ceramic materials from earlier periods in prehistory and deriving from groups of people with a completely different social structure than is the case with the more complex forms of soci-ety of the late Iron Age and early Middle Ages. The polemic between Wiessner and James Sackett is not unfamiliar and the isochrestic approach of Sackett is contrasted by Wiessner, who asserts that the communicative function of style is fundamental.9 Wiessner concludes that less mobile and more complex societal forms see an increase in stylistic diversity and a transition from iso-chrestic to symbolic variation.10 As an interesting parallel to the situation in early Rus’, Wobst acknowledges the role of stylistic messaging when a number of different socio-economic groups compete for space. Styles help to mark, maintain, and further the differences between these groups.11 The stylistic

3 Schortman 1989: 54.4 Schortman 1989: 59.5 Wobst 1977.6 Wobst 1977.7 Wobst 1977: 323.8 Hegemon 1992: 523.9 Sackett 1977; Wiessner 1983; Sackett 1985; Wiessner 1985.10 Wiessner 1985.11 Wobst 1977: 337.

93Creating a Cultural Expression

aspects of material culture enhance the importance of display as messages are conceived almost exclusively by visual means. “If, through the messages on his clothing, home, and other artefacts, an individual says: “I am an individual who belongs to social group X”, he is also saying that he is in conformity with the other behavioural norms and with the ideology behind these norms”.12

The Martial Context

The warriors are and were the social group among which style and ornamenta-tion are displayed most elaborately. There are distinct advantages in studying the material culture related to a martial society, as the warrior belonged to a limited group of individuals and usually upheld a chosen position in society. The warrior’s artefacts, being particular in design, formed a unique expression of a material culture where incentives to express group standing, loyalty, and affiliation were exceptionally strongly felt.

I was given the opportunity to study identity and cultural expression in a martial context as a part of the project “Strongholds and Fortifications in Central Sweden ad 400–1100”. The extensive archaeological excavations within this project included the defensive structures of the Viking Age trad-ing post Birka. The project, led by Michael Olausson and Lena Holmquist and funded by Riksbankens jubileumsfond (the Bank of Sweden Tercentenary Foundation), aimed to highlight military aspects of society and societal change in late Iron Age and early medieval eastern Sweden. A centralization of power and ambitions to control territory led to martial manifestations on a new scale, partly visible in the archaeological landscape.13

The excavations in Birka focused on the defensive structures and the impli-cations the martial aspects had for the trading post, its activities and its sur-roundings.14 Though several excavations took place in the different parts of the defence works, the most extensive part of the campaign was the excavation of the garrison. A total area of approximately 500 m2 was examined during a period of nine years (1997–2005).15 Unique find material in an archaeologically undisturbed context provided an extensive and complex image of martial life

12 Wobst 1977: 336.13 Hedenstierna-Jonson 2006a; Hedenstierna-Jonson 2009b; Hedenstierna-Jonson and

Holmquist Olausson 2013.14 Holmquist Olausson 2002a; Holmquist Olausson 2002b.15 Kitzler 1997; Hedenstierna-Jonson et al. 1998; Holmquist Olausson and Kitzler Åhfeldt

2002.


at the end of the tenth century. The find material, though numerous, is lim-ited to a few categories all linked to the life and activities of the warrior. Dress, weaponry, equipment, and personal objects together with tools and other remains of crafts give insight into the martial world but also raise questions about identity and self-image.

The character of the garrison and the archaeological situation of the site make it a kind of template of martial material culture in this period. The rich-ness of the remains and the relatively good levels of preservation, together with the fact that this site was excavated in recent years, provides unique insight into the life and world view of these tenth-century professional war-riors. The overall impression is that of extended foreign contacts, mainly with the eastern trade route.

Who were the Rus’?

There is a close correspondence between different trading posts along the eastern trade route, manifested in the material culture found in these places. Places like Gnezdovo, Staraya Ladoga, Kiev, and Birka display cultural expres-sions linked to activities such as trade and warfare, and to the intermixing of different groups of people. The archaeological remains indicate a melting pot that gave birth to a culture of its own – that of the Rus’.

Contemporary Islamic writers made a clear distinction between the Rus’ and the neighbouring Slavs in every respect “from clothing to lifestyle and activities”.16 The elaborate dress of the Rus’, with caftan-like coats and wide trousers, is contrasted to the simple linen shirts of the Slavs. Dress is and has been a bearer of identity, and even if the extravagant outfits of the Rus’ per-haps were not for everyday use, this group of people nevertheless distinguished themselves by forming a particular identity.

The group of people called Rus’ is and has been difficult to define, for differ-ent reasons. One obvious difficulty is the elusiveness of the group and the fact that in the original form they only existed for a short period of time. Very soon after the appearance of Rus’ the individuals adapted to their environment and thus became integrated in the new dominant culture of the area – the Slav cul-ture. Modern political discourse also has aggravated the definition of the origin and composition of the Rus’. I find Simon Franklin’s definition of Rus’, sim-ply defining what they were not, one of the more adequate and enlightening descriptions. Franklin underlines that as the rest of Europe was entering into

16 Androshchuk 2013: 47.


the Middle Ages, the land of the Rus’ was in its infancy. The so-called land of the Rus’ was not defined by a fixed geography, nor did its inhabitants share common ancestry or ethnic exclusivity.17

What was the inhabitants own conception of Rus’ and how did they express it? The character of their society with its loose-knit structure and proto-urban lifestyle combined with high mobility and extensive contacts is clearly reflect-ed in their cultural expression. Still there is a Scandinavian base, especially in the initial phases, and with it possibly a will or a need to express origin.

When studying the use and reinterpretation of material culture by a newly established society, the Icelandic landnám constitutes an interesting paral-lel. Michele Hayer Smith, analysing stylistic expressions in Iceland during the settlement period, concludes that the new Icelanders expressed an idealized image of their former society. The Scandinavian expression became even more explicit and there is an element of conservatism in the use of traditions as well as of style and material culture.18 It is not possible to discern a similar trend in the eastern context. There is a tendency, however, to use the Borre style, for example, in slightly different contexts than can be seen in Scandinavia prop-er.19 Further research on this topic would be highly beneficial.

Birka as a Rus’ Context

Even though the Viking Age people of the Scandinavian and Danish peninsulas shared a common Norse culture, it is equally clear that they recognized differ-ences among themselves.20 These differences could be of a cultural as well as political nature, which in turn had great impact on the nature of activities and contacts the Norsemen had in their interactions with others.

The history of the cultural affinity of the people of Birka is highly interest-ing, but also quite complex. Especially as there seems to have been a sudden and dramatic change of cultural orientation in the late ninth century. In the first 150 years of Birka’s existence the trading post was part of a western-ori-ented network with extensive contacts with Dorestad, western Europe, and the areas south of the Baltic. During the late ninth century there was a sud-den decrease in imported goods from western Europe; instead, east European

17 Franklin 1998: 187.18 Hayer Smith 2004.19 Cf. Hedenstierna-Jonson 2006b.20 Cf. Smyth 1998: 27.


artefacts became dominant.21 Although the underlying reasons for this sudden change are not evident, tenth-century power-political competition, for exam-ple between the Danish kingdom and the strong political power of the Lake Mälaren region, was probably a decisive factor (fig. 5.1).22

In my thesis I concluded that the people of tenth-century Birka in general and in Birka’s garrison in particular considered themselves as Rus’.23 Though pos-sibly Scandinavian by birth, they were part of Rus’ society, claiming an identity

21 Ambrosiani 2002a: 228; Ambrosiani 2002b; cf. Gustin 2004: 194f.22 Cf. Hedenstierna-Jonson 2002.23 Hedenstierna-Jonson 2006a; Linderholm, Hedenstierna-Jonson, Svensk and Lidén 2008;

Hedenstierna-Jonsson 2009a.

Figure 5.1 The Lake Mälaren region of east-central Sweden (map by author)


linked to and deriving from the activities in the Rus’ trading posts. This is par-ticularly true of the Birka warriors. The differences between these warriors and the people living in the Mälaren area and the eastern parts of Sweden may not have been cultural but, citing Sian Jones, “rather a consciousness of difference reproduced in the context of ongoing social interaction”.24 Thus, in accordance with Jones’s definition, the Rus’ formed an ethnic group and set themselves apart from the people they interacted with in that region. In the absence of ac-tual cultural or geographical differences, the Rus’ identity had to be expressed in their material culture, in which they could manifest their particularity.

In the garrison the Rus’ stylistic expression is even more overt and their dis-tinctive objects and features more contextually specific. They are not merely for show but are used in accordance with their functions. This could indicate that the Rus’ style to some extent originated from the martial context and spread throughout the other groups of Rus’ society.

Stylistic Elements

The style of dress and objects linked to dress show great influence from Per-sian culture. Composite belts of eastern origin display bronze fittings deco-rated with palmettos, acanthus scrolls, and the like, following the Sasanian or rather post-Sasanian stylistic tradition (fig. 5.2). The composite belts found in Birka came from areas that had administered the Sasanian heritage, such as the Volga Bulgars. The Volga Bulgars were mounted nomads from the Eurasian steppes, and contacts between Birka and the Volga Bulgar region seem to have been extensive. The warriors in the garrison show signs of direct and intense contacts which provided them with knowledge and skills in advanced fighting techniques.25

Birka also displays an interesting Magyar element present both in the gar-rison and in the burials (fig. 5.3). There is still much research to be done in the field of Scandinavian–Magyar contacts in the Viking Age. There are however limited but obvious evidence of direct contacts which resulted in the spread of objects both in Scandinavia and in Hungary.26 In Birka the Magyar elements are linked to the art of eastern archery with composite bows and closed quivers.27

24 Jones 1996: 71.25 Hedenstierna-Jonson and Holmquist Olausson 2006; Lundström, Hedenstierna-Jonson,

and Holmquist Olausson 2009.26 Horvath 2008; Hedenstierna-Jonson 2012.27 Lundström, Hedenstierna-Jonson and Holmquist Olausson 2009; Hedenstierna-Jonson

2012.


The use of caftans as a part of male dress, visible both in the garrison and in the burials, can be derived from contacts with steppe nomads but also with the powerful Byzantine Empire.28 Birka in general, and the garrison in particu-lar, hold surprisingly many objects displaying Byzantine traits. That these fea-tures are present even in the settlements in early Rus’ is perhaps less surprising as there was a well-known and better-documented connection between, for example, Kiev and Constantinople. But how is this material to be interpreted in Birka? Is it a result of contacts or influences coming directly from the pow-erful Byzantine Empire or mere reflections, filtered through a series of other, intermediary cultures and contacts? Birka was considered a part of an ex-tensive but close-knit Rus’ network; the focus is thus redirected to what in-terest Byzantium had in late tenth-century Rus’. Trade was well-established though it would become more extensive in the decades to come. The emerg-ing Kievan state posed a military threat to Constantinople. Trade and warfare

28 Cf. Hägg 2002; Hägg 2006.

Figure 5.2 Mounts from the belt-set from Birka’s garrison. Each mount display a post-Sasanian palmetto motif closely related to Volga Bulgar designphoto by C. Hedenstierna-Jonson, drawings by F. Sieurin-Lönnqvist


were most likely the foundations of these contacts, but there was yet another aspect – that of the imperial guards. Examples of Byzantine objects in the Birka context are the rare coins minted during the reign of Theophilus and the mounts of a possible helmet produced in the border zones of the Byzantine Empire.29

Though Rus’ in a Birka context is a tenth-century phenomenon, the interac-tions between groups of people that ultimately formed the Rus’ culture began much earlier. In the mid-eighth century Scandinavians formed an active part of the inhabitants of the early Rus’ settlement or proto-town of Staraya Ladoga. Scandinavian migration continued east along the Volga River in the following centuries to reach the region of the Volga Bulgars. The interaction between Scandinavians, Slavs, and steppe-nomadic Volga Bulgars is visible in the pres-ence of objects and burial customs of the settlements along the Volga route. Even though the objects clearly derive from different cultural groups, no par-ticular segregation of individuals from the different cultures was made in the burial fields. The first step towards a new cultural expression had been taken.30

29 Hedenstierna-Jonson 2006a; Holmquist Olausson and Petrovski 2007.30 Hedenstierna-Jonson 2009a; cf. Jansson 1987; Callmer 1994; Melnikova 1996; Jansson 1997;

Callmer 2000.

Figure 5.3 Reconstruction of an archer with eastern equipment, based on the archaeological finds from Birkadrawing by E. Ahlin Sundman


The Rus’ Expression

Towards the end of the ninth century the route took a new direction and Scandinavians started travelling the Dnepr in increased numbers. The com-plex of styles and expressions in the material culture of tenth-century Birka is echoed by the archaeological material from several trading posts along the eastern trade route: primarily the town of Gnezdovo, near modern Smolensk, and Ryurikovo Gorodishche, both in Russia, and Shestovitsa in Ukraine. With some variation the different stylistic elements seen in Birka are also present in the Russian and Ukrainian trading posts. The combinations of styles and objects as well as the contexts of the finds also concur. This indicates close and deep contacts and a coherence in culture and self-image. The particular style referred to as the “Oriental style”, which integrates Persian, Islamic, and steppe-nomadic traits, originated and developed in the trading posts along the rivers of early Rus’ during the late ninth and tenth centuries. The style developed the image and allure of the exotic and reflected the need for a cultural expression exclusive to the inhabitants of these geographically dispersed trading posts. It is not only ornaments that exhibit these orientalized features, but also dress and military equipment. It is possible to interpret this as the will of the Rus’ to identify themselves with a warrior ideal and martial organization inspired by the successful steppe nomads and the superior Byzantine army.

Eastern Scandinavia was not only a recipient of cultural influences but also a contributor. The main stylistic contribution to the Rus’ material culture is represented by what is now defined as the Borre style (fig. 5.4). This intricate mixture of ribbons, knotwork, and animals derived from centuries of north-ern stylistic tradition and during the tenth century it bloomed, becoming the dominant style in fashion.31

In what light should the different stylistic elements of the Rus’ expression then be regarded? The eclectic or even disparate mixture of artefacts combined to make a stylistic impression signalling power and cultural exclusiveness. It contributed to the alienation of a group of people who initially were ethnically indistinguishable from those from whom they wished to be distinguished. Cit-ing Wobst “they created a powerful expression of social and economic group affiliation towards outsiders”.32 The various elements were to a large extent the results of deliberate choices. Signalling affinity and mutual understanding with newly formed cultural relations with peoples such as the Volga Bulgars could be interpreted as a diplomatic door-opener. Many of the stylistic elements and

31 Hedenstierna-Jonson 2006b.32 Wobst 1977: 337.


objects derive from different aspects of the steppe-nomadic culture predomi-nant in the geographical region between the Black Sea and the Caspian Sea – a region in which the Rus’ had military as well as trade-related interests. Military supremacy was shown by using designs and equipment linked to the dominant political power centres. The will to adapt to and use new military techniques, weaponry, and equipment was partly balanced by an overt use of Scandinavian styles in fashion. The result must have been an impressive display of extensive contacts, wealth, and knowledge of the world. Even though the Rus’ cultural expression is concentrated in the tenth century, the status and mobility of the Rus’ community led to a wider distribution of parts of their material culture. In milieu of the eleventh-century social elite of the Lake Mälaren region there are elements that could be interpreted as traces of Rus’ cultural heritage.33

This study takes as its starting point the supposition that cultural groups, contacts, and loyalties are reflected in the geographical distribution of archae-ological artefacts. All groups of people – cultural, ethnic, or political – express themselves both as individuals and as groups. The created expression can be more or less overt due to the composition and structure of the group. The lack

33 Cf. Andersson 2004.

Figure 5.4Hilt from a sword of Petersen’s type D with Borre-style ornament. Found in Gnezdovo, Smolensk, RussiaThe Road from the Varangians to the Greeks 1996: 8


of common origin or removal from one’s roots enhances the expression of and the need for common and uniting statements.

The political structure of Norse society resulted in an interest in glory and wealth – but not in conquering land. A chieftain was lord over people, not over land, and hence the Scandinavians – particularly the Rus’ – created a loose-knit region bound together by the trade route along the Russian rivers. The Rus’ developed a group expression of their own, adapting the material culture of other groups in new contexts and combinations. A mix of styles and objects merged together, forming a Rus’ material culture. The style and objects were redefined and further developed in workshops of the Rus’ trad-ing posts.

I consider Rus’ a primarily cultural entity – but as such it functioned as a political force. The typical Rus’ was a member of the higher strata of society, involved in activities linked to the proto-urban settlements of the eastern trade route. The identity and self-image were based on the flowing communications between these settlements and the melting pot of ethnicities, cultures, and long-distance contacts. The interests of the settlements’ different activities not infrequently required armed forces and groups of professional warriors acting as bearers of the new cultural expression that emerged.

Acknowledgments

This study was made possible by the generous funding provided by Riksban-kens jubileumsfond (rj). The ideas presented in this paper will be further ex-plored within The Viking Phenomenon, a research project for the Swedish Re-search Council (vr) within the Distinguished Professor Programme.

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Gustin, Ingrid. Mellan gåva och marknad: Handel, tillit och materiell kultur under vi-kingatid. Lund Studies in Medieval Archaeology 34. Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell international, 2004.

Hägg, Inga. “Aussagen der Textilfunde zu den gesellschaftlichen und wirtschaftlichen Verhältnissen frühstädtischer Zentren in Nordeuropa – die Beispiele Haithabu und Birka.” In Haithabu und die frühe Stadtentwicklung im nördlichen Europa, edited by Klaus Brandt, Michael Müller-Wille and Christian Radtke, 181–218. Schriften des Archäologischen Landesmuseums 8. Neumünster: Wachholz, 2002.

Hägg, Inga. “Med textilier som källmaterial: Glimtar ur vikingatidens historia.” In Saga och Sed, 113–145. Kungl. Gustav Adolfs Akademiens årsbok. Uppsala: 2006.

Hayeur Smith, Michèle. Draupnir’s Sweat and Mardöll’s Tears. An Archaeology of Jewel-lery, Gender and Identity in Viking Age Iceland. BAR International Series 1276. Ox-ford: Hedges, 2004.

Hedenstierna-Jonson, Charlotte. “A group of Viking Age sword chapes reflecting the political geography of the time.” JONAS 13 (2002): 103–112.

Hedenstierna-Jonson, Charlotte. The Birka Warrior: The Material Culture of a Martial Society. Theses and Papers in Scientific Archaeology. Stockholm: Stockholm Uni-versity, 2006a.

Hedenstierna-Jonson, Charlotte. “Borre Style Metalwork in the Material Culture of the Birka Warriors.” Fornvännen 5 (2006b): 312–322.

Hedenstierna-Jonson, Charlotte. “Rus, Varangians and Birka Warriors.” In The Martial Society: Aspects of Warriors, Fortifications and Social Change, edited by Lena Hol-mquist Olausson and Michael Olausson, 159–178. Theses and papers in archaeology 11. Stockholm: Archaeological Research Laboratory, 2009a.

Hedenstierna-Jonson, Charlotte. “Social and political formations in the Scandinavian areas, 8th-10th Century: The martial perspective.” In Territorio, Sociedad y Poder.


Symposium Internacional: Poder y simbología en Europa. Siglos viii–x, edited by Francisco J.F. Conde and César G. de Castro Valdés, 89–103. Oviedo: Universidad Oviedo, 2009b.

Hedenstierna-Jonson, Charlotte. “Traces of Contacts. Magyar Material Culture in the Swedish Viking Age Context of Birka.” In Die Archäologie der frühen Ungarn. Chro-nologie, Technologie, Methodik, edited by Tobias Bendeguz, 29–46. Mainz: Verlag des Römisch-Germanischen Zentralmuseums, 2012.

Hedenstierna-Jonson, Charlotte and Holmquist Olausson, Lena. The Oriental Mounts from Birka’s Garrison: An Expression of Warrior Rank and Status. Antikvariskt arkiv 81. Stockholm: KVHAA, 2006.

Hedenstierna-Jonson, Charlotte, Holmquist, Lena and Olausson, Michael. “The Viking Age Paradox.Continuity and Discontinuity of Fortifications and Defence Works in Eastern Scandinavia.” In Landscapes of Defence in Early Medieval Europe, edited by John Baker, Stuart Brookes and Andrew Reynolds, 285 – 301. Turnhout: Brepols, 2013.

Hedenstierna-Jonson, Charlotte, Kitzler Åhfeldt, Laila & Stjerna, Niclas. Garnisonen ii, arkeologisk undersökning 1998: Uppland, Adelsö socken, Björkö, RAÄ 35. Stockholm: Arkeologiska forskningslaboratoriet, Stockholms univ., 1998.

Hegmon, Michelle. “Archaeological Research on Style.” Annual Review of Anthropology 21 (1992): 517–536.

Holmquist Olausson, Lena. “The Fortification of Birka.” In Maritime Warfare in North-ern Europe: Technology, Organisation, Logistics and Administration 500 BC–1500 AD, edited by Anne Nørgård Jørgensen, 159–167. PNM 6, Copenhagen: National Muse-um, 2002a.

Holmquist Olausson, Lena. “Patterns of Settlement and Defence at the Proto-town of Birka, Lake Mälar, Eastern Sweden.” In The Scandinavians from the Vendel Period to the tenth century: An Ethnographic Perspective, edited by Judith Jesch, 153–167. Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 2002b.

Holmquist Olausson, Lena and Kitzler Åhfeldt, Laila. Krigarnas hus, arkeologisk un-dersökning av ett hallhus i Birkas Garnison: RAÄ 35, Björkö, Adelsö sn, Uppland 1998–2000. Stockholm: Arkeologiska forskningslaboratoriet, 2002.

Holmquist Olausson, Lena and Petrovski, Slavica. “Curious Birds – Two Helmet (?) Mounts with a Christian Motif from Birka’s Garrison.” In Cultural Interaction be-tween East and West: Archaeology, Artefacts and Human Contacts in Northern Eu-rope, edited by Ulf Fransson, 231–237. Stockholm Studies in Archaeology 44. Stock-holm: Stockholm University, 2007.

Horváth, Eszter. Viking Weapons in Hungary: Some Possible Ways to Explain, How These Artefacts Could Get to the Carpathian-Basin. Seminar paper, Institutionen för Arke-ologi och antikens kultur, Stockholms universitet, 2008.

Jansson, Ingmar. “Communications between Scandinavia and Eastern Europe in the Viking Age: The Archaeological Evidence.” In Untersuchungen zu Handel und


Verkehr der vor- und frühgeschichtlichen Zeit in Mittel- und Nordeuropa. Teil iv: Der Handel der Karolinger- und Wikingerzeit, edited by Karl Düwel, Herbert Jankuhn, Dieter Timpe and Harald Siems, 773–807. Abh. Akad. Wiss.Göttingen, Phil. Hist. Kl. Dritte Folge 156. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1987.


Jones, Sîan. “Discourses of Identity in the Interpretation of the Past.” In Cultural Iden-tity and Archaeology, edited by Paul Graves-Brown, Sîan Jones and Clive Gamble, 62–80. London: Routledge, 1996.

Kitzler, Laila. Rapport från utgrävningen av Garnisonen på Björkö 1997, arkeologisk un-dersökning: Stockholms län, Ekerö kommun, Adelsö socken, Björkö, Fornlämningsnr 35, Garnisonen. Stockholm: Arkeologiska forskningslaboratoriet, 1997.

Lager, Linn. “Art as a Medium in Defining ʻUsʼ and ʻThemʼ: The Ornamentation on Runestones in Relation to the Question of ʼEuropeanisationʼ.” In The European Frontier Clashes and Compromises in the Middle Ages, edited by Jörn Staecker, 147–155. Lund Studies in Medieval Archaeology 33. Lund: Almqvist & Wiksell in-ternational, 2004.

Linderholm, Anna, Hedenstierna-Jonson, Charlotte, Svensk, Olle and Lidén, Kerstin. “Diet and Status in Birka: Analysis of Stable Isotopes and Grave Goods.” Antiquity 82 (2008): 446–461.

Lundström, Fredrik, Hedenstierna-Jonson, Charlotte and Holmquist Olausson, Lena. “Eastern Archery in Birka’s Garrison.” In The Martial Society: Aspects of Warriors, Fortifications and Social Change, edited by Lena Holmquist Olausson and Michael Olausson, 105–116. Theses and papers in archaeology 11. Stockholm: Archaeological Research Laboratory, 2009.

Melnikova, Elena A. The Eastern World of the Vikings: Eight Essays about Scandina-vian and Easterns Europe in the Early Middle Ages. Gothenburg old Norse Studies 1. Gothenburg: Litteraturvetenskapliga institutionen,Göteborgs univ., 1996.

The Road from the Varangians to the Greeks and from the Greeks… Edited by Vadim L. Egorov. Exhibition catalogue. Moscow: State Historical Museum Moscow, 1996.

Sackett, James R. “The Meaning of Style in Archaeology: A General Model.” American Antiquity 42, no. 3 (1977): 369–380.

Sackett, James R. “Style and Ethnicity in the Kalahari: A Reply to Wiessner.” American Antiquity 50, no. 1 (1985): 154–159.

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Wiessner, Polly. “Style and Social Information in Kalahari San Projectile Points.” Ameri-can Antiquity 48, no. 2 (1983): 253–276.

Wiessner, Polly. “Style or Isochrestic Variation? A Reply to Sackett.” American Antiquity 50, no.1 (1985): 160–166.

Wobst, Martin. “Stylistic Behaviour and Information Exchange.” In For the Director: Research Essays in Honor of James B. Griffin, edited by Charles E. Cleland, 317–342. Anthropological papers 61. Ann Arbor, Michigan: 1977.


chapter 6

“Varangian Christianity” and the Veneration of Anglo-Saxon and Scandinavian Saints in Early Rus’

John H. Lind

The aim of this chapter is to discuss some aspects of early Christianity in Rus’, especially the role played by people of Scandinavian descent, known un-til the end of the tenth century as Rus’ and subsequently as Varangians, and whether that role may explain the receptivity of early Christianity in Rus’ that still found expression in the twelfth century, for instance in the adoption of a sequence of Anglo-Saxon and Scandinavian martyrs in the litany of a Rus-sian prayer.1 In that discussion a phenomenon that I have tentatively labelled “Varangian Christianity” will play a major role, as will some reflections on the spread of early Christianity into the territory of present-day Finland pri-or to its integration into Sweden and the Roman Church as a result of cru-sades starting in the twelfth century. With regard to Christianity in Rus’ as well as in Finland, the veneration of the Norwegian king and martyr St Olav, who is one of the martyrs mentioned in the litany, will also be touched upon.

The Prayer to the Holy Trinity

Back in the 1970–80s, I had been preparing an inventory of passages in Russian chronicles and other medieval Russian sources that pertained to Scandinavia

1 Briefly on terminology: except in source quotations, the terms Varangians and Varangian are used here, much as they were used in Rus’, when The Tale of Bygone Years (Povest’ vremennykh let) was composed at the beginning of the twelfth century; i.e., to cover persons of Scandina-vian descent and their activities in eastern Europe, even for the period when they were still called Rus’. When it is not part of a source quotation, the term Rus’ is used without ethnic connotations about the polity that arose along the river system linking the Baltic with the Black Seas from the ninth century onwards. It should, however, be remembered that both Rus’ and Varangian did not originate as ethnic terms. While Rus’ seems to be linked to the organization of naval warfare in rowed ships among early Swedes with a presumed prehis-toric form rōþR, Varangians (Old Norse Væringjar) were used about persons enlisted by oath in some kind of commercial or military organization (Lind 2006a: 255ff.). Therefore both Rus’ and especially Varangians may include persons of non-Scandinavian descent. In its Greek context the term Varangians thus came to include numerous Anglo-Saxons (Shepard 1973: 53ff.).

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or relations with Scandinavia from the beginnings of Rus’ up to 1558. In the pro-cess I stumbled upon a fifteenth-century manuscript edition of a text that later became known as “The Prayer to the Holy Trinity” or “Kiril of Turov’s Prayer on Penitence”.2 The Prayer contained a litany listing heavenly powers in the usual hierarchical order, and in its list of martyrs I unexpectedly found a sequence of six Anglo-Saxon and Scandinavian saints; namely, Magnus, Ca-nute, Benedict, Alban, Olav, and Botulph. They were listed as follows: “мoлитe зa мя гpeшнa … вячecлaвe, мaгнушe, кoнутe, вeнeдиктe, aлбaнe, oлoвe, бoтулвe, coзoнe, … вcи cвятии мучeници” (pray for me, sinful … Vyacheslav (Wenceslas), Magnus, Canute, Benedict, Alban, Olav, Botulph, Sozon, … and all holy martyrs). In addition to these saints the litany also listed a number of saints who, according to the publisher, were rarely associated with Russian Orthodoxy, such as Voitekh (Adalbert) and Roman popes such as Clement, Syl-vester, and Leo.

In his review of this edition, I.A. Shlyapkin published a fragment of the same text from an older parchment manuscript, which he dated to the thirteenth century.3 He noted, however, that his fragment lacked the names of Sts Mag-nus, Canute, and Alban in the sequence; they were replaced by Manuil, Savel, and Izmail. Almost a century later, in 1976, the Library of the Academy of Sci-ences (ban) in Leningrad, which holds the fragment, published a description of the fragment. According to this the fragment consisted of two folios, dated to the second half of the thirteenth century. Its content was characterized as part of a prayer that enumerates apostles and saints, including “Cyril and Methodius, Boris and Gleb, Voitekh, Vyacheslav (the Czech), George of Myt-ilene, Magnus, Canute, Alban, and also the Roman popes Clement, Sylvester, Leo”.4 This meant that among the multitude of saints listed in the litany pre-cisely those Anglo-Saxon and Scandinavian saints that Shlyapkin claimed were omitted in the fragment were now singled out as being present! The fragment thus needed a direct examination, which was performed in 1987.

The conclusion was that the manuscript, in its present state, did not in fact list the three saints in question – the compilers of the ban edition obviously had relied on a secondary source in their description of the fragment. Yet the situation was more complex: the names “[Ma]nuil, Savel and Izmail” turned out to be inscribed over an erased line of text (line 21), the last line on folio 2r, where line 20 ended with “мa”, the first syllable of the name we would expect as

2 Arkhangel’skii 1884: 1ff.3 Shlyapkin 1884: 267ff.4 Pergamennye rukopisi ban sssr 1976: 41.

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“мa/гнушe” Line 1 on the next folio (fol. 2v) started with “aлoвe” (Olav), so one would suspect that the corrected line “нуилe, caвeлe, [вeндиктe], измaилe” was written over the original “гнушe, кoнутe, [вeндиктe], aлбaнe”. Visual examination of the parchment fragment confirmed that the text originally in-deed did contain the complete sequence: Magnus, Canute, Benedict, Alban, Olav, and Botulph.5 Therefore, the palaeographical history of the fragment shows that three Scandinavian and Anglo-Saxon saints admitted to veneration in early Rus’ became unacceptable at a later point, to the extent that somebody found it necessary to replace their names with more suitable ones.

Since its first edition in 1884, the prayer and especially the “atypical” saints listed in the litany have been studied by many scholars who have suggested a range of identifications of particular saints and various origins of the prayer. I have myself discussed the Anglo-Saxon/Scandinavian sequence of the prayer in great detail, and my argument can be summarized here as follows.6 Tak-ing into consideration that Canute, Benedict, and Alban are found so closely together in the list of martyrs, the first two names must have referred to the Danish King Canute iv and his brother Benedict, slaughtered in the church of St Alban in Odense in 1086.7 The close links between these three martyrs – at least as it was seen in Denmark, from where this sequence originally must have come to Rus’ – are emphasized by the so-called Tabula Othoniensis, thought to have been placed in the shrine when Canute’s body was elevated in 1095, just before his half-brother Erik Ejegod gained the throne and began the process of

5 Lind 1990: 5ff.6 Lind 1990: 7ff. and Lind 1991: 188ff. The subtitle of the first article (“To the Question of Bohe-

mian Influence on Russian Religious Literature”) responds to a view advanced by a number of scholars, not least the prominent Czech scholar Francis Dvornik, that the prayer had its origin in Bohemia. This was, however, based on identifications of a number of saints in the litany taken out of their textual context. This also applies to a number of names in what is here called the Anglo-Saxon/Scandinavian sequence. In a critical response to my articles, Václav Koncal (Koncal 1991: 8ff.) reiterated the Bohemian argument; see, however, Zhivov 2002: 91f.

7 For several centuries there have been ongoing discussions as to whether a skeleton, lying side by side with St Canute in a neighbouring shrine in the crypt of St Knud’s church in Odense, was Benedikt or St Alban. Until recently the general belief was that it was St Alban, primar-ily because it was doubted whether Benedikt had ever been regarded a saint. The situation when I wrote in 1989 was beginning to turn in favour of Benedikt (Lind 1990: 10ff.). Since then, still unpublished dna examinations of the two skeletons have confirmed that the two were indeed closely related. Likewise their respective ages have been established and correspond well with the approximate ages of Canute and Benedikt. Finally the remains of both skel-etons can now be dated to c.1100.

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papal canonization. According to the Tabula, it was Canute himself who, in a kind of “body-snatching”, had shortly before brought the relics of St Alban from England to Denmark: “in basilica sancti Albani martyris per eum paulo ante de Anglia in Daciam transuecti”.8

These close ties between the three martyrs, focused on Odense, exclude the possibility that Canute in the litany refers to St Canute Lavard, killed in 1131 and officially canonized in 1169, although his intense contacts with Rus’ could have explained easily why his cult had been known and adopted there. Canute Lavard was after all married to Ingeborg, a daughter of Mstislav Vladimirov-ich, Grand Prince of Kiev (1125–32), and his cult was promoted by their son King Valdemar the Great (1157–82) and his Russian wife, Sophia of the Polotsk dynasty.9 The absence of St Canute Lavard in the litany suggests that the adop-tion in Rus’ of this sequence of saints predates 1169.

The identification of the last two saints in the sequence, Olav and Botulph, presents few problems. Olav can only be the Norwegian king, Olav Haraldsson, killed at Stiklestad in 1030. His cult was established almost immediately after his death and soon spread in both east and west.10 As to Botulph, he can only be the abbot and founder of an English monastery, known as Ikanhoe, who died around 680. The problem with Botulph in this context is that he was not a martyr and should have been listed among confessors or, in the Old Church Slavonic context, prepodobnye ottsy. His place in the litany suggests that he came in the wake of St Olav. Little is known of his original cult, but his mon-astery seems to have perished during the Scandinavian invasions in the Viking Age. His relics, however, survived and a cult began to prosper especially in ar-eas settled by Norsemen. This must be the reason for his popularity in early Christian Scandinavia, where he became patron saint of many newly estab-lished churches in the eleventh and early twelfth centuries, the same period during which the cult of St Olav gained its widespread popularity.11

The first martyr in the sequence, Magnus, who precedes the three martyrs affiliated with Odense, appears less obvious. But in the Anglo-Saxon/Scandi-navian context of the sequence, he can hardly be anyone else but St Magnus of Orkney.12 As Earl of Orkney, he was killed around 1116/7 and his elevation, soon followed by a translation, presumably took place in 1135.13 This gives the 1130s

8 Knud den Helliges martyrhistorie 1907: 2; Abrams 1995: 240.9 Lind 1990: 15ff.; Dąbrowski 2008: 93ff.; DuBois and Ingwersen 2008: 154ff.10 Edwards 2000: 234f.11 Beskow 1994: 37ff.; Toy 2003: 565ff.12 Ingham 1968: 121ff.; Lind 1990: 9.13 Antonsson 2007: 69ff.; Tomany 2008: 128ff.


as a terminus post quem for the veneration of Earl Magnus becoming known and adopted in Rus’.

The Martyria of Odense

Writing in the late 1980s, I was influenced by what now appears to be an anachronistic view of the conformity of early Christianity in both Rus’ and Scandinavia. This view had been based on Russian and Scandinavian historio-graphic traditions and a tendency to base our knowledge of early Christian-ity, for which exceedingly few sources have been available, on evidence from later periods when the establishment of internal conformity and imposition of strict boundaries with other confessions were on the agenda. It is this later uniformity that affects our perception of the earlier period. It was undoubt-edly this attitude that led scholars earlier to consider the entire catalogue of saints in the litany so untypical that foreign models were looked for. It was also the reason why in the late 1980s I found it unlikely that the veneration of these western saints could have been adopted one by one or in smaller groups. Therefore I looked for one specific occasion when the Anglo-Saxon/Scandina-vian sequence in its entirety could have been transferred or adopted in Rus’. In that context the presence of St Magnus of Orkney meant that the transfer had to occur in the 1130s at the earliest and probably no later than 1169, when Canute Lavard was canonized. Accordingly, the brief reign of Canute Lavard’s half-brother, Eric Emune, 1134–37, appeared as the most likely period for the transfer to have taken place, because at that time dynastic ties linked the Rus-sian princely dynasty more or less to all the Scandinavian royal and princely families whose noble saints were included in the Russian prayer. After the mur-der of Canute Lavard in 1131, Erik Emune had married the widow of the Nor-wegian king Sigurd Jorsalfar, Malmfrid, who like Canute’s wife was a daughter of Mstislav Vladimirovich. For his part, King Sigurd had helped Earl Magnus’s nephew Kale-Rognvald Kolsson to acquire the earldom in the 1120s, and it was in support of his authority that the cult of St Magnus was promoted.14

Today I find such a scenario less likely. Not least thanks to the accelerating use of interdisciplinary studies, we now know that, in the first centuries after conversion, regional variations of Christianity could develop and be accepted or even nurtured by local clergies, without interference from higher ecclesi-astical authorities.15 Also, what is generally labelled as anti-Latin polemical

14 Lind 1990: 19f.; Antonsson 2007: 73ff.15 Lind 2006b: 68ff.

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literature in Byzantine and Russian contexts seems to have played a much less-er role in the early period than previously thought.16 In this perspective, there is really no reason why separate elements of the Anglo-Saxon/Scandinavian sequence could not be adopted in early Rus’ liturgy at different stages, not least considering the close links that persisted between Rus’, Scandinavia, and the Scandinavian-influenced Anglo-Saxon world, links that were upheld on the level of elites long after the Slavonic element became dominant in Rus’. Nev-ertheless the compiler of the prayer, working most likely in the twelfth cen-tury, must still have been aware of what united these saints to list them as a sequence.

Concerning the transfer of the martyrs connected to Odense, this event could very well have happened during the reign of King Canute’s half-brother Erik Ejegod. It was Erik who as king secured the papal canonization of Canute. He had close relations with the ruling branch of the Rurikid dynasty, the line of Vladimir Monomakh. According to Markus Skeggjason’s contemporary Eiríks-drápa, included in Knýtlinga Saga, Erik had been in exile in Rus’ after escaping from the massacre at St Alban’s church in 1086, and it was from Rus’ that he was recalled to kingship after his other half-brother and opponent, King Oluf, died in 1095.17 Presumably the links formed during this exile eventually led to the marriage between his son Canute Lavard and Mstislav Vladimirovich’s daugh-ter around 1117. That event may well have been the occasion when the three saints of Odense found their way to Rus’, unless it had already happened in 1103: then St Canute’s cult had just been established while King Erik, according to Saxo, passed Rus’ on his crusade to the Holy Land, during which he died.18

St Olav’s Cult in the East

By then, however, the veneration of St Olav had already spread to the Baltic re-gion and Rus’. Adam of Bremen, writing c.1070 emphasized the cult’s particular spread to the Baltic region, and according to a runic inscription (Sjusta U 687) a church had been dedicated to St Olav in Novgorod by the end of the eleventh century if not earlier.19

We do not know exactly how but already in his lifetime Olav himself had close ties with Rus’. Perhaps he made use of connections inherited from Olav

16 Bibikov 2003: 11f.17 Knýtlinga Saga 1919–25: 164ff.18 Saxo 1931: 338.19 Adam of Bremen 1978: 303; Mel’nikova 2001: 338f.


Tryggvason, who during Vladimir Svyatoslavich’s reign (980–1015) had stayed in Rus’.20 Furthermore, there was a matrimonial link between Olav and Prince Vladimir’s son, Yaroslav: both were married to daughters of the Swedish king Olof Skötkonung. Finally, based on information found in “Magnús saga ins góða” in Morkinskinna, Elena Mel’nikova has suggested that a trade treaty between Norway and Novgorod had been concluded in the years before Olav were forced into exile in 1028, perhaps in connection with an anti-Danish alli-ance among Rus’, Norway, and Sweden.21

Whether or not this is sufficient to explain the role that Novgorod and the court of Prince Yaroslav came to play for Olav and his family, it is a fact that Olav spent most of his exile from 1028–30 in Rus’, mainly with Yaroslav in Novgorod. On returning to Norway in 1030, Olav left his young son Magnus in Novgorod, from where he was recalled in 1035 in order to take over the kingdom of Nor-way. Before this Magnus’s uncle and Olav’s half-brother, Harald Hardrada, then fifteen, had fled from the defeat at Stiklestad to Novgorod, where he stayed several years before proceeding to Constantinople. In 1045, after his long and seemingly illustrious career in the Varangian Guard, Harald passed Kiev and Novgorod once more on his return to claim kingship in Norway, marrying a daughter of Prince Yaroslav on the way.22

Considering these close relations, there can be little doubt that St Olav’s cult, which arose in Norway almost immediately after his death, soon became known in Novgorod at least in the princely family and among the Norwegian royal exiles, and that the veneration of the new saint became an important asset for both Magnus and Harald in their attempts to win power in Norway.

It may even be argued that it was in Novgorod that the perception of Olav as a holy man first took form, at least in Snorri Sturluson’s interpretation. Ac-cording to Snorri, Olav, during his exile in Novgorod, almost decided “to lay down his royal dignity, go out into the world to Jerusalem or other holy plac-es, and to enter a monastic order”.23 It is also during Olav’s exile in Novgorod that Snorri chooses to report the earliest of Olav’s four miracles to have taken place in Rus’. According to this Prince Yaroslav’s wife, Ingegerd, recommended a mother of a sick boy to approach Olav, who then cured the boy. Thus, Snorri concludes, Olav already then gained the reputation of having healing power in his hands.24 Whether or not this is a genuine account, what is important

20 Dzhakson 2000: 15ff.21 Mel’nikova 1997: 15ff.22 Dzhakson 2000: 51ff.23 Snorri 1911: 376.24 Snorri 1911: 377f.; cf. Passio Olavi 2001: 47ff.; Jackson 2010: 149ff., 155f.; Jiroušková 2010.

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here is that, at a distance of two hundred years and seemingly unaware of any confessional differences between his own Catholic Church and the Orthodox Church, Snorri did not hesitate to suggest that the sanctity of Olav first mani-fested itself in Novgorod before his martyrdom and that his cult had a Russian origin.

The veneration of St Olav also reached Constantinople at a fairly early stage.25 Although precise dating is unattainable, this event could be linked to Harald Hardrada. According to Snorri, during Harald’s career in Byzantium, Olav orchestrated Harald’s miraculous release from prison, after Harald had fallen out of imperial favour. This is said to have happened in Constantinople on the spot where the chapel of St Olav was later built.26 The chapel is proba-bly identical with a church dedicated to St Mary and St Olav, said to be founded in Constantinople as a result of another miracle.27 Further to the east, St Olav along with St Canute reached the Holy Land sometime in the twelfth century, when their images were painted on neighbouring columns in the Nativity Ba-silica in Bethlehem.28

Early Christianity in Rus’: Varangian Christianity

I have argued in a number of papers that the spread of the cult of St Olav in the east can be seen as a result and indeed as part of the phenomenon that I have characterized as Varangian Christianity. Since I began to advance this concept, I have invariably and not without reason been asked what exactly I meant by this term.29 This is a difficult question, because so few sources have survived for the period in question. The available evidence on the form Chris-tianity took both in the western and eastern parts of the Varangian world, primarily in Scandinavia and Rus’, are mainly from the period when the great divide between Eastern and Western Christianity, often exemplified by the Schism of 1054, had appeared. The perception of this divide seems to have influenced modern scholars more than it actually changed relations between

25 Mel’nikova 1995: 92ff.26 Snorri 1911: 455f.27 Passio Olavi 2001: xli, 34ff.28 Kühnel 1988: 112ff.29 At a seminar at Bergen University October 2010, “Early Christianity in Scandinavia and

Rus’: Contacts and Influences”, I gave a paper with the title “Varangian Christianity Revis-ited”. In a subsequent publication the concept was discussed in a number of articles in Garipzanov and Tolochko 2011. See especially Tolochko 2011: 58–69.


what became the Eastern and Western Churches (at least, relations outside Constantinople and Rome).

In the west the new dividing trend was epitomized by the Reform Papacy from the second half of the eleventh century onwards. Its aim was to central-ize the Catholic Church and establish conformity within the Western Church. Therefore Pope Gregory vii in 1080 denied Vratislav ii of Bohemia the right to use Church Slavonic, and soon after the last vestiges of the Cyrillo-Methodian mission disappeared in Bohemia – and the Western Church, when the Church Slavonic liturgy was abolished in the Sazáva Monastery.30

Previously, the Western Church had not been a centralized monolith of con-formity. In fact significant differences could be found on various levels. Hence, a disgusted Adam of Bremen accuses the Swedish king Anund Jacob of disre-garding the rights of the Archbishopric of Hamburg-Bremen, formal head of the Scandinavian churches, by keeping an independent court bishop in the 1050s, the Anglo-Saxon Osmund, sometimes linked to the Eastern Church.31 Similarly Adam rebukes Harald Hardrada, who on his return to Norway suc-cessfully resisted the growing ecclesiastical influence of Rome, channeled through the Archbishopric of Hamburg-Bremen, by appointing his own bish-ops.32 But Adam also takes his own former archbishop, Adalbert of Hamburg-Bremen (1043–72), to task not only because he wished to establish a patriarch-ate independent of Rome but also because at one point he no longer wished to follow the established Latin rite but instead at three masses used “another Roman or Greek tradition”.33

In the east and in the early Russian Church, the wish to centralize and im-pose conformity never got so far as in the west. Nevertheless, Yaroslav must have felt the need to cut himself and his Church loose from Constantinople, when, perhaps by mutual inspiration, he followed the same caesaropapist trend as his Swedish brother-in-law and Norwegian son-in-law by appointing a residential priest, Ilarion, Metropolitan in 1051 in defiance of Constantinople.

Therefore, when I operate with the term “Varangian Christianity”, I do not re-fer to Christianity as it eventually came to exist in Rus’, when, based on Church Slavonic, a complete church organization had been established with a firm link to the patriarchate in Constantinople, but to a mixture of Christian elements that Scandinavians picked up on their way and, perhaps, blended, while travel-ling between east and west, as did one Asgaut, commemorated on a Swedish

30 Lind 2001: 140–41; Lind 2013: 357ff.31 Adam of Bremen 1978: 342ff.; Lind 2013: 344f., 347f., 350, 357f.32 Adam of Bremen 1978: 348; Lind 2013: 357.33 Adam of Bremen 1978: 362, 368.

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inscription (Ubby U504), or better-known people of royal blood such as St Olav and his half-brother Harald Hardrada. For them the Church hierarchy, whether Eastern or Western, would play a minor role. They could probably manage with a church and a priest almost anywhere along their routes. The form their Chris-tian beliefs and practices took would, of course, reflect the places where they had encountered Christianity, and that blend would be the form they conveyed to other places they visited. The fact that from the ninth century onwards, a substantial number of Scandinavians active in the east visited Constantinople, one of the two main centres of European Christianity, and functioned there for lengthy periods naturally influenced their perception of Christianity, whereas other Christian Scandinavians active in both directions, like St Olav, had their first experience of Christianity in the west. But in a place like Rus’, where Va-rangians congregated, their Christianity probably consisted of a mixture of influences.

Even if we disregard the optimistic claims by Patriarch Photius to have con-verted those Rus’ who attacked Constantinople in 860, Christianity had become a force to be reckoned with among the Rus’ and subsequently in Rus’ long be-fore the conversion by the ruler, Vladimir Svyatoslavich, in 987/89.34 The situa-tion was probably similar in most other countries that converted more or less at the same time, such as the Scandinavian countries, but for them we do not

34 Birnbaum 1993: 42ff.; Lind 2004; Mel’nikova 2005: 97ff. Many scholars have, of course, studied early Christianity in Rus’ – not least in the years following the celebration in 1988 of the millennium of St Vladimir’s baptism. Often, however, they tend to concentrate their attention on this or the baptism of Princess Olga; both, as regards Christianity in Rus’, relatively late events. As suggested above, these scholars also anachronistically tend to take for granted that the Slavonic element came to dominate Russian Christianity in its earliest stage. This may be exemplified by one of the field’s most prolific and knowl-edgeable experts, Andrzej Poppe. Overlooking a number of other ethnicities involved, Poppe simply sees Rus’ as “the state of the East Slavs created with the participation of Scandinavian war bands” (Poppe 1997: 311). Therefore he identifies the early Christian Rus’ with Slavs, although (1) he mentions that numerous early Arab and Byzantine sources reveal that Christian ar-Rūs or Rhōs were present already in the ninth and early tenth century, when there is no doubt that these were Scandinavians clearly distinct from Slavs; (2) he notes, on the basis of the Russo-Byzantine treaties of 911 and 944 (see below), that many Rus’ became Christians in the period between these two treaties, although, as their names show, they are almost exclusively of Scandinavian descent. When Poppe discusses the archaeological evidence of the early Christianity of these Rus’, he accordingly writes: “Archaeological data do not permit a definitive conclusion, since the chronology of cre-mation and burial practices among the Eastern Slavs is too heterogeneous” (Poppe 1997: 313, my italics). Poppe’s many articles on this topic have been reprinted in two Variorum Reprints (Poppe 1982 and 2007).


have reliable sources to show that to be the case. For Rus’ we do. Apart from the accelerating amount of archaeological data and occasional mentions in Arab and Byzantine sources, chronicles are the main sources for the history of early Rus’. They were, however, written only from the late eleventh century onwards and as narrative sources are unreliable for the ninth and tenth centuries. But in the main surviving narrative, The Tale of Bygone Years (Povest’ vremennykh let), a number of earlier texts were inserted, including the texts, complete, or in parts, of three or perhaps even four treaties concluded between the Rus’ and Byzantines in 907, 911, 944, and 971. Their original versions were probably writ-ten in Greek. At some point they were translated into Old East Slavonic and only then included in the chronicle, but there is no reason to doubt that they reflect the contents of the original treaties quite faithfully, with a few minor adaptations to twelfth-century forms.35

Formally, these treaties were contracted by the Byzantine emperors and the ruling princes and elite of Rus’. In both early treaties (907 and 911) the envoys of the Rus’ bear exclusively Scandinavian names and are, as was their leader Prince Oleg, pagans who swear oaths by their gods and on their weapons, just as the Danes did in Adam of Bremen’s account of a peace-making between Danes and Franks in the time of Louis the Pious: “the Danes swore on the treaty according to the tradition of the people an unbreakable oath by their weapons”.36 In contrast, the Byzantines are referred to either as Greeks or sim-ply as Christians, as if the two terms meant the same, and take their oaths by kissing the cross.37

The third and largest treaty (944) contains sixteen articles and lists no less than seventy-two or seventy-three names by whom or on whose behalf in Rus’ the treaty was concluded. Once again almost all the names of the Rus’ are clearly of Scandinavian origin.38 But in contrast to the previous treaties, the 944 treaty repeatedly, whenever relevant, distinguishes between Rus’ who are still pagan and Rus’ who have become Christians. Therefore, at the beginning of the treaty, separate punishments are meted out to potential transgressors among the Rus’: those who are Christian are threatened by “God with dam-nation and destruction both in this world and the next”; those who are “un-baptized” risk being “slain by their own swords, laid low by their own arrows or by any of their own weapons”. One article in the treaty text requires an oath by the parties and stipulates that “the Christian Rus’ shall so swear according to

35 Malingoudi 1994; Bibikov 1999: 111ff.; Litavrin 2000: 61ff.; Zukerman 2008: 69f.36 Adam of Bremen 1978: 208.37 Lavrentievskaya letopis’ 1926: 30f.; The Russian Primary Chronicle 1953: 64f.38 Mel’nikova 2004: 5ff.

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their faith and the non-Christians after their custom”. A more detailed account of the prescribed oath-taking follows towards the end of the treaty, where the Rus’ envoys, baptized and un-baptized, swear separate oaths, the former upon the Holy Cross, the latter on their weapons.

Most important in this connection, however, are the reports, presumably by the Byzantine envoys, on the ratification of the treaty in Kiev with which the chronicler ends his quotation from the treaty texts:

In the morning, Igor’ summoned the envoys, and went to a hill on which there was a statue of Perun. The Rus’ laid down their weapons, their shields, and their gold ornaments, and Igor’ and his people took oath (at least, such as were pagans), while the Christian Rus’ took oath in the church of St Elias.

The chronicler who quoted this text around 1110 must have felt that at least two points needed explanations. Therefore concerning the church he added: which is above the creek, in the vicinity of the Pasýncha square and the quarter of the Khazars, and for those of his contemporaries who thought that Rus’ Christian-ity began with the conversion of Prince Vladimir, he explains: this was, in fact, the cathedral church, since many of the Varangians were Christians.39

With regard to the last remark it should be noticed that throughout the trea-ty texts themselves only the term Rus’ is used. The chronicler, however, must have been aware that the term Rus’ in his own time already had turned or was in the process of turning into a semi-ethnic term for the Slav-dominated popu-lation of Rus’. Consequently Rus’ could no longer be used to refer to people of Scandinavian descent. Therefore, in his comment, he preferred to refer to the Rus’ in the treaties as Varangians, so that his twelfth-century audience would understand that these Rus’ originally were of Scandinavian descent.

From these texts it is obvious that a significant number of Varangians in the emerging Rus’ polity between 911 and 944 must have been baptized. The fact that a separate ratification by the Christian Rus’ on this international treaty was necessary, although the ruler as such was still pagan, shows that Christi-anity by the time the treaty of 944 was concluded had obtained official status almost half a century before the ruler himself in the shape of Prince Vladimir converted to Christianity. Although this information stems from a source far superior in quality to any of the narrative sources that report on Vladimir’s conversion in the 980s, this is often disregarded in studies on the conversion of Rus’.

39 Lavrentievskaya letopis’ 1926: 32ff.; The Russian Primary Chronicle 1953: 65ff.


Varangian Christianity in the Caves Monastery

That Varangians were indeed dominant among Christians in Rus’ at this early stage has been confirmed by ever-increasing archaeological data.40 Further-more, Russian chronicles report that the first martyrs in early Rus’ were two Varangians, a father and son – in later tradition, named as Feodor and Ioann. They had arrived from Byzantium, but as part of Prince Vladimir’s reputed at-tempt to revive paganism they were martyred in Kiev in 983 during an assault on their house.41

These two Varangian martyrs were soon overshadowed by the two princely martyrs Boris and Gleb, often seen as proto-martyrs of the Russian church. This undoubtedly reflects needs and wishes of members of the Rurikid dynasty; similar examples are found in other countries at the same time, as murdered or otherwise killed kings and princes such as Olav in Norway and the two Ca-nutes in Denmark were promoted to martyrs by an alliance between rulers and the ecclesiastic leadership. Nonetheless we still find the two Varangians promi-nently mentioned in some early sources such as the Kievo-Pecherskii paterik (Book of Fathers of the Caves Monastery at Kiev, henceforth Paterikon) itself a compilation of earlier texts from the beginning of the thirteenth century but only preserved in fifteenth-century redactions.

The Caves Monastery was undoubtedly the most important of the early monasteries in Rus’ and became a centre of Rus’ spirituality.42 The formative years of the monastery were in the mid-eleventh century, when first of all the two later saints, Antonii (died 1073) and Feodosii (died 1074) were active.43 Several more of its monks won fame and veneration resulting from their as-cetic lives and writings. Some of these writings, such as the reputed chronicler Nestor’s Life of Feodosii Pecherskii were included among the Paterikon’s alto-gether 38 tales.44

The reference to the two Varangian martyrs in the Paterikon is found in its fourteenth tale. Here the author lists monks of the monastery who had later become bishops. The first of these was Leontii, who presumably in the 1070s was killed as Bishop of Rostov. Therefore he is said “with the two Varangians

40 Petrukhin and Pushkina 1997: 247ff.; Duczko 2004: 136ff.41 Novgorodskaya pervaya letopis’ starshego i mladshego izvodov 1950: 130f.; Lavrentievskaya

letopis’ 1926: 82f.; Vvedenskii 2008: 13f.42 Lilienfeld 1993: 63ff.43 Lavrentievskaya letopis’ 1926: 155ff.; The Russian Primary Chronicle 1953: 139ff.44 Ol’shevskaya 1987: 304ff.

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to be the third Rus’ citizen to be crowned by Christ, for whom they suffered”.45 The fact that the two Varangians thus sidestep Boris and Gleb suggests that this text in part belongs to an early layer among the tales in the Paterikon.46

Apart from this reference to the two Varangians, the Paterikon includes sev-eral more tales, notably the first three, which exhibit interesting attitudes to-wards the Varangians and their role in forming Rus’ spirituality as it developed in the Caves Monastery.47

Even though the Caves Monastery traces its origin to St Antonii’s decision to settle in a cave called the Varangian Cave, the focus of the compiler(s) of the Paterikon is on the development from this cave hermitage into a monastery, which only began with the building of the church dedicated to God’s Mother. Therefore, it is to this later stage the Paterikon devotes its first three tales. In order to understand the Varangian impact and its shifting nature these tales must be analysed in some detail.

In the first tale we hear the miraculous role a prominent Varangian, called Shimon, came to play in the building of this church. The tale begins by listing Shimon’s family relations, at least as these were relevant in his Rus’ context: in the “Varangian land” lived a prince by the name Afrikan, brother of the Yakun who fought alongside Yaroslav against Mstislav in 1024; Afrikan had two sons, Friand and Shimon; after their father’s death Yakun expelled the brothers and Shimon fled to Yaroslav, who assigned him to his son Vsevolod.

Before attempting to fend off a Polovtsian attack on Rus’ in 1068, the three ruling princes, joined by Shimon, visited Antonii in his cave to get his blessing. Antonii predicted their defeat but promised Shimon that he would survive and eventually be buried in the church in the monastery. Wounded after the battle, Shimon turned his eyes towards heaven and saw a large church, similar to one from a previous vision received when he had been threatened by shipwreck. He prayed to the Lord to save him through the intercession of His Mother and the venerable Fathers Antonii and Feodosii.

45 Kievo-Pecherskii paterik 1997: 360.46 In the controversy over the date and origin of the cult of Boris and Gleb, this silence on

their cult supports a considerably later date than the 1020s suggested by some (compare Poppe 1981: 29ff. and Antonsson 2003: 143ff.). Another relevant theme that has been raised in connection with Boris and Gleb is the possible Varangian influences on their cult (Re-isman 1978: 141ff.) and also a possible interrelation with the cult of St Olav (Antonsson 2003: 143ff.; Antonsson 2007: 115ff.). These questions, however, will not be addressed in this context.

47 Stender-Petersen 1953: 139ff., 147ff.


Soon afterward Shimon told Antonii about his two visions, and also that his father back home had made a crucifix, on which Christ had been painted in the way “the Latins venerate” and adorned with a golden girdle and a gold-en crown. At the time of Shimon’s expulsion, he had taken the girdle and the crown from the cross; in doing so he had heard a voice from the image of Christ telling him not to put the crown on his own head but to bring it to a place al-ready prepared, where a church dedicated to “my Mother will be built by the venerable Feodosii. To that you shall give these so that they can hang over my altar”. Shimon was also told that the church was to be built with the length of the girdle as its measure. Upon hearing this Antonii proclaimed that Shimon’s name hereafter was to be Simon.

At this point the author has Antonii summon Feodosii to receive the girdle and the crown; henceforth the focus is on Feodosii and Simon, who bestowed rich gifts for the building of the church. During a conversation with Feodosii, Simon asked him to pray for him and his descendants. Feodosii promised to do so. Simon, however, refused to part with Feodosii unless he got this promise in writing. Feodosii agreed, and the author significantly added that “since then it became the practice to place the same prayer in a deceased’s hands. Before that nobody in Rus’ had done so”.

At the end of the first tale, Simon, taught by Feodosii, is said to convert to Orthodoxy together with his entire household of 3,000 persons including priests: thus from being a “Varangian” he became a “Christian”, “leaving the Latin error” (ocтaвивь лaтиньcкую буecть). As predicted, Simon at his death becomes the first to be buried in the church. Finally, the tale ends by focusing on the flourishing career of Simon’s son, Georgii, under Vladimir Monomakh and Yurii Dolgorukii. Thus, even if the tale in its origin may be contemporary with Antonii and Feodosii, it must have undergone subsequent editing.48

In the second and third tales the Paterikon returns to some of the themes linked to Simon, now only referred to in his capacity as a Varangian. In the second tale, craftsmen from Constantinople visit Antonii and Feodosii, guided by God’s Mother in order to build her church, as mentioned in the first tale. She had told them that, ordered by her Son, she had already sent his girdle as the measure for the church. Together with relics to be placed in the foundation of the church the craftsmen also brought an icon of God’s Mother, which, in the words of Antonii, “nobody can have given except She, her Son and God our redeemer, Jesus Christ, whose girdle and crown has been brought by the

48 Kievo-Pecherskii paterik 1997: 296ff.; on Georgii, see also the tenth tale, Kievo-Pecherskii paterik 1997: 296ff.

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Varangians as the measure for the width, length, and height of our church”.49 In the third tale we find a similar reference to the miraculous origin of the church and the role the Varangians played:

Even if you read through the books of the old and new testaments, no-where will you find such miracles in connection with holy churches as with this: from the Varangians and from our Lord Jesus Christ himself and from his praiseworthy, both divine and human image is the crown of Christ’s holy head. We have heard the divine voice from the image of Christ that has ordered … the measure [of the church] to be made by his girdle.50

As mentioned above, the cave in which Antonii decided to settle was called the Varangian Cave. This is the subject of the seventh tale, where it is said that the cave originally had been excavated by Varangians. Who these Varangians were and what they represented is not mentioned here.51 However, the thirty-third tale returns to the question. This tale concerns two venerable fathers, Feodor and Vasilii; the former, having donated his earthly possessions to the poor, joins the monastery and is told by the abbot to settle in the “Varangian Cave”. Once there, he regrets his poverty and finds a treasure by digging in the cave. Ashamed of himself, he buries the treasure again, “so that its location is unknown from then until now”. Asked who had originally hidden the treasure, Feodor replies that, according to St Antonii’s Life [now lost] it was a Varangian treasure because it contained “Latin chalices” (cъcуды лaтиньcтии), and that was why it was called the Varangian Cave.52 This story, true or not, does convey the thirteenth-century view that the origin of the Varangian Cave was indeed, as was early Christianity in Rus’, linked to Christian Varangians and that these had occupied the cave before Antonii decided to settle there. Here, though, Varangian Christianity is specifically linked to the Latin rite.

In analysing how the authors of these tales in the Paterikon relate to the term “Varangian” we have to keep in mind that the text we now possess is only pre-served in late manuscripts and may have undergone editing during a lengthy period, in which both the meaning of the term “Varangian” and the attitude toward the Latin Church changed. Originally the term “Varangian” had no re-ligious or confessional connotations. But from being a term used primarily to

49 Kievo-Pecherskii paterik 1997: 304.50 Kievo-Pecherskii paterik 1997: 306.51 Kievo-Pecherskii paterik 1997: 316.52 Kievo-Pecherskii paterik 1997: 454.


refer to auxiliary troops settled from Scandinavia in the tenth century it came to function increasingly as an ethnic term for Scandinavians at a time when Scandinavians at home became firmly attached to the Latin Church. There-fore, when used in the twelfth century and later, the term “Varangian” became almost synonymous with a person adhering to the Latin rite. This is the case in the so-called Voproshanie (Enquiry) from the 1130s. Here the Novgorodian monk Kirik asks his bishop what to do if parents bring a child to a “Varangian priest”, and he is told that they were to suffer six weeks’ penance.53 The priest in question is probably the priest of St Olav’s church in Novgorod, and Kirik’s question suggests that ordinary Novgorodians actually used this church. Also in the Paterikon we find the thirty-seventh tale, titled “The Orthodox Prince Izyaslav’s Query about the Latin”, which concerns the nature of the Varangian faith as equivalent to Latinity. Here the Varangian faith is reputedly explained by St Feodosii Pecherskii to Prince Izyaslav Yaroslavich.54 The attribution to St Feodosii is, however, false; rather it is the later abbot of the monastery, Feodosii Grek (1142–1156), who expounds the by-then acrimonious Byzantine view of the Catholic Church.55

This gradual equation of Varangian Christianity with Latinity, which creates something of a Latin overlay with regard to the meaning of “Varangian” in the Paterikon, may be the reason for the appearance of a Latin chalice in the thirty-third tale as an explanation for how St Antonii’s cave got its name, considering nothing was said about this in the seventh tale, specifically aimed at explaining the name.

Towards the end of the first tale, a similar secondary Latin and even anti-Latin overlay seems to be present. Here too the anti-Latin attitude is attributed to Feodosii Pecherskii. This occurs when Simon, influenced by Feodosii, is said to convert to Orthodoxy, thus transforming from a “Varangian” into a “Chris-tian” and “leaving the Latin error”. Two points suggest that this is a later addi-tion to the text, perhaps added when a writer updated the tale with informa-tion on Simon’s son’s during the reign of Yurii Dolgorukii. Firstly, this anti-Latin tenor creates a sharp contrast to the attitudes toward Varangian Christianity expressed in the early part of this and the next two tales, where Shimon (as he is still named) is described as a devout Christian despite his adherence to the Latin rite. Secondly, just before the narrative of Feodosii takes over in the first tale, we are told that St Antonii proclaimed Shimon’s future name to be Simon.

53 Voproshanie Kirika 1880: 60.54 Kievo-Pecherskii paterik 1997: 482ff.55 Podskal’skii 1996: 294ff.; the attribution to Feodosii Pecherskii is accepted in Androshchuk

2004–2005: 45.

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This change of name suggests that Shimon already at this time had converted to Orthodoxy. Thus there seem to be two chronological layers in the first tale.

If we confine ourselves to the earliest use of the term “Varangian” in the Pa-terikon, we have the reference to the two Varangian martyrs and the account of Shimon as it appears in the first part of the first tale with subsequent referenc-es in the next two tales. With regard to the two martyrs there is no attempt to link them with the Latin rite. This is of course not surprising if, as the chronicle claims, they came to Kiev from Byzantium, where they possibly had adopted Christianity. In contrast, Shimon is explicitly presented as a Christian adhering to the Latin rite when he arrived in Rus’.

It would be wrong to say that Shimon’s Latinity bore no significance to the original author of the first three tales; moreover, his view of this Latinity is far from negative – despite his Latinity, Shimon is portrayed as an almost divine messenger from both Christ and his Mother to Rus’ and the Caves Monastery. The two items, the girdle and the crown, taken by Shimon from an explicitly Latin image of Christ are adopted in the monastery as equally holy as the icon of God’s Mother, brought from Constantinople in the second tale. The girdle, as it is stressed in all three tales, was to be used as a measure for the new church. And with regard to the crown, the choice of words in the third tale – “from the Varangians and from our Lord Jesus Christ himself and from his praisewor-thy dually divine and human image is the crown of Christ’s holy head” – en-dows “Varangians” with a nearly Christ-like quality. It is also noteworthy that, regardless whether it was a Latin practice to place a written prayer in a dead person’s hands, the author stresses that this future Orthodox practice was in-troduced by and taken over from a Latin Christian: “before that, nobody in Rus’ had done so”.

From this analysis of the early use in the Paterikon of “Varangian” and “Va-rangians” in connection with Christianity it is obvious that the monks of the Caves Monastery, at least in the eleventh century, held the early Varangian Christians in high regard and to a large extent saw them as founders of Christi-anity as it was practised in the monastery. This Christianity is presented in the Paterikon as a blend of influences from Constantinople and the Latin West, much in the way I introduced the term “Varangian Christianity” above. There-fore it is not possible to agree with F. von Lilienfeld’s assertion that the Caves Monastery “was not only a stronghold of piety, but also of ‘the Constantinople connection’, i.e., of the ‘Greek faith’, opposed to the Latin one”.56

56 Lilienfeld 1993: 75.


“Varangian Christianity” and St Olav in Finland

As mentioned above, the concept of “Varangian Christianity” was introduced in order to account for some data that are otherwise difficult to explain. These data concern early Christianity in Finland with regard to two features: the pres-ence of an ecclesiastical vocabulary derived from Old Church Slavonic and the wide and early spread of the St Olav cult.

Most important in this context is undoubtedly the presence in the Finnish Christian vocabulary of a number of words that, as linguists agree, can only have their origin in Old East Slavonic, perhaps with Old Church Slavonic as a me-dium. They consist of such fundamental Christian expressions as pappi < pop (пoпъ) = priest; risti < krest (кpecтъ) = cross; pakana < pogan (пoгaнъ) = hea-then; kummi < kum (кум) = godfather; raamattu < gramota (гpaмoтa) = bible, scripture; räähkä < grekh (гpexъ) = sin; and paasto < post (пocтъ) = lent.57

Traditionally the Finns are thought to have adopted Christianity as result of a Swedish crusade in the aftermath of the Second Crusade to the Holy Land, usually dated to 1155/57.58 This crusade targeted the south-western region of present-day Finland, now known as Satakunta and Finland Proper (Varsinais Suomi) with Turku at its centre. That the Church Slavonic vocabulary could have been introduced later in the Middle Ages after a corresponding Latin vo-cabulary had already been introduced is hardly conceivable. However, for this vocabulary to have survived the Latin mission that followed upon the “First” and subsequent Swedish crusades to Finland during what in Finland is labeled the “Age of Crusades” (c.1150–c.1300), a substantial number of Christians famil-iar with the Old Church Slavonic rite must already have been present in this region by the time it was first targeted by western crusades.59 The archaeologi-cal evidence suggests precisely such a presence. From this it is clear that, in the

57 Bjørnflaten 2006: 50ff. Previously this was thought to be a result of an early Russian Ortho-dox mission in this part of Finland linked to a presumed Russian trade settlement in the Aurajoki area. This idea arose because the Finnish parallel name to Swedish Åbo, Turku, was thought to be of Russian origin (<тъpгъ); however, archaeological data does not con-firm the existence of such a settlement. Furthermore, such an interpretation would im-ply that Russian merchants had settlements everywhere in Scandinavia where we find market places labelled as torg, which is, of course, not the case. Rather the term torg, of presumed Mongolian-Turkic origin, spread within a commercial network that comprised Scandinavia, coastal areas of Finland, and Rus’. Therefore, the spread of “тъpгъ/torg” also seems to be a result of Varangian activity.

58 Lind 2015.59 Lind 2006b: 72.

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eleventh century, there is a concentration of Christian finds precisely in the same regions that were first targeted by the crusade. There, Finns had begun to bury their dead in separate inhumation cemeteries. In some of these, belfries have been uncovered, suggesting the presence of some kind of church organi-zation almost a century before the crusade. It is also in this region of Finland that archaeologists have uncovered Viking Age finds similar to those in Scandi-navia. This is often explained by the proximity to Sweden. There are, however, also some artefacts that display Byzantine influence.60 Therefore the combina-tion of a Church Slavonic rite and Scandinavian-type finds in this same region rather suggests the influence of Christian Varangians.

As mentioned (cf. above note 1) “Varangian” is not in its origin an ethnic term. For Finns, living in the coastal regions, it would undoubtedly be advanta-geous to trade with and perhaps even participate in the Varangian commercial network. In fact, there are signs that at least some Finns travelled the same route to Byzantium as the Varangians.61 It is probably against this background we have to understand early Christianity in Finland with its combination of links to Scandinavia and the Church Slavonic rite.

Such a presence of Varangian-influenced Christians – who at least since the early 1030s must have been familiar with the cult of St Olav – could also explain the particular role St Olav came to play in Finland. Perhaps the most remark-able expression of this is the fact that three out of six early medieval Finnish provinces, Åland, Satakunta, and Nyland, depicted St Olav on their seals. This suggests that his veneration was not just an ecclesiastical phenomenon but was deep-rooted in the population.

After the conquest and integration of Finland into Sweden, Finland con-stituted one of Sweden’s seven medieval bishoprics. According to the few and fairly late sources on the so-called First Crusade to Finland, the Lives of King Erik (1160) and Bishop Henrik, these two future saints were joint leaders of the crusade. Bishop Henrik even came to be known as “the Apostle of Finland”. Their cults, however, developed quite late, and their expressions are few com-pared with those of St Olav; for instance, neither is depicted in a landscape seal. A Finnish church historian, Jyrki Knuutila, has made a special study of St Olav in Finland and in medieval Finnish religious art with some asides to, first of all, the remaining six Swedish bishoprics. He found that of Finland’s 62 medieval churches, no less than 17 per cent were dedicated to St Olav, and that 46 per cent had works of art depicting St Olav. With regard to sculptural presentations of St Olav, Knuutila compares Finland directly with mainland

60 Lehtosalo-Hilander 1992: 65ff.; Purhonen 1998.61 Lehtosalo-Hilander 1992: 66.


Sweden, finding 28 sculptures in Finland compared with only 12 in the other six Swedish bishoprics. With such a disproportion, the spread of St Olav’s cult in Finland hardly can be explained by direct influence from Sweden as a part of the crusading package introduced by the Catholic Church. Furthermore, Knuutila notes that St Olav’s cult was concentrated precisely in those prov-inces – Satakunta and Finland proper – where Christian finds predating the Swedish crusades are to be found.62

Impressive as this evidence is as a sign of St Olav’s popularity in medieval Finland, it does not indicate the presence of his cult in Finland prior to the Swedish crusades. However, in various parts of western Finland several “axe-shaped pendants” have been found during excavations in both male and fe-male burials, dated more or less confidently to the eleventh century and cer-tainly predating the Swedish crusades of the twelfth century. At least one of these pendants, found at Köyliönsaari, has a cross engraved on it. Similar pen-dants have been found in northern parts of present-day Norway and Sweden, in Estonia, and in modern Russia as far east as Suzdal’. Like the Finnish find, the pendant from Suzdal’ has a cross engraved on it.63 Pirkko-Liisa Lehtosalo-Hilander, who has excavated the Luistari site where one of these axe-shaped pendants was found, has suggested that they might be “St Olav amulets”.64 As we know, St Olav is hardly ever represented without a battle-axe in his right hand, presumably because he was killed by such a weapon. If this axe-shaped pendant is indeed a “St Olav amulet”, this can be interpreted as further support for the spread of St Olav’s cult in Finland – and further to the east – as early as the eleventh century, long before the Swedish crusades brought Finland into Western Christendom.

Taken together, the remnants of a Church Slavonic rite in Finland, the pres-ence of Scandinavian-type finds displaying Byzantine influence in the regions of Satakunta and Finland proper, and evidence of an early St Olav cult can be explained best as result of influence from what is here referred to as “Varan-gian Christianity”.

Conclusion

Disregarding the possible conversion of Rus’ in the 860s, we have seen that Varangians before the mid-tenth century were the earliest recorded Christians

62 Knuutila 1997: 91ff.63 Makarov 2006: 85ff. Makarov was unaware of the western Finland finds.64 Lehtosalo-Hilander 2000: 31ff.

Lind128

in Rus’. That does not mean that there were no Christians among the majority Slavonic population in the Kievan region that became the centre of the Rus’ state; while only archaeological data can confirm an earlier Christian pres-ence, Church Slavonic naturally would have been adopted as the basic ritual language, as it had been by those Varangians who lived more or less perma-nently in the region. Furthermore, it must have been some of these Varangians who spread the Church Slavonic rite beyond Rus’ to the south-western part of Finland during the eleventh century. The reason similar traces of Old Church Slavonic have not been found further to the west in Scandinavia could be that Scandinavians were already acquainted with a Christian vocabulary found in related Germanic languages, first of all Anglo-Saxon; thus they had no need to supplant the familiar Germanic terms with Old Church Slavonic cognates. The Finns had lacked the opportunity to acquaint themselves with a pre-existing Christian vocabulary in language related to Finnish, and thus were receptive to adopting Old Church Slavonic religious terms.

As we have seen with regard to the situation in the Cave Monastery, there was, at least as late as the mid-eleventh century, no desire among the monks to take sides in the incipient confessional split between the Eastern and Western Churches. Rather, there was a tendency to blend influences from each side. This open-mindedness was undoubtedly inherited from the early Varangian Christians and it may have been nurtured as this Christianity spread to the ruling circles. As is well known, a decade after the conclusion of the treaty of 944, Princess Olga, the widow of Prince Igor’ and regent for her minor son Svyatoslav, agreed to be baptized in Constantinople. That did not prevent her from summoning Latin missionaries to Kiev soon afterwards, which brought the later archbishop of Magdeburg, Adalbert, to Kiev around 960.65 Further-more, before Prince Vladimir decided to adopt Christianity, his older brother Yaropolk, without converting himself, had already begun to build on the links Olga had formed, expanding relations to the west.66 This may, of course, reflect an interest among the ruling circles in Rus’ to avoid becoming overly depen-dent on Byzantium. Nevertheless, it does indicate that among the first genera-tions of Christians in Rus’ there was little desire either for conformity or for close links to one of the competing church hierarchies.

By the eleventh century the Varangians, whose ranks after 1066 were sup-plemented by Anglo-Saxons, with few exceptions were all Christians, whether they had adopted their faith in the east or west. Their constant flow eastward through Rus’ to Byzantium and (to some extent) back must have contributed

65 Nazarenko 2001: 311ff.; Shepard 2007: 379f.66 Nazarenko 2001: 339ff.


to sustaining the confessional open-mindedness that characterized Rus’. The same must have been the case with many dynastic links that were formed between the Rurikids and royal houses in the west. Together these itinerant Varangians and the dynastic links paved the way for the veneration of saints originating in the west, such as the sequence of Anglo-Saxon and Scandi-navian saints analysed at the beginning of the paper. Varangians continued to be part of the eastern scene at least until 1204, when the Fourth Crusade hit Byzantium and ravished Constantinople. A Russian account of the event reports that Varangians fought the crusaders in Constantinople and were driven away after the fall of the city.67 As far as we know, this event marks the end of the Varangian Guard. Although the first traces of an awareness in Rus’ of the difference between the Eastern and Western Churches can be found in the late eleventh century, early Russian sources rarely demonstrate any sign of animosity towards the Latin Church prior to the crusade in 1204. Thus the author of the Ipatievskaya Chronicle could as late as 1190 include a rather extensive and compassionate account of the Holy Roman Emperor Frederick Barbarossa’s disastrous expedition in connection with the Third Crusade to the Holy Land after Saladin’s conquest of Jerusalem in 1187. Here the anonymous writer entirely identified himself with the Latin crusaders and their cause. He even ensured his readers that those who were killed in the fight against the Hagarites would “be counted among His chosen flock of martyrs”.68 No doubt he still saw Christianity as undivided so that both the Orthodox Russians and the Catholic crusaders belonged to one unbroken gens Christiana.

Therefore, Christians in Rus’ in the twelfth century still could vener-ate saints who later were associated mainly or even exclusively with the Latin Church. Hence, when the Anglo-Saxon/Scandinavian sequence of saints was originally included in the litany of The Prayer to the Holy Trin-ity, they were not seen as specifically Western saints; rather, they were per-ceived as universal saints of the gens Christiana. Only later did an unknown Orthodox zealot come to perceive their presence – or at least the presence of some of them – in the litany as such an anomaly that he found it neces-sary to erase their names on the parchment and replace them with the names of more appropriately Orthodox saints. This early confessional broad-mindedness is probably best understood as the legacy of an early Varangian Christianity.

67 Novgorodskaya pervaya letopis’ starshego i mladshego izvodov 1950: 48f.68 Ipatievskaya letopis’ 1908: 667f.

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chapter 7

The Rise of the Dominion of the ar-Rus in the Northern Parts of Eastern Europe, Seventh to Ninth Centuries a.d.: A Case of Culture Construction

Johan Callmer

Introduction

The development of complex structures of political power on the level of the early state across much of Europe is intimately connected with the early me-dieval period. By the beginning of the High Middle Ages three Scandinavian kingdoms and the Grand Duchy of Rus’ had been established in northern Europe; in the remote eastern part the Volga Bulgars established a state in the course of the tenth century, while further south the Khazar Khaganate existed from the seventh to the tenth century. These states will not be discussed in de-tail here although they are of great interest as comparative phenomena and as close neighbours of the ar-Rus. I have chosen to call the earliest state-like soci-ety in Russia the ar-Rus because that is probably the earliest term for it in writ-ten sources, in this case Muslim sources of the first half of the ninth century.1

We will concentrate on the ar-Rus from a local and western perspective. Use of the later term “Grand Duchy” to refer to Old Russia (Rus’) is misleading but has become embedded in the terminology of historical research. For example, the power and authority of the Grand Dukes was in no way inferior to that of the Scandinavian kings; on the other hand, there are some differences be-tween the western and eastern developments of these political units. For the Scandinavian kingdoms in the west, the process likely featured the formation of increasingly larger conglomerates of core regions.2 Certainly there were setbacks with the disintegration of these complex formations. The economic basis in Scandinavia was agriculture. It is also likely that the emergence of the Scandinavian kingdoms was founded on specific structures of dominance. The successful elites kept small trained troops under their direct control, rather than relying on the warriors of allied magnates; military dominance rather than social networks was decisive for political power. Some scholars have maintained that the economy of early medieval Scandinavia was based on

1 Cf. Zakhoder 1967.2 Callmer 1993.

137The Rise of the Dominion of the ar-Rus

external plunder before turning to internal sources of wealth in the twelfth century; however, there is no support for this idea in the archaeological re-cord.3 The basis for a successful leader was his ability to feed and equip his troops. Gifts were not irrelevant but they do not form the basis. Likewise, con-tacts and alliances were of some importance but their impact has been exag-gerated. There were no true Personenverbandstaaten sensu Steuer.4

Control of long-distance communication routes was a more important fac-tor in the promotion of the topmost elites and ultimately in the emergence of the early states. These routes were trade routes as well, although the fortunes of trade fluctuated. The elites certainly profited from these routes and tapped them as much as it was reasonable without destroying them. It is unlikely, how-ever, that the elites in Scandinavia were the initiators and organizers of these routes. In western Scandinavia the main communication route ultimately gave its name to the kingdom of Norway. It is unlikely that the control of routes was less important on the eastern side of the Scandinavian Peninsula for the early state of the Svear. South-western Scandinavia straddled the routes connect-ing the Scandinavian Peninsula and the Baltic with continental Europe and the Mediterranean. There is little reason to question the idea that the main commodities of these routes in the west and in the east were the traditional products of the north. Further east, the example of early ar-Rus (Rus) – where the initiative for the routes and their organization and control was more di-rectly connected with the early state – demonstrates the importance of the routes even more directly (fig. 7.1). The specific development of ar-Rus also shows how cultural elements from various neighbouring communities were chosen and combined with endogenous elements to form a truly new culture. This cultural identity of the early ar-Rus state was formed in the eighth century and prevailed until the early tenth when it was slowly superseded by the early Old Russian culture.

Already in the late Migration Period communication routes emanating from east-central Sweden had been extended eastward into the Gulf of Finland and beyond into the Lake Ladoga area.5 In the seventh and eighth centuries com-munication routes extended from Central Sweden far into the Gulf of Bothnia with a peculiar enclave in Österbotten. On the eastern side of the Gulf of Both-nia a route through southern Satakunta developed simultaneously, linking up with the efficient north–south routes provided by Lakes Näsijärvi and Päjänne far into the interior of the Finnish lake plateau. A further extension of this

3 E.g. Lindquist 1988.4 Steuer 1989.5 Callmer 1986.

Callmer138

Figure 7.1 North-western Russia with important locations and trade routes. The stars mark 8th and 9th century dirham hoards and the black spots Khazar fortified centers of vari-ous importanceMap by the author. Redrawn by Staffan Hyll


route eastward meant contacts far beyond Ladoga and Onega with the Kama basin. The communication route along the west coast of the Gulf of Bothnia is still very little known for lack of specialized archaeological research aiming at the excavation of coastal sites of the period. We do not know how the routes functioned and how they were linked with the interior.

Some Social and Demographic Developments to the South of Lake Ladoga in the Eighth and Ninth Centuries

A unique combination of a few (but important) historical sources and an in-creasing number of archaeological sources allows us to trace the formation of the single significant political entity to the east of Fenno-Scandia. Although ar-Rus shares some characteristics with the Scandinavian kingdoms, includ-ing an elite with a strong Scandinavian component, it had, as noted, a differ-ent structure in many respects and the communication routes played a much more important role. It may even be suggested that the communication routes were the raison d’être of the ar-Rus. This political entity had emerged in the Baltic drainage of Eastern Europe already by the eighth century; astonishingly soon afterwards, it expanded into the Caspian basin, and subsequently into the Pontian drainage at the beginning of the ninth century.

The beginning of this formation process is mainly connected with the east-ern communication networks of the central Baltic region. As already stated, communication routes with a certain level of stability, promoting not only valuable goods but also knowledge of languages, culture, and social customs, had extended into the Gulf of Finland and beyond in the sixth century. The activities evolving within this milieu of communication engaged alike Scandi-navians from the west and local Finns. The linguistic and social competence of the inhabitants of the Åland Islands played an especially important role. For slightly later stages there is ample evidence of intense interaction with main-land Finns and of Scandinavian-Finnish intermarriage.6 Whether the seventh century brought a temporary setback for further development is uncertain, in-sofar as there are few observations from that century.

A qualitatively new situation arrives with the eighth century; by mid- century, sources even flow abundantly. To begin with, the archaeological sources are mainly connected with the neighbourhood of Staraya Ladoga on the lower Volkhov River not far from its outlet into Lake Ladoga. Regarding continuity of the local population: in the early Iron Age north-western Russia

6 Kivikoski 1963; Kivikoski 1980; Callmer 1994.

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was inhabited by groups belonging to the widespread textile ceramics com-plex. Further to the south-east this cultural complex was represented by the so-called D’yakovo culture. This widespread culture can be observed up to the eighth century. It is likely that a similar cultural development took place in the north-west too.7 In the late D’yakovo culture the pottery is plain and iron tools are few. This dearth of settlement sites and graves is characteristic of a wide region extending from the Finnish lake plateau towards Lakes Ladoga and Onega; eastward as far as the watershed between the Baltic and the Caspian; and due east as far as Lakes Voze and Lakhta. Further east finds become more numerous along the rivers flowing to the Arctic Ocean. Some interesting and possibly highly relevant observations have however been made in the present-day Karelian Republic.8 We are here concerned with diffuse traces of early medieval settlements, often on top of Stone Age or Bronze Age deposits. The finds mainly consist of plain pottery shards and iron tools, mostly discarded knives. We cannot exclude the possibility that these finds should be connected with later onomastic and historical information regarding Sami presence in this area. The Russian word for the Sami is Lop’ and it appears in some place-names in the area south of Lake Ladoga.

We can observe a rapid increase in population numbers on the lower Volk-hov River in the eighth century. The demographic basis for this growth remains unclear.9 A substantial participation of the local population is more likely than a massive exogenous immigration. The latter model was propounded both by Stalinist archaeology (Slavs) and Normanist scholars of the west (Scandina-vians). As stated above, a Scandinavian component can be demonstrated al-ready by the mid-eighth century, if not earlier. Contacts with and possibly also presence of Baltic Finns are very likely. The presence of Finns on the Karelian isthmus in the eighth century has been demonstrated.10 Population elements from further south in the East European woodland zone can also be demon-strated. We are here concerned with individuals or groups from the upper western Dvina and the upper Dnepr – the Long Barrow culture of the Polotsk-Smolensk type.11 The population seems to have been of highly heterogeneous origins. On the lower Volkhov River we find a distinct concentration of popu-lation, and vast areas around this concentration seem to be more or less un-inhabited. The rivers flowing into Lake Ladoga, which by the tenth century

7 Konetskii 2007: 266.8 Kos’menko 1996.9 Cf. however below.10 Uino 1997.11 Machinskaya 1990; Nefedov 2003.


supported a considerable population, seem to have been only sparingly settled in the eighth century.12

Research during the last few decades has demonstrated that the early medi-eval settlement on the lower Volkhov is an agglomeration of numerous settle-ment sites along the river.13 The stretch of settlements and graves to the north and south of Staraya Ladoga probably extended already in the early ninth for no less than 6 kilometres, often on both sides of the river. The next comparable agglomeration on the lower Volkhov is at Novye Duboviki by a long stretch of rapids in the river with an extension of more than 5 kilometres.14 A third agglomeration is found further upriver at Gorodishche and Podsop’e.15 The length of this complex along the river is also several kilometres. We have good reason to consider these extended riverside agglomerations as a characteristic structure of settlement on the lower Volkhov and elsewhere in north-western Russia. It is interesting that this settlement pattern was adopted widely among the Baltic Finns until historical times. It is also known from Eastern Sweden. The Finnish village was often formed by a number of farms loosely grouped together along lakesides, brooks, and rivers for kilometres. At Staraya Ladoga there were at least ten settlements including a fortified one at Lyubsa.16 The number of grave locations is fifteen, of which only five are single locations.17 A rapid and vigorous cultural process starts here on the lower Volkhov in the mid-eighth century. We shall take a closer look at various aspects of material culture in the area: graves, house building, pottery making, and dress. Later we will proceed with a short discussion of the spread of cultural innovations in north-western Russia. We will end with a few notes on social structure, inter-action, and economy, with a comment on the historical significance of these cultural phenomena.

Graves

Grave customs are of special importance when our ambitions extend further than a simple evaluation of material elements of culture. The most conspicu-ous as well as characteristic grave monuments of this region in Eastern Europe

12 Cf. above.13 Lapshin 1995: 133–42 and numerous notes by Bessarabova such as 1998.14 Lapshin 1995: 132–33.15 Petrenko 1994: 133–34.16 Ryabinin and Dubashinskij 2002.17 Originally they may have comprised multiple grave monuments.

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are the big barrows of the so-called sopka type (pl. sopki). Distinguishing fea-tures include their size: a height greater than 2 metres and a diameter of twen-ty metres or more. The profile is often steep. Many sopki feature foot chains of large field stones and often radial rows of stones. Other stone constructions also occur; quite often they are arranged geometrically. Cremation graves oc-cur as cremation layers both on the barrow floor and in the fill. Additional graves are sometimes found immediately outside the foot chain of stones. Cre-mation graves are generally few in number. Inhumation graves have also been documented but they are obviously late (no earlier than the eleventh century), secondary graves.

The sopki of north-western Russia are unique in eastern Europe, and most of the earliest big barrows have been documented on the lower Volkhov (fig. 7.2). In the regions further south and south-east sopki have slightly later dates. This means that, as far as we can see today, sopki originated in the north and subse-quently expanded southward, ultimately reaching the Pontian and Caspian ba-sins. It is very unlikely, however, that sopki developed in the north completely independently, without external influences. The distinct steep-sided barrow

Figure 7.2 The distribution of barrows of sopka type in north-western RussiaMap by the author. Redrawn by Staffan Hyll


shape, the foot chain of big stones, and the internal radial and geometric stone settings have close parallels in the big barrows of the late Vendel Period of east-ern central Sweden (fig. 7.3).18 Only the construction in distinct stages is a trait without clear western parallels. Early scholars such as Spitsyn and Ravdonikas pointed out this divergence already in the 1920s.19 A Scandinavian origin was also maintained by Tukhtina, and recently Eremeev has argued that Scandi-navian influence on the sopki is strong.20 Some Russian scholars have tried to find prototypes for the sopki in Eastern Europe. Nosov introduced the idea that sopki could be derived from a limited number of big barrows of the Mosh-chiny culture on the upper Oka River dated to the sixth or possibly seventh century.21 More important are some observations from the Luga River in the west and from the Mologa River in the east (Caspian basin) of big barrows with cremation graves dated from the fifth to the seventh century.22 In several respects these graves differ radically from the typical sopki. Only the circular shape is similar. The profile of these big barrows is low (mostly less than 2 me-tres) and the inner constructions with stones (foot chains and stone settings) are completely lacking. A number of inner structures with timber are without parallels in the sopki. The cremation burial rite directly connected with the sopki is not the only burial rite in the region. From eastern Estonia, the Pskov province of Russia, and northern Byelorussia in a broad band towards the east as far as the uppermost reaches of the Caspian basin, we find cemeteries of the so-called Long Barrow culture of the Pskov type.23 These cemeteries dating from the fifth to the ninth century feature small circular or rectangular bar-rows and elongated barrows (long barrows). The elongated burials are some-times extended circular barrows. The graves are mostly cremation layers and only sometimes urn burials. They lack inner constructions of the sopka type. They have never been found along the Volkhov and they are rare around Lake Il’men’.

While the sopki cannot be understood as a direct continuation of these local grave forms in north-western Russia, it is not unlikely that the familiar-ity of parts of the local population with the big barrow grave monuments was of consequence for the development of the sopki. It may be completely fu-tile to try to trace precursor grave customs of the sopki; a much more fruitful approach to the problem is to acknowledge the sopki as a cultural innovation

18 Bratt 2008.19 Spitsyn 1922; Ravdonikas 1930.20 Tukhtina 1968; Eremeev 2007.21 Nosov 1974.22 Lebedev 1974; Bashenkin 1995: 27–28.23 Cf. Sedov 1974.

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Figure 7.3 Plan of the bottom of sopka 14: I at Pobedishche close to the former St Nicholas mon-astery to the south of Staraya Ladoga. Excavation by Petrenko 1974–78. (Petrenko 1994: 49, 51)Redrawn by Staffan Hyll


based on some external (western) and possibly also some internal elements. The purpose for the initial building of the sopki on the lower Volkhov was to launch a new and expressive cultural manifestation – behind the sopki we can discern the outlines of a new religious pattern in the region.

From a social historical point of view these sopka barrows are significant for two distinct aspects. First, we may interpret the sopki as conspicuous manifes-tations of organization and power – the erection of these monuments was not possible without a thorough organization of labour, either concerning numer-ous guests coming together for the funeral or mobilized dependent peasant-hunters, or both.24 Second, we may note the strength and continuity of the social organization behind the sopki, as indicated by clusters of several sopki (up to eight) in distinctive cemeteries, often with only some tens of metres between the barrows.

House Building

The house, as a microcosm revealing important principles of social structure, is of outstanding importance in the study of all human societies for the re-construction of culture and social life. As in most parts of the east European taiga zone, house-building in the sopka zone was based on horizontal timber. This type of house was also widespread further south in the mixed forest zone. This construction principle favours the erection of rather small rectangular houses.25 The problem with this principle of house-building from an archaeo-logical point of view is of course that, unless humid layers are present allowing the conservation of the wooden parts, very few substantial traces of the houses are found except the fireplace or oven, or in cases where a cellar is built as a smaller or bigger pit. Faint traces of these log-built houses have been record-ed on sites in the settlement clusters along the Volkhov and on the lakesides of Il’men’ with datings to the second half of the eighth century and above all to the ninth century. Well-preserved lower parts of houses of this type have also been excavated at the spectacular wet site of Staraya Ladoga. The size of these houses varies between four by four metres and five by five metres. Later quadrangular residential log houses frequently are slightly larger and of the “five-walls” type, including a very practical passageway.

In connection with the pioneering excavations at Staraya Ladoga conducted by Repnikov at the beginning of the twentieth century, a larger type of building

24 Cf. interesting parallels in south-east Asia.25 Nosov 1977.

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was observed.26 These houses are also constructed with dovetailed horizontal timber. In contrast to the previously mentioned log houses they are distinctly oblong, with a total length of 12 metres or more and a breadth of about six metres (fig. 7.4). The majority of these houses are composed of a room roughly 6.5 metres in length with an oblong built-up open hearth in the centre. These hearths are quite impressive with a length of almost three metres. Along the long axis two rows of standing posts are set parallel to each other at a distance of about one metre. Some constructional remains could indicate the existence of broad benches along the long walls. The floor was boarded. The entrance was probably located on the short side. The other part of the big house has no inner structures and may have lacked a source of heat. This room functioned as a storeroom for foodstuffs, fodder, or possibly trade goods. At a later stage these big houses were constructed as a house within a house, i.e. the inner house was built inside a bigger house to function as a gallery on three sides and a storeroom on the fourth.27 The big houses at Staraya Ladoga are found in clusters of several smaller buildings with or without a stone-built oven in

26 Kirpichnikov 1985.27 Kirpichnikov 2007: 210ff.

Figure 7.4 “Big house” at Zemlyanoe Gorodishche at Staraya Ladoga, excavated by Ravdonikas in 1947 and 1950 on level E3:2 (c.800) (Ravdonikas 1950)


one corner. Several big houses obviously existed simultaneously in the settle-ment, with the earliest examples of the big houses dated quite early in the settlement’s history. Later examples sometimes show evidence of even more elaborate constructional details.28

It is no bold guess that these houses were the centres of a compound com-prising several separate buildings and structures with numerous inhabitants (fig. 7.5). The hearth was certainly the cardinal area in the big house where all important indoor activities were performed. It has been suggested that these big houses were feasting halls but in my opinion they are too numerous at the site to have been reserved exclusively for this function. Instead these should be interpreted as buildings with many functions, including as dwellings. The community gathering around the hearth may have numbered at least a dozen, very likely more. Not only feasting and religious manifestations but also the daily main meals took place here. The place of an individual in the centre of the room was intimately tied to the social role and rank.

28 Ryabinin 2002.

Figure 7.5 Compound of contemporary buildings at Zemlyanoe Gorodishche, Staraya LadogaDrawn by the author. Redrawn by Staffan Hyll

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While the basic building technique of the big house is native to the taiga zone of eastern Europe, as already stated, a number of distinctive features are definitely closely connected with Scandinavian house building. The idea of the big elongated building, which is contrary to the local ideal building in horizon-tal timber, is Scandinavian in origin. The two rows of inner posts in the room with the hearth may be functional (for the strength of the roof construction) but are completely extrinsic to east European tradition. Likewise the hearth and its central location are derived from Scandinavian cultural tradition. In this connection we may note that constructions with dovetailed horizontal timber were most probably not unknown in Scandinavia, although the tech-nique is not known as a house-building technique until the late tenth century. The strong signals concerning multiple practical and social functions are also derived from the west. The construction of the ideal community house is a form of bricolage similar to what we already have seen in the case of the sopki barrows.

So far the big houses are only known from Staraya Ladoga. In my opinion, however, it is most likely that they were also built at other central settlements in north-western Russia from the eighth to the early tenth century. It would be most surprising if they were not part of the building canon at Ryurikovo Goro-dishche (just outside Novgorod), which presumably became the top-level cen-tre from c.850. An evolutionary link with early big houses in Novgorod cannot be ruled out.29 It is also probable that they were built in second-level economic and political centres (proto-pogosts) like Belsk on the Msta, Peredol’sk on the Luga and others.30 It must be stressed that considerable difficulties remain in ascertaining positive evidence of this type of house. Some scholars attribute the big houses exclusively to merchants. But again the number of big houses present at Staraya Ladoga seems too high to belong only to merchants. Conse-quently we find it likely that the big house was a normal house for a range of well-to-do households at high-level centres.

Pottery

In the cases of the huge burial barrows and the dominant houses, the com-ponents from which they were constructed are conspicuous and rather easily sorted. We shall now turn to a cultural element of another character, without obvious connections to the west or to the east, and without obvious local roots;

29 Kuz’min and Petrov 1990.30 Cf. below.


household ceramics with carinated body. Even if the question of local roots cannot be answered positively, this carinated pottery is well known in Finland and Estonia. In the eighth century, inhabitants of the settlements on the lower Volkhov began to produce pottery of this new type. Simultaneously, or slightly later, similar pottery became widespread and certainly also produced in the Il’men’ region further south. In the eighth century, inhabitants of the settle-ments on the lower Volkhov began to produce pottery of new types. Simul-taneously, or slightly later, similar pottery became widespread and certainly also produced in the Il’men’ region further south. This pottery is handmade (fig. 7.6). The tempering agent is crushed stone material. The technique is tra-ditional in this part of Europe with coils of clay superimposed on each other, flattened, and pressed into position. The vessels are fired at a rather low tem-perature, indicating simple burning procedures. The resulting pottery is conse-quently of varying quality and hardness. The surface is often slightly burnished but the main impression is that of coarse pottery, often with elements of the tempering well visible. The biggest vessels are about 30 cm tall but the majority vary between 10 cm and 20 cm in height.

Figure 7.6 Pottery of Ladoga type from the settlement at Ryurikovo GorodishcheDrawn by the author

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Some of these vessels have a characteristic design. The profile is distinct with an acutely marked shoulder set quite high up on the vessel. The proportions differ slightly between the biggest vessels, which are somewhat taller than the maximum width, and the smaller vessels, which are squatter with a maximum width exceeding the height. The lip may be slightly rounded. Ornamentation is not characteristic of this pottery, but simple strokes may occasionally turn up on rims and on the shoulder edge. This group of pottery is known under the term “Ladoga type” and was first described in 1950 by Stankevich.31 In recent years Plokhov has treated many questions pertaining to the technology, design, distribution and origin of this pottery of Ladoga type.32 Plokhov’s perhaps somewhat streamlined typology has recently been criticized by Senichenkova and Boguslavskij.33 These two scholars undoubtedly are correct in stressing the great variation in hand-made pottery and the great difficulties in grouping pottery of this type found almost exclusively as shards. Whether we choose Plokhov’s criteria or those of Senichenkova and Boguslavskij, it is obvious that the pottery with the sharp shoulder is a distinct component of the ceramics of the Volkhov and Il’men’ regions. In these core regions the pottery of Ladoga type accounts for roughly 40 to 60 per cent of the total amount. This pottery is also common on sites on the rivers Luga and Syas’ to the west and to the east. Further afield this pottery radiates as far as Pskov, the Lovat’ region, and the watershed between the Baltic and Caspian basins, where, however, this pottery is mostly very rare, and only in the latter region does it reach about 20 per cent.

Several scholars have interpreted the Ladoga pottery type as a distinct mark-er of the earliest Slavic population in this part of eastern Europe. As a south-ern origin is difficult to square with the centre of gravity of the distribution and frequency of this pottery, some scholars have focused on its close simi-larities to West Slavic pottery on the southern coast of the Baltic – implying similarities with late Sukow-Szeligi and early Feldberg-Kȩdrzyno pottery. Un-fortunately, this link cannot be substantiated. Likewise, we can look in vain for parallels or prototypes in other directions. The phenomenon of the emergence of the Ladoga pottery requires an alternate interpretation: as an innovation from Baltic Finns and intimately linked to the formation of new social and political entities and networks. The uniform pottery is an expression of new cultural norms shared by the majority of the population or at least the domi-nant groups on the Volkhov and in the Il’men’ region. The Ladoga type pottery,

31 Stankevich 1950.32 Plokhov 1996; Plokhov 2001.33 Senichenkova 1995; Senichenkova 1998; Boguslavskij 2006.


however, never comprises the totality of pottery used. Some potters were ap-parently less motivated to express this social and cultural unity. It remains to be noted that Ladoga pottery survived into the first half of the tenth century.

Some Other Categories of Material Culture

Although it is beyond the scope of this chapter to scrutinize the totality of cultural remains from the eighth and ninth centuries in this part of eastern Europe, a few remarks are in order. The iron technology and the design of the region’s iron artefacts initially follow traditional patterns; rapidly, however, this changes and welding methods and design types common in the Baltic re-gion (mainly Finland and Sweden) become dominant. In Staraya Ladoga itself these western-type tools are present already from the beginning. This is best observed in the knife material but most tools and weapons probably follow the same trend. This close connection with Scandinavian iron technology remains a characteristic feature of Novgorod Russia into the twelfth century.

Regarding the creation of new cultural patterns, dress would be a field for rewarding studies; unfortunately, large-scale and in-depth research is hindered by the relatively few settlement finds (Staraya Ladoga and Ryurikovo Gorod-ishche are the exceptions) and by the nature of the burial customs connected with the big barrows, the sopki. The dead were cremated at a high tempera-ture, often causing radical deformation and fragmentation of bronze and glass dress accessories. Scandinavian brooches were imported (or locally produced by visiting artisans) but there is good reason to play down the importance of these artefacts for the majority of the inhabitants in the Volkhov and Il’men’ regions. There are also other imports of dress accessories from other regions, most notably from the Long Barrow culture of Polotsk-Smolensk type in the watershed zone between the Baltic and the Pontian basins (cf. above) and from Volga-Finnish territory in the east. Some artefacts even stem from cul-tural complexes further afield in the wooded steppe and steppe zones. Many of these objects reached the area as incidental items that accompanied returning or itinerant travellers (possibly merchants or slaves) and have little bearing on the culture of the local population. On the male side of material culture we have so far no distinct cultural marker. On the female side we have been slight-ly more fortunate. Numerous female cremations have yielded everything from small fragments to intact sections of tubular wound bronze ribbons (fig. 7.7). The width is less than one centimetre and they often have ornamental ridg-es and crosswise strokes. The single intact specimen had a length of 16.2 cm

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and a diameter of almost 2 cm.34 These items have probably correctly been interpreted as adornments for tresses.35 This then may represent an important element in female dress shared by the majority of the inhabitants with high symbolic value. It is of considerable interest that the traditional Baltic female headdress, the vainaga, which was also used by some Finnish groups, is rare-ly seen in the cultural context of the sopka burials. Consequently the tresses may also be understood as a cultural element adopted in order to enhance the cultural system and to contrast against other groups to the south and to the west.

Demography

In order to approach an understanding of the cultural processes active in the eighth and ninth centuries in this part of north-western Russia, questions of demographic growth, economy, and organization are relevant. As noted, settle-ment predating the eighth century is very thin and the evidence often diffuse, but it is possible that the true potential of this early settlement is underesti-mated. In any event, the demographic development in the eighth and ninth centuries must have been explosive. Over the course of a few generations the population must have increased manifold. Colonization is also very con-siderable. Greatly increased nativity in the eighth and ninth centuries is likely; a drastic change in nativity is only plausible under radically changed conditions, i.e. improved opportunities to feed the family. A similar popula-tion boom, although less accentuated, could be noted with a high degree of certainty for the sixth century further south in the lands of the Long Barrow

34 Petrenko 1994: 75–76.35 Ibid.

Figure 7.7 Hair ornament (decoration for tresses) typical of the people buried in the sopki (Petrenko 1994: 77)Redrawn by the author


culture of the Pskov type.36 Immigration cannot be completely ruled out, but the main basis for this development must have been an indigenous popula-tion. Although immigration did not bring big groups of settlers from afar to the region, minor groups with profound experience of the climate and the en-vironment of this region likely could have joined the natives. Scandinavians and Baltic Finns came from the west, and Balts and possibly some Slavs from the south. The question of whether groups of Finns from the south-east also were attracted to the area is intriguing in the light of possible cultural impulses for the construction of the sopki. In the late ninth and early tenth centuries another population increase can be observed to the south-east of Lake Ladoga, most probably spurred by a certain immigration from the south-east.37 A total evaluation of the demographic processes will however be extremely uncertain until the inventory of antiquities in the provinces of Leningrad and Novgorod have been fully published.

Economy

The substantial aspects of economy in north-western Russia which can be studied by archaeology indicate that there was a striking development in the second half of the eighth century and in the first half of the ninth century. It is not a bold assumption that typical trade products, above all high-quality furs, began to leave these regions. Perhaps this was at the outset mainly a westerly outflow, but already in the 760s contacts towards the south-east had become active. In this direction it was possible to link up with trade networks that had joined the Middle Volga lands with the south, and ultimately with the Caspian and the Middle East; however, the main trade route frequented was neither the Volga route proper nor the route down the Dnepr. Traders rather set out from the north, along either a western trail or an eastern one heading towards the upper Donets. There, within the framework of the Khazar state, a flourishing, partly urban culture had been established by the mid-eighth century. Half a dozen urban centres are known from that region.38

The inflow of dirhams and beads from the south-east is impressive, with numerous hoard finds already during the first period of dirham circulation in eastern Europe.39 A considerable number of hoards are also found immediately

36 Cf. Samoilov 1998.37 Cf. Makarov 1999.38 Afanas’ev 1987. Not one of them is known from historical sources.39 Before 833 a.d. according to the chronology of Yanin 1956.

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outside the watershed between the Baltic, the Caspian, and the Pontian basin. The inhabitants of this periphery were not integrated in the cultural commu-nity of north-western Russia but kept their local cultural colour. It is likely that, along with silver coins and beads of glass and cornelian, silk and other high-quality textiles arrived in the north from the south-east. Traditional “southern” exports such as spices, sweets, dried fruits, and drugs are of course missing in the archaeological record.

This trade pattern is of course a variant of typical north–south relationships in Eurasia. However, the trade network of the ar-Rus was more sophisticated than that pattern alone. Beginning already sometime in the mid-eighth cen-tury, high-quality tools with cutting edges were imported in large numbers to north-western Russia. Here we are above all concerned with knives welded ac-cording to the package production method (with a steel component flanked by iron on each side) but it is likely that other tools such as borers, saws, and axes also moved the same way, although they were recycled even more often than the knives.40 These tools are thus difficult to find among the archaeo-logical remains of material culture. Beads of Scandinavian manufacture were also brought to the east and distributed in the ar-Rus domain. Bead-making techniques in Scandinavia differed markedly from those employed in the Middle East, which dominated large parts of the Old World in the eighth to eleventh centuries.41 Importation of brooches, pins, and pendants is also docu-mented but is much less voluminous in the eighth and ninth centuries than in the tenth. Well-made antler combs in fact came the same way from the Baltic region. For some reason these combs not infrequently (and inaccurately) are called “Frisonian”.42 Baltic amber also found its way south with the other prod-ucts from the ar-Rus but originally came from the Baltic. Fine textiles were also produced in Scandinavia and they were perhaps exported as dresses, possibly accompanied by elegant shoes. Furthermore, we may speculate in the realm of materials lost to archaeology: from the west, foodstuffs such as grain and dried meat, and perhaps even alcoholic beverages such as mead and beer, no doubt were procured mainly with the help of Arabic silver. Some links also brought genuinely eastern beads (never found in western Europe) to the Baltic region.43

As already stated above, the northern commodities that were exchanged or traded for these imports from the east (and in the very beginning perhaps

40 Rozanova 1994; Zav’yalov, Rozanova, and Terekhova 2009: 236.41 Callmer, 2000: 67.42 Callmer 2000: 66–67.43 Cf. Callmer 1996.


from the west) were mainly furs. North-eastern Europe produced the best furs in Europe for two reasons: the fur-bearing animals were bigger there (Berg-mann’s rule) and the woolly hair was thicker as a consequence of the low tem-peratures in winter and the extreme length of the winter season (almost six months). Furs were collected in the winter months when the quality was at its peak. Trapping and hunting fur-bearing animals was not for amateurs; deep knowledge of the life pattern of the animals hunted could only be attained through lifelong, intimate contact with the biotopes in the woodland zone. This zone also produced a number of other products – it is likely that walrus ivory and sub-fossil mammoth ivory arrived quite early in the Middle East from the north. Slaves were not a significant commodity of the taiga zone; the ar-Rus, however, may have procured slaves from more densely populated regions to the west or to the south, or from the Baltic region.

Organization

There is little doubt that the original centre of the ar-Rus was at Staraya Ladoga on the lower Volkhov River. As noted, this centre consisted of a cluster of settle-ments along the river rather than of a single densely built settlement in the fashion of Hedeby or Birka. Viewed from the west this was an excellent loca-tion, but with the development of economic and political networks it occupied an increasingly peripheral position, although its situation on the most impor-tant westward route kept it from becoming obsolete. In the mid-ninth century this centre was relocated from the Lower Volkhov to the outflow of this river from Lake Il’men’ about 200 km to the south – a logical shift accompanying the steady expansion of the ar-Rus dominion towards the south. Possibly this new centre at Ryurikovo Gorodishche was conceived as a compact centre, but the site is not yet so completely investigated that this can be ascertained.44 The populations at Staraya Ladoga as well as at Ryurikovo Gorodishche possessed a complex social structure, with at least four social strata. The highest stratum consisted of the family of the supreme ruler and close associates. Probably the residences of this group have not yet been exactly located and excavated. The supreme ruler styled himself with the Turkish title “kagan”, as indicated clearly in the written sources of the ninth century, i.e. the Annals of St Bertin and in the correspondence between Louis ii and Basil i.45 Use of this title, however,

44 Cf. Nosov 2007.45 Nelson 1991: 44; Ludovici ii epistola: 388.

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hardly means that the top clique had power equal to or shared the organiza-tion of the Khazar Kagan, the probable ideal of the ar-Rus.

A large number of well-to-do households were living in the centres, i.e. not only at Staraya Ladoga and Ryurikovo Gorodishche. They were probably active as collectors of products and distributors of imports. This group also comprised long-distance traders and those who managed security and mili-tary resources in case of conflict. Significantly, at least two lower-level centres in north-western Russia have been located. The best-known of these is that at Beloe (today Lyubytino) on the middle Msta River (the major tributary of Lake Il’men’), a micro-region boasting an impressive 133 sopki.46 The entire mi-cro-region is a dense cluster of settlements and grave monuments – the same structure as at Staraya Ladoga. Unfortunately, only a few minor excavations have been carried out as yet. There is a Knyazee Selo in the settlement cluster. The second centre of this type is at Peredol’skoe on the upper Luga River, which discharges into the Gulf of Finland.47 Here too there are numerous sopki in a rather dense cluster. The major excavation locality has mainly yielded material from the tenth century and later; however, some of the excavated sopki clearly date to the ninth century, suggesting that the cluster was established already sometime in the first half of the ninth century. These second-level centres were important for the collection of forest products. In late winter the outcome of the winter season’s hunting and trapping was collected. Possibly the export products were brought to the top-level centre and then taken over by trusted merchants going south.

The third stratum was the stratum of the vast majority of the inhabitants living in traditional conditions along the major rivers of the Il’men’ basin – the Volkhov, the Msta, the Lovat’, and the Pola – and on the Luga River in the north-west and on the tributaries of these rivers. Quite early the upper reaches of the Mologa, a major tributary of the Volga, were settled. The settlements were mostly very small, probably based on only one or two families. The econ-omy was mixed, with agriculture and animal husbandry, as well as a strong emphasis on winter hunting (five months per year). The hunting expeditions extended far into more or less uninhabited interior areas. It is highly unlikely that there would have been no slaves in this society as the ar-Rus subsequently were well known for their activity in the slave trade.

More distant lands also came under the influence or partial control of the ar-Rus. In the west, the region on the lower Velikaya River and pre-urban Pskov were somehow attached. In the east, close contacts were upheld with the

46 Konetskii and Nosov 1993.47 Platonova, Zheglova, and Lesman 2007.


mesopotamia of the Volga and the Klyaz’ma. In fact, influence reached beyond the Volga, extending southward to the watershed zone between the Baltic and the Pontian basins. In these more distant lands, at least initially, the traditional local culture did not change much. Politically these lands were perhaps depen-dents of the ar-Rus.

The Cultural Process

No doubt the various cultural, demographic, economic, political, and so-cial processes must primarily be understood in sharp contrast to the previ-ously prevailing situation. In about three generations’ time a thoroughly new structure was formed, with a far more complex social system. On the whole, the ar-Rus lands became tremendously much richer than before; al-though the riches generated by the specialized trade economy probably ended up largely with the upper strata of the population, the material con-ditions under which the majority of the population lived probably improved radically.

The changed cultural milieu was not simply masterminded by an individual or by a small group of influential people; rather it was a process with mutual impulses and pushes emanating from the various ethnic and social groups par-ticipating in the formation. The successive formation of a social and economic system no doubt was an important push factor, but it would be naïve to think that the kernel of the social system, the families and local groups, organized themselves solely in accordance with political structure. The drive to create a new cultural identity was complex both in its origin and also during the process. It is however reasonable to assume that the participation of a domi-nant group (or groups) of people with earlier experience of maintaining an economic system well-adapted to tap the resources of the northern European forest zone was essential for the process. Earlier this group or groups must have been active in the Baltic region. There are hardly tenable alternatives to this further east or in the south. A total cultural uniformity never developed, and that is hardly to be expected with the communication systems in eastern Europe of that time. There were certainly regional differences as well as differences between the social strata. No doubt the stratum of the well-to-do families formed the backbone of ar-Rus society, as indicated by the highly distinct layout of their dwelling houses. Equally impressive, however, is the spread of cultural change among the vast majority of the inhabitants. Given the strength of the motivation involved in adopting the new cultural patterns, serious consideration is due for some type of new religious foundation for the

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society; hence, the cargo cult of Melanesia comes to mind.48 This cult developed as a result of very rapid and radical cultural change. The confrontation with an unimaginable consumer wealth among European visitors and residents gener-ated a belief in mythological ancestors who could provide the natives with the same wealth (“cargo”). While the very different premises preclude a completely identical process in early medieval north-western Russia, the rapid and radical (and thus unimaginable) rise in available consumer goods and probably also living conditions and life expectancy could trigger similar beliefs in superhu-man bringers of wealth. It is reasonable to assume that some kind of religious revival accompanied this process of cultural construction. Here too some elite groups must have been seminal and operative. Some of the elements of change discussed here were also especially important for the promotion of a common identity and a strong sense of community. The graves come to mind – the immense barrows and their laborious construction presuppose gatherings of many individuals coming together to celebrate the transition from life to death. As in many anthropologically well-studied cases, taking active part over days in the construction or the rebuilding of the grave monu-ment may have been of central importance. The investment of work hours in the big barrows is astonishing. The grave ceremonies may have been crucial for the inner strength of the community.

The social and cultural process we can discern in the eighth and ninth cen-turies is a process of cultural construction forming the cultural dimension of a social and political entity of great importance for the history of eastern Europe. Almost all aspects of culture and society are new, without clear prec-edents. The diverse ethnic origins of the people only rather insignificantly influence this new culture. The ar-Rus are later known as the Rus’ of eastern European history. Its beginnings were in the north, and after a period of politi-cal and economic trouble in the second half of the ninth century it transformed and expanded far into the south to where the steppe begins. The top stratum of the early Rus’ was certainly toppled and its amassed wealth plundered, but the basic structure and organization was maintained and the culture lived on, even locally expanding. Sopki and big houses were built in the late ninth and early tenth centuries, meaning that the ar-Rus economic and social system was reasonably efficient. The beginning of the end of this cul-ture probably came with the reorganization of the Inner Rus’ by Princess Olga in 947.

48 Worsley 1968.


Appendix

A legitimate question when we consider the economy of the early ar-Rus is of course the fate of the minted silver imported in exchange for the furs and other northern products exported. Where did all that inflow of silver end up? As we have seen, the ar-Rus procured some goods from the west, but it is unlikely that more than a trifle of the silver coming in from the east was given away for this purpose. The vast majority of the silver dirhams remained in ar-Rus centres. But of course, the further question arises: what did they do with this silver? It is difficult to draw any other conclusion than that it was to a certain extent im-mobilized in the hands of the ar-Rus upper stratum for certain ends. The tradi-tional practice in the Baltic lands and in the wooded zone beyond was to hoard precious metals; silver in particular was fashioned into neck rings.49 Although more typical for the lands to the west and to the south of ar-Rus territory, neck rings may have been well known in the centres as well. In Ibn Fadlān’s account of the ‘Abbasid embassy to the Volga Bulgars in 922, the author describes the ar-Rus traders arriving yearly to trade furs and slave girls; when an ar-Rus trad-er had gained 10,000 dirhams, he commanded a neck ring of silver to be given to his woman.50 This piece of information may stem from what Ibn Fadlān heard from his informants rather than from what he saw himself. If this is true, it may also be that this piece of information on the neck rings of silver was not really new. From ar-Rus graves of the tenth century, however, we have no finds at all of neck rings of silver. The dominant neck ring of the eighth and ninth centuries in the woodland zone of eastern Europe is that of the so-called Permian or Glazov type. These are found from the Baltic to the Urals. The ma-jority of finds of this type of neck ring come from the lands of the Mordvinians, the Mari, the Udmurts, and the Komi. The Mordvinians deposited the rings in graves (mostly inhumations), while among the Udmurts and the Komi the vast majority of finds come from hoards. Further west among the Merja and the Muroma there are some less frequent finds. The neck ring of Glazov type is not only a phenomenon of north-eastern Europe – of great interest are the quite numerous finds from Finland and Åland, occurring in hoards and deposits as well as in graves, with suprisingly early datings and distinct neck ring forms (fig. 7.8). The datings can be fixed for the second half of the eighth century

49 Cf. Urtans 1977.50 Canard 1988: 73.

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and c.800.51 Many of the silver specimens in both the east and the west have relative standard weights with a module of roughly 100 grams (approx. 100–400 grams).52 When considering the distribution picture of early neck ring finds of this type, it is striking that these finds are in the west while the vast majority of finds (about 80) are in the east; in between, in the core area of the ar-Rus, there are no finds at all (fig. 7.9). The Il’men’ basin and the Volkhov constitute a vast blank spot. This could mean that there never were rings of this type there, but I doubt this is the case.

What happened to this immense (by the period’s standard) wealth in silver? Before we return to this intriguing question we must look at the development in the late ninth and tenth centuries in Scandinavia. Neck rings of Glazov type were also produced later than the ninth century, but then very often in bronze and with spikes on the faceted knobs. Cut-off parts of neck rings of Glazov type, however, became almost a standard component in hack-silver hoards in the Baltic region. In a few cases they are also found in western Scandinavia and even further afield. This means that many rings turn up in hoards some time in the mid-ninth century, and an even greater number of rings were obvi-ously cut into pieces to be treated subsequently as pieces of highly valuable metal. Precisely when this hacking up of the neck rings began is not easy to fix

51 Cremation grave no. 49 at Kvarnbacken, Larsas, Saltvik Parish, Åland Islands (Kivikoski, 1963: 31) and the hoard from Papinsaari, Kuhmoinen Parish, Häme/Tavastland (Nordman 1924: 112).

52 Hårdh 2001.

Figure 7.8 Neck ring of Glazov type (bronze) excavated by Kivikoski in 1959, barrow 49, Kvarnbacken, Larsas, Saltvik Parish, Åland Islands (Finland)Drawn by the author


with certainty, but it may have been sometime in the second half of the ninth century. In the tenth century these hacked-off pieces became progressively smaller, implying that a very large number of silver neck rings (thousands rath-er than hundreds) rather suddenly became available in the Baltic region in the mid-ninth century or slightly later.53 The arrival of this wealth of silver neck rings and dirhams in the Baltic region must have resulted from destructive ac-tions in eastern Europe. We cannot pinpoint its origin with certainty, but it is unlikely that it was south-western Finland. It is also unlikely, for many reasons, that the silver neck rings were taken as plunder from the Volga Finns in the east.

In my opinion, the most likely candidate as the region of origin of the multi-tude of silver neck rings – as I hinted above – is indeed the territory of the early ar-Rus culture. Only there can we glimpse elements of a social organization and an economic system capable of playing a central role in the acquisition of wealth of comparable size. One cannot refrain from contemplating the ways the silver neck rings were used in the social and cultural system of the ar-Rus. It is possible that female ceremonial dress included some neck rings worn as such, but no rings are found in the graves. Were all rings carried around the

53 Wiechmann 1996: 49.

Figure 7.9 Finds of neck rings of Glazov type in northern Europe. Map by the authorRedrawn by Staffan Hyll

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necks of women? This seems unlikely. Rather we must assume that hoards of numerous rings (and perhaps dirhams as well) were kept and only exposed for the inspection of the community in connection with religious ceremonies of central importance. The sight of the wealth may have been essential. The centres probably included a special building – a treasury – for this ceremony of display. This fatal accumulation of wealth may have been the reason for the total collapse of the early ar-Rus state and the subsequent plundering of the region.

Acknowledgements

This view of the early phase of the ar-Rus culture, society, and economy is much indebted to the fine results of a number of Russian colleagues. However, they conceive the process in north-western Russia somewhat differently – in my view, disregarding the totality of the phenomenon. The main problem with this research is still the emphasis on ethnicity. Closest to my view is the work of the late G.S. Lebedev, D.A. Machinskii and T.B. Senichenkova.54 Crucial re-search emphasizing various aspects of the problem has also been produced by E.N. Nosov, A.N. Kirpichnikov, and V.Ya. Konetskii.55 The excellent work of nu-merous other gifted scholars is also listed among the references to this chapter. New views on the early history of ar-Rus/Rus’ by C. Zuckermann and of course by my late friend T. Noonan have also been an inspiration.56

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Spitsyn, Alexandr Andreyevich. 1922. Arkheologiya v temakh nachal’noi russkoi istorii . Sbornik statei po russkoi istorii posvjashchennyi Sergeju Fedorovichu Platonovu, pp. 1–12. Saint Petersburg.


Stankevich, Jadviga Vacslavovna. “Keramika nizhnego gorizonta Staroi Ladogi po ma-terialam raskopok 1947 g.” Sovetskaya arkheologiya xiv (1950): 187–216.

Steuer, Heiko. “Archaeology and History: Proposals on the Social Structure of the Merovingian Kingdom.” In The Birth of Europe: Archaeology and Social Development in the First Millennium A.D., edited by Klavs Randsborg, 100–122. Analecta Romana Instituti Danici, Supplementum 16. Rome: L’Erma di Bretschneider, 1989.

Tsukerman, Konstantin. “Perestroika drevneishei russkoi istorii.” In U istokov russkoi gosudarstvennosti, edited by Evgenij Nikolaevich Nosov and Alexander Evgen’evich Musin, 341–351. Saint Petersburg: Dmitrij Bulanin, 2007.

Tukhtina, Nina Vladimorovna. “Ob etnicheskoi prinadleznosti pogrebennykh v sop-kakh volkhovskogo tipa.” In Slavyane i Rus’: k shestidesjatiletiju akademika Borisa Aleksandrovicha Rybakova, edited by Evgenij Ignatevich Krupnov, 188–193. Moscow: Nauka, 1968.

Uino, Pirjo. Ancient Karelia: Archaeological studies. Finska fornminnesföreningens tid-skrift 104. Helsinki: Finska fornminnesföreningen, 1997.

Urtans, Vladislav. Senākie depoziti Latvija (lidz 1200 g.). Riga: Zinātne, 1977.Wiechmann, Ralf. Edelmetalldepots der Wikingerzeit in Schleswig-Holstein: vom Ring-

brecher zur Münzwirtschaft. Offa Bücher, Neue Folge 77. Neumünster: Wachholtz, 1996.

Worsley, Peter. The Trumpet Shall Sound: A Study of “Cargo” Cults in Melanesia. New York: Schocken Books, 1968.

Yanin, Valentin Lavrentevich. Denezhno-vesovye sistemy russkogo srednevekov’ya: Domongol’skii period. Moscow: Moskovskogo universiteta, 1956.

Zakhoder, Boris Nikolaevich. Kaspiiskii svod svedenii o Vostochnoi Evrope ii. Moscow: Izd. Nauk, 1967.

Zavjalov, Vladimir Igorevich, Rozanova, Ljudmila Semenovna and Terekhova, Natal’ja Nikolaevna. Istoriya kuznetsnogo remesla finno-ugorskikh narodov Povolz’ya i Predural’ya: K probleme etnokul’turnykh vzaimodeistvii. Moscow: Znak, 2009.


chapter 8

Bringing “the Periphery” into Focus: Social Interaction between Baltic Finns and the Svear in the Viking Age and Crusade Period (c.800 to 1200)

Mats Roslund

One of the characteristics of the period 800 to 1200 a.d. in the Northern Hemi-sphere was close interaction between the Eastern Slavs and eastern Scandi-navia. This bipolar focus is too myopic, however, and does not consider other ethnic groups or the intricate process behind political and economic change. Also difficult to account for are those actors who are not so well documented in the written sources and have left less conspicuous material culture to pos-terity. Some of the groups are found within larger language sets of the Sami and Baltic Finns. From a Swedish perspective, “eastern” contacts can refer to any people from Finland, Russia, or the Baltic states. Sami, Finns, Karelians, Tavasts, Ves’, Vots, Izhora, and Estonians are repeatedly studied within the framework of a single, homogeneous political development. This generalized focus blurs the intricate historical interaction between the Svear and the re-gions mentioned. There is a need for a defined geographical provenance for artefacts from “the east”, as well as for interpretations of the social process behind their use. Artefact patterns are not haphazardly distributed. Distant regions and individuals were interrelated during the Viking Age and Crusade Period in ways that we today might believe improbable.

In connection with efforts to uncover a more heterogeneous past, there have been attempts to synthesize the fragments of archaeological and historical sources, in order to recreate pre-modern globalities. In post-modern discourse, light has been shed on local communities as a response to histories written from a national, exclusionary perspective; however, by interpreting minorities and neglected historical groups only on a local level, there is a risk of imagining them as incapacitated actors. Instead of defining them as fringe groups, they should be integrated in the historical synthesis of societal change.

The material culture of the Baltic Finns has not been thoroughly scruti-nized in its Swedish contexts. The lack of knowledge about the archaeological sources has led to ignorance of the Baltic Finns’ social and historical back-ground, in parallel to the absence of Finno-Ugrians from the discussion of the history of Kievan Rus’.1 In brief, this chapter will address this lack by exploring

1 Stang 1981; Uino 2006.

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the interaction – focusing on the period from c.800 to 1200 – between Baltic Finns and the Svear, the Germanic-speaking group then living in Sweden’s present-day Lake Mälaren District. First, a short survey will be presented of the Baltic-Finnic groups considered to have been in direct contact with the Mälaren area. Second, the topographic and chronological distribution of the artefacts emanating from these groups will be examined in order to interpret the social action behind them. Third, a historical interpretation will be pro-posed for the social and political actions taken by Baltic-Finnic groups and the Svear, based on archaeological and written sources. Exchange between the Baltic-Finnic populations and Scandinavia can be seen in the archaeological record as cultural expressions of social change in a wider network; to increase our insight into how identities and networks were created, the focus must be set to narrow periods of time and precise geographical regions, thereby uncov-ering the process itself. In that process, Finno-Ugrian and Scandinavian groups played a major role.2

It is important to begin with the question of which perspective we adopt when interpreting ancient social communication. It is clear that the Scandina-vians of the Viking Age have attracted more scholarly attention than the agrar-ian, cattle-breeding, and fur-hunting forest people of north-eastern Europe. Viking Age material culture can be blinding in its complexity. In the analyses, world-system concepts of core and periphery also distort the interpretations. Critique of this dichotomization of interaction has brought other theoretical and methodological perspectives to the fore.3 The voices against a systemic approach claim that the concept of “core” and “periphery” intentionally or unintentionally structures our understanding of the past as unilateral. Thus, acculturation in the “receiving” group becomes a predominant perspective and foreign artefacts found in the “periphery” stand as signs of “core” dominance. Strong cases against this view have been made in Greek, Roman, and American historical archaeology.4 These studies set a new archaeological agenda, drawn towards multilateral communication, agency, social identity negotiation and practice. Most important is the stress on the impact of local agency. Interac-tion involves a variety of social factions, among newcomers as well as residents. Contacts are always negotiated, unless we can see a total annihilation of the original population, which is not the case in the geographic area of our study. Material culture played a significant role in the creation of new identities. Changes in the archaeological record, quantitatively and qualitatively, expose

2 Callmer 1986; Callmer 2000; Callmer 2008; Makarov 2006; Martin 1986.3 Stein 1998; Stein 1999; Stein 2002.4 Lightfoot et al. 1998; Morris 1999; Wells 1999; Silliman 2005.

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the direction of interregional contacts as well as their social content. Selective-ness among the locals had the result that only parts of the foreign material culture were accepted within the framework of the internal worldview. There-fore, acculturation is not sufficient as an explanatory model for finds of foreign artefacts. The choices, especially regarding objects associated with gender and hierarchies, display the nature of interaction. More specifically, the discussion of Finno-Ugrian contributions to the history of Kievan Rus’ has been biased towards a passive role for these groups.5

To understand what drew the Scandinavians’ attention to their Finnish neighbours, we must look at the situation before the year 800. Long-distance contacts were developed within two fluvial regions, one leading into the Cas-pian Sea and the other into the Baltic basin. These two systems merged in the mid-eighth century, thus creating a vast and lively region of contacts in the north. Since the seventh century, the Volga-Kama region had been drawn into an interregional exchange system reaching the Sassanian Empire. Within a century, the seemingly peripheral area was transformed into a desirable place, with riches to be exploited. Soon after the emergence of Islam, the Umayy-ads and later the ‘Abbasids sought the same furs for social display as had their Sassanian predecessors. Finnic-speaking groups along the Volga, Vyatka, and Kama provided the bulk of furs, but soon Baltic-Finnic people to the west were drawn into the commerce. This eighth-century contact is seen in common ma-terial culture, such as the “Permian belts” of the Nevolino culture in the Kama River basin.6

Through finds in south-western Finland, it is evident that exchange with the Volga-Kama route was already being pursued in the eighth century. The remains of one belt have been found in Gamla Uppsala in Sweden and several Scandinavian swords from the Merovingian Period have been found in Fin-land.7 In this overlapping contact zone in the Baltic fluvial interaction sphere, Germanic-, Baltic–Finnic-, and Baltic-speaking peoples searched the forests for furs and used the local population as more or less willing suppliers.

By the end of the ninth century, Slavic-speaking groups reached the north-ern forest zone, where Baltic Finns and Scandinavians already had been active for some time.8 Together they created an early polity strong enough to threaten Khazar supremacy. When the political power of Kievan Rus’ had gained strength, its princes tried to establish a firmer territorial grip on the fur

5 Ligi 1993; 1994; Uino 2006.6 Kivikoski 1939; Callmer 1980: 208ff.; Hirviluoto 1986; Ryabinin 1986; Carpelan 2006: 88.7 Hackman 1938.8 Callmer 2000a: 25f.


trade through negotiation and military pressure. Thus, the seemingly “periph-eral” parts of northern Europe were integrated into an important, functioning network before Christian Europe claimed dominion over the area.

Finns, Tavasts, Karelians, and Ves’ – Baltic Finns in Their Historical Context

Baltic-Finnic groups are a part of a larger language complex of the Finno-Ugric speaking population of north-eastern Europe (fig. 8.1). In the tenth to twelfth centuries their neighbours defined them through a distinct material culture and historical tradition. They should not be seen as strictly delimited, histori-cal entities of “peoples”, but rather as external categorizations. Those who were in contact with the Svear were named Finns, Tavasts, Karelians, Vots, Ests, and Ves’. Other Finno-Ugrian groups further to the east were, among others, the

Figure 8.1 Baltic-Finnic, Volga Finnic and Permian groups between the Baltic Sea and the Ural Mountains. These groups represent differences in language and material culture and are mentioned in historical sources. Their social content is dynamic, however, and must be seen in the light of interaction with external groupsMap by Staffan Hyll (based on Sedov 1987, pp. 8 and 9, Karta 1)

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Merya, Muromians, Mordvins, Mari, Udmurts, and Komi; these groups are not brought into the discussion in this chapter. The ethnification of these groups was a long-term process driven by increasing interaction due to expanding economic interests in the forest zone. We must also consider a strong in-group consciousness before stress was imposed from outside, as the material cultures differ between the groups.

From the late eighth century onwards various polities became increasingly aware of the potential of these regions and began tapping their rich resources. Through the centuries, Khazars, Volga Bulgars, ar-Rus, Rus’, Kievan Rus’, and later the organized cities Novgorod and Rostov-Suzdal’ built their thriving economies on the demand for furs.9 It is a mistake, however, to understand local actors only in terms of their exploitation by stronger political entities. Of course, the outsiders put pressure on the socio-economic status of forest inhabitants, but according to archaeological sources we can observe a high degree of independence among some of them, based, for example, on the Baltic-Finnic-speaking populations’ knowledge of how to retrieve the riches, and their ability to act as middlemen when regions further away began to at-tract interest. Therefore, the intercultural communication process formed a part of the dialogue between newcomers and the settled population within the framework of a heterogeneous power structure.

There seems to have been an inner development taking place during the ninth to twelfth centuries within the Baltic-Finnic population in what is to-day Finland.10 A material change is already seen in the Merovingian Period with new weapons and grave rites. During the Viking Age, a general climatic change made it possible for people to cultivate new land. Agriculture and cattle- breeding were important parts of the economy on the south-west coast, around inland lakes as well as along the Kokemäenjoki River. Hunting, fishing, and slash-and-burn cultivation, however, determined survival in a way that was unusual in other parts of Europe. It is also essential to understand that only a small part of the land area of what is today Finland and northern Russia was permanently populated during the period of our study. We even discern contractions in settlements during the period, as in southern Ostrobothnia, where graves decreased in number at the beginning of the ninth century. On Åland a similar change seems to have occurred around the year 1000, as coin hoards, artefacts and graves disappear from the archaeological record.

This pattern based on evidence derived from artefacts, graves, and buildings is nevertheless disputed. A general opinion has been that Uusimaa/ Nyland was

9 Delort 1978; Martin 1986; Callmer 2008.10 Uino 1997: 178, fig. 6.7; Taavitsainen 1990: 162, fig. 50; Taavitsainen 2004; Hiekkanen 2010.


not inhabited until the Swedish expansion in the area from the late twelfth cen-tury. Analyses of pollen data, however, have given proof of three stages in the exploitation of Uusimaa/Nyland in the south-western part of Finland.11 From the pre-Roman Iron Age to the late Roman Iron Age (c.500 b.c. to 400 a.d.), there was forest clearing and sporadic small-scale cultivation. From the begin-ning of the Migration Period (400 to 600) the use of land was intensified, with continuous cultivation of rye in some places. A fully agrarian lifestyle, with an economy based on cultivated fields, pastures, and permanent settlement can be discerned from 940–1100 onwards. At one site, cultivation can be traced back to 670 a.d.

Originally, three distinct groups are mentioned in contemporary written sources: Suomi (people of Finland Proper), Hämäläiset (Tavasts), and Karja-laiset (Karelians) (see fig. 8.1).12 Viking Age (800–1025) and Crusade Period (1025–1200) settlement patterns also indicate the potential central regions of the three groups, as well as the choices made in displaying the identity of the in-group. Jewellery, seen in grave goods and as single finds, was used to com-municate this identity. The sets of brooches and other objects do not infer that the people of Suomi, Häme, and Karjala were closed to outer influence; in-stead, the cultural core areas were a result of negotiating identities, with jew-ellery crossing the borders between them.13 In all of them, hillforts became important places of interaction, both as shelter in times of unrest and as nodes in an exchange network. Other regions that must be considered as contribut-ing various traditions and development to the three mentioned above were southern Ostrobothnia, the Åland Islands, and Satakunta.

In historical times, the three main areas developed sub-regions where new identities were formed (fig. 8.2). All of them were created from cultural traits and topographic restraints, rather than out of supra-regional dominions or ad-ministrative division. Satakunta had long since been developing into a region of its own, with inhumation graves from the seventh century onwards showing connections to Scandinavian and Continental rites.14 The artefacts, however, are predominantly local. As opposed to cremation burials – the most common rite in Finland – very rich grave assemblages have been found together with the interred at Köyliösaari, Köyliö, and at Käräjämäki and Luistari in Eura, as well as at Anivehmaanmäki in Yläne. In eastern Finland, Savonia had its origin

11 Alenius 2011.12 Taavitsainen 1990: 155ff.13 Taavitsainen 1990: 77ff.; Uino 1997: 178.14 Cleve 1943; Hiekkanen 2010.

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in settlements distinguished in the surroundings of the Mikkeli area, with local traits as well as migrants from Tavastia. During the Middle Ages, it eventually became a distinct region in eastern Finland, strongly influenced by Karelian culture.

Suomi, or Finland Proper, had strong connections with the Åland islands and the Mälaren area for a very long time, reflected in the arrival of Scandi-navian artefacts.15 Contact had been a constant phenomenon since the Stone Age, but a qualitative impact is seen at the end of the Migration Period with an increase in female jewellery.16 Another leap was taken from the mid-eighth century with a steady Scandinavian presence in Finland. In the Viking Age, settlement expansion can be observed in the formerly inhabited river valleys as well as in the formerly unexplored hinterland. The settlement pattern gravi-tated towards the coast, indicated by hoards and graves from the tenth and eleventh centuries.17 Important central sites such as Vanhalinna hillfort, where the last phase is dated to the interval 1000 to 1350, show urban consumption patterns connecting Tavastia and the Svear mainland.

The way artisans in Finland Proper made jewellery also reveals a western affiliation. Permian techniques, widely distributed among Finno-Ugrian popu-lations, as well as in Karelia and Tavastia, used moulded wax with no after-work done on the surface.18 The jewellery became “soft” in its outline, with somewhat indistinct features. In western Finland, on the other hand, all mould traces were meticulously removed, the surface polished and sometimes given a punched decoration as among Scandinavian artisans.

Tavastia, situated around the Lakes Päijänne and Vanaja and the Kokemäen-joki River, was another important cultural and geographic settlement area throughout the Viking Age and Crusade Period, when a strong population in-crease has been noted for the area. Judging by the artefact provenance, groups and individuals from western Finland reached the inner lakes of Tavastia be-fore the Viking Age in their search for wilderness supplies.19 Settlements grew along strips of clayey soil, around larger lakes and routes of communication. In the material culture, there is a transition from the use of west-Finnish to Karelian jewellery over time. Traditional Tavastian oval tortoise brooches and small western penannular brooches, together with Karelian artefacts, confirm that the region held an intermediate position. In the Crusade Period, Tavastia

15 Huurre 1987: 28; Lehtosalo-Hilander 1982b: 72, fig. 14.16 Callmer 2000b: 48f.17 Huurre 1987: 27.18 Tomanterä 1991.19 Taavitsainen 1990: 70ff.

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developed a jewellery tradition that indicates an independent social and political status. With the arrival of written sources, we clearly see that the area served as an intermediary zone between the Svear and the Novgorodians.

A third Baltic-Finnic group of rising prominence lived on the Karelian Isth-mus and northern shore of Lake Ladoga.20 The origin of Karelian culture is debated, but an Iron Age local elite in communication with groups in western Finland and Scandinavians from settlements on the southern shore of Lake Ladoga has been identified as its predecessor. A more permanent presence is seen in burials from the ninth century, and the inhabitants developed a dis-tinct material culture from the twelfth century onwards. Through diversity in subsistence economy such as farming, fishing, and hunting, the population became less sensitive to climatic setbacks. A sedentary lifestyle provided an essential number of people with a stable economy and rich material culture. Close interaction with Novgorod may have been a reason for an ethnification of the population. Orthodox faith was disseminated from there, connecting Karelia with Novgorodian cultural patterns as expressed in cross pendants and wheel-turned pottery from the late eleventh century.21 Karelians specifically occur as allies of Novgorod from at least 1143, when a differentiation from west-ern Finland culminated.22 In 1187, Karelian warriors attacked Sigtuna, probably as a response to the Svear suppression of Novgorodian merchants and territo-rial expansion to the east. A strong indication of coexistence is seen during the thirteenth century, when Karelia is mentioned in Novgorodian sources at least thirteen times in reference to mutual activities.23 However, they maintained political independence and should be seen as partners and middlemen until 1278, when they became formal subjects to Novgorod.

Less distinct settlement patterns emerged outside the three main areas (fig. 8.3). Transhumance economy, in which both Baltic Finns and Sami took part, had been well developed for centuries. The eränkäynti, the wilderness resource organization, was formally included in the medieval agrarian econo-my by enforcement of legal boundaries. In Tavastia, signs of the use of forest resources between arable land can be seen from the ninth century.24 At least from the late Middle Ages, people travelled 250 to 300 kilometres away from their permanent habitations. Even though very few signs of activities can be found in inland Finland, people lived by rivers and lakes, using the waterways

20 Saksa 1985; 1992; Uino 1997: 171ff.21 Purhonen 1992; 1997; Uino 1997: 128, fig. 4:11.22 Uino 1997: 178.23 Uino 1997: 193.24 Taavitsainen 1994: 399.


Figure 8.3 Settlements, hoards, graves and stray artefact finds in Finland. Distinct agrarian and cattle-breeding landscapes in Finland Proper, Tavastia and Karelia contrast with sparsely populated or uninhabited resource areas further north. However, the territory must be seen as a whole, where resources supplemented each otherMap by Huurre 1987, fig. 6 and Callmer 1992, fig. 2. Redrawn by Staffan Hyll

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for long-distance communication. Single graves outside the permanently inhabited settlements in Finland Proper, Satakunta, and Tavastia are rem-nants of people who exploited the wilderness resources. In the vast geographi-cal triangle further north, between the main agrarian regions in the south of Finland, the Bothnian Gulf, and the White Sea, Sami and groups of southern origin established a hunting and fishing economy.25 As in the south, human presence increased during the ninth century. In the Oulujoki River region an agglomeration of single finds and two female graves indicate population movements outside village communities. At the crossroads between southern Finland and northern Fenno-Scandinavia, Kainuu (Kvenland) developed as a region around Lake Oulujärvi and its contributory rivers.

An expansion of people from the west to the east in Finland, in contact with local groups, formed the identities of the three main regions. This is also observable in a change of ideological beliefs. Evidence has been cited for re-gional and temporal differences in the Christianization process in Finland.26 The earliest impulses can be seen archaeologically in the province of Vakka-Suomi in south-west Finland Proper in the mid-eleventh century. By the end of the following century, graves in the Eura and Aurajoki districts clearly were influenced by Christian practices. This view is disputed and the process may also have been contemporary for Finland Proper, Satakunta, and Tavastia, as inhumation graves were already in use during the Merovingian Period.27

Up until at least the beginning of the twelfth century, the Christian faith was held by individuals unaffected by the religious contradictions between the Ro-man Catholic and Orthodox Church that emerged during the late Middle Ages. Religious artefacts and written sources make it clear that believers shared similar attributes from Kievan Rus’ to the Mälaren district, formed by close encounters between the regions.28 This changed during the twelfth century, however. Firmer affinities were created when Svear as well as Danes launched military operations against the Baltic-Finnic population in Finland Proper.29 The first ecclesiastical organization in western Finland is reflected in the two successive thirteenth-century Christian localities Nousiainen and Koroinen. In Tavastia, crusading activities by the Svear turned the inhabitants towards the new religion in the 1230s, although uprisings against Svear supremacy contin-ued well into the next century. In the east, Karelians buried their dead with

25 Huurre 1987; 1992.26 Purhonen 1992; Purhonen 1997: 378, fig. 4.27 Hiekkanen 2004.28 Lind 2006; Lind in this volume.29 Lind et al. 2004: 151ff.; Lind 2007.


everyday objects until the beginning of the fourteenth century, in line with accepted burial practice in Novgorodian Orthodox tradition.

We discern a similar pattern for the cultural and political situation. Tavastia became an area of conflict for the Svear and the Novgorodians; however, hos-tilities on ideological grounds did not occur until the mid-twelfth century. Eco-nomic and political exchange between Novgorod and Scandinavia remained prominent even beyond this date, as we can see in political marriages and Rus’ merchants’ churches in Visby and Sigtuna. It was during the crusades in the 1240s that a more permanent state of ideological war was established; even then, external threats against the common Christian faith, such as that posed by the Mongol invasion, created temporary agreements.30 Triggered by mutual interests, Alexander Nevskii and other Kievan Rus’ overlords accepted the Pope’s address in 1248 to confront the Mongol threat. Less than ten years later, Svear expansion eastward led to clashes with the Novgorodians in Fin-land. Territorial solutions were negotiated in 1323 with the Peace of Nöteborg/Pähkinälinna/Oreshek/Schlüsselburg.

Further to the east, other groups of Baltic Finns extended their cultural tradi-tions. In an area to the south and south-east of Lake Ladoga, west of Lake Onega and south of Lake Beloozero, a group known as the Ves’ had their primary settle-ments (see fig. 8.1).31 Their economy was based on agriculture with a consider-able element of fishing and hunting. Through the expanding fur trade with the Volga Bulgars, they acquired wealth and status. We do not know how early they were drawn into this network, but obviously Volga-Finns and Permians in the rich Vyatka-Kama confluence were pulled into an extensive exchange system extending from the Caspian Sea and central Asia already in the sixth and seventh centuries, reflected in Sassanian coins and silver vessels found there.32 Consid-erable continuity in the contacts as well as expansion to the west can be followed through the centuries. Ibn Fadlān received information about the “Visu” from the Bulgar prince Almas in 922, who informed him that they lived a three-month journey away. They acted as middlemen between the Bulgars and peoples fur-ther north, presumably along the Vychegda and Vym’ rivers.33 As we shall see, their tributary travels took them to northern Fenno-scandinavia from the elev-enth century, where their material culture influenced the Sami population.

Ves’ history thus converges with ar-Rus, Kievan Rus’, and Scandinavia. A distinct beginning can be discerned in the mid-eighth century, with mutual

30 Lind 2009.31 Pimenov 1965; Makarov 1990; Makarov 1991; Hansen 1996: 46.32 Callmer 2000b: 63, fig. 5.33 Martin 1986: 8.

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interests in the establishment of Staraya Ladoga as a trampoline to the silver-rich east. Possibly they already had a network of their own to the south-east, since Islamic interests acted as a pull factor in the fur trade – implied, in the oldest strata of Staraya Ladoga, by Finno-Ugric artefacts coming from an extensive area between the Baltic Sea and western Siberia.34 As one of many Baltic- Finnic groups in the Ladoga–Onega–Beloozero area they were later drawn into the western grid, establishing social relations with Scandinavian and Slavic actors.

During the tenth and eleventh centuries, the Ves’ were impelled to react to Rostov-Suzdal’ expansion to the north-east and east. Simultaneously, Novgorod pressed on further north of that area, into the river valleys of the Onega, Suk-hona, Vaga, Northern Dvina, and Pechora.35 We can see two different reactions among the Ves’: assimilating to Rus’ culture, or migrating to regions further north-east of Lake Beloozero. Here, they became an important part of the population called “Zavolochskaya Chud” – literally, “the people beyond the portages” – between the Onega, Sukhona, and Northern Dvina rivers.36

During the integration process, material culture became increasingly con-nected to Kievan Rus’, even as the population of Baltic-Finnic, Volga-Finnic, and Slavic settlers created a lifestyle of their own; each group maintained specific lifestyles in detail, even if they adhered to the consumption patterns coming from Kievan Rus’.37 The lands were sparsely populated before the elev-enth century, and the mixed colonies of farmers and hunters contained groups with families open for cultural change. A gradual colonization from Lakes Beloozero and Kubenskoe to the Northern Dvina can be seen through differ-ences in settlement patterns. Around the lakes, sites were well populated with concentrations of a varied set of artefacts and cemeteries, thus stressing long-term permanent habitation. In the settlements, consumption patterns show an astonishing richness and have strong similarities to those in Kievan Rus’ towns. Glass finger rings and bracelets, imported Byzantine drinking bowls, wine amphorae, and gold-enamelled glass found their way to the nodes in the lucrative fur trade network.38 To the north, settlements were smaller, with a limited range of artefacts and few burials. They functioned for a long time dur-ing the late tenth to thirteenth centuries. By the eleventh century, Novgorodian tax collectors were retrieving fur from predominantly Finnish pioneers.

34 Uino 2006: 365f.35 Makarov 1990; Hansen 1996: 43ff.; Makarov 2006.36 Hansen 1996: 49ff.37 Makarov 1990; Makarov 2006: 271.38 Zakharov 2004: 383ff.; Makarov 2009.


One important feature of the settlements was the use of Christian symbols. Pendant crosses, pendant icons, and other objects expressing a new faith have been found in burials and deposits from the eleventh century onwards.39 Signs of a warrior mentality are seen in the ornamented battle-axes and miniature bronze axes of Kievan Rus’ origin placed with the interred.40 These small rep-licas of real weapons were carried by individuals at the belt to signify their dignity as followers of a retinue or as individual fighters. In the burial customs we also find a distinct sign of a shift towards a more common Kievan Rus’ identity from the early thirteenth century. Old cemeteries were abandoned, Finnic-Slavic female dress accessories became obsolete and old settlements were replaced with parish centres. Local identities were maintained but not to the previous extent.

As was seen in the Beloozero and Kubenskoe region, colonization took off in the early eleventh century in a quick succession of stages. Ves’, Slav, and Merya identities were negotiated into a new, single identity, stressing a region-al affiliation rather than old ethnic boundaries. Contacts became strained as Kievan Rus’ princes began to compete with the Volga Bulgars over the forest resources. From Novgorod and Rostov-Suzdal’ taxation of the colonies com-menced at the very beginning of their existence. At the same time, Volga Bul-gars interests still drew fur hunters’ attention to the Islamic market beyond the Volga and the Caspian Sea. Ves’ who were not integrated into the new col-onies migrated towards this eastern grid.41 This economic and political shift among the Ves’ had distinct repercussions in northern Scandinavia, where contacts with the Sami began in the eleventh century and became stronger in the twelfth, at the same time as Suzdalian and Volga Bulgars interests col-lided. During the early twelfth century, Ves’ middlemen used trails on the upper Volga and along the Unzha, Iug, Sukhona, and Dvina rivers. However, Suzdal’ soon moved into this area by establishing Ustiug, and from 1221 Nizh-nii Novgorod. Around that time, Volga Bulgars demand disappeared as the Mongols disrupted their supply lines to the south.

Baltic-Finnic Artefacts around Lake Mälaren

Beginning with a population increase and expanding participation in the inter-regional fur trade from the end of the eighth century, the Baltic Finns developed distinct material cultural traits. Some of their artefacts have been found in

39 Makarov 1990; Makarov 2006: 268.40 Makarov 1990, table 7: 2, 3, table 8: 1, 2, 8, table 15: 10, table 17: 7, table 19: 13, 29.41 Martin 1986: 20f.

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Sweden. Since we have few reliable written sources mentioning Baltic- Finnic and Svear interaction before the thirteenth century, we must turn to the ar-chaeological record. As this chapter’s focus is on interaction with the Svear, finds from other parts of Scandinavia outside the area of study are not included in the discussion – these, however, are few and not as varied, with the excep-tion of the complexes in Sami regions in northern Scandinavia and on Gotland.

Finding signs of contact is a difficult task, as material culture was used in multiple ways to address the surrounding society; thus, some discussion of the methods used in detecting identities is in order. As the connection between cul-tural and ethnic identity on one hand and material culture on the other has been elaborated already in the introduction to this book, I will only stress the position taken in this specific paper. The presence of Finnic artefacts in central Sweden is difficult to interpret unequivocally as distinct ethnic signifiers, but they do indi-cate unambiguous directions of interaction. Their presence can be perceived as the result of intense social negotiations, creating cultural acceptance and some-times style transfer, as shown in other regions.42 Despite close communication, there do not seem to be hybrid styles emerging from the interaction.

During the Viking Age, convex round brooches, Baltic-Finnic penannular brooches decorated with pegs at the terminals, vessels of fine ware, and some other types of objects were put in the graves with the dead. Neither the content of the graves nor the funerary ritual can be considered purely Finnic.43 Several objects originating from the Mälaren area are also included in the same graves. If we consider that pottery is culturally distinct in production technique, style, and decoration, it is the most significant artefact of our study.

Approximately 20 Finnish round convex brooches have been found in Swe-den.44 The oldest is of the “two-animal type”, dated to c.800–950. Its provenance is uncertain, as the finds catalogue lists only “Nyköping” in Södermanland. The others collected in the Mälaren Valley belong to tenth-century graves. A few have been found in urban deposits, such as that in the Domen block, Uppsala, in 1981.45 The find is somewhat problematic as it was discovered in deposits from around 1200. The stylistic dating is to the first half of the eleventh cen-tury (type D wide-brimmed), which implies that the brooch either had circu-lated for a long time and/or must be seen as scrap metal. The latest dating of convex brooches can be seen in Sigtuna. There, two round brooches of narrow-brimmed type D and one of type E have been found (fig. 8.4). Typologically,

42 Emberling 1997; Lucy 2005; Roslund 2007: 78ff.43 See also Gustin this volume.44 Appelgren 1897; Arne 1914: 6, fig. 57; Floderus 1931; Kivikoski 1964: 202.45 Syse 1987: 317, fig. 9.


the D type with narrow brim belongs to the period 950–1000.46 The E type is younger, with a concentration in the eleventh and the beginning of the twelfth century and mostly found in Tavastia.47 This particular item in Sigtuna is found in eleventh-century contexts.

Penannular brooches with pegs have a distinct attribution to the western part of Finland from the late ninth century to c.950.48 In the Mälaren dis-trict they are mainly dated to the tenth century. A terminal from one of these brooches has been found in Sigtuna, in deposits dated to the second part of the twelfth century.49 As this date falls long after the style was out of use, we must consider it as scrap-metal.

Strike-a-lights with decoration consisting of two averted horsemen are considered Baltic-Finnic, since they have a point of gravity in the south- westernmost part of Finland, even though they are common in the Perm-ian region.50 Six companions to the Finnish finds are from all from Uppland (fig. 8.5).51 The graves are dated to the end of tenth and the eleventh century. A piece of a bracelet of Baltic-Finnic origin has been found in a neighbouring parish to one of the strike-a-lights.52

A bracelet from Sigtuna with a triangular profile in section can be of Baltic-Finnic origin. One found in Kuhmoinen hillfort resembles this.53 The Sigtuna find has no distinct decoration but a vague triangular elevation along the ridge. It was found in early eleventh-century contexts. A part of another bracelet was found in late tenth-century contexts.54

46 Lehtosalo-Hilander 1982a: 100.47 Taavitsainen 1990: 111, fig. 44.48 Kivikoski 1937: 242; Lehtosalo-Hilander 1982a: 103, fig. 31; Uino 1997: 175; Gustin in this

volume, fig. 2.49 Block Trädgårdsmästaren 9 and 10, Find no. 15919.50 Kivikoski 1937: 244; Lehtosalo-Hilander 1982a: 74, fig. 21.51 Kåks 1969; Broberg 1990: 75, fig. 49.52 Broberg, 1990: 65, fig. 38.53 Taavitsainen 1990: 210, 293, plate 16.6.54 Professorn 1, find no. 14955.

Figure 8.4Round brooches of Baltic-Finnic D and E type from SigtunaPhoto by the author

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One oval tortoise-shaped brooch and a chain holder of Karelian origin have been found in two distant parts of our area of interest. The brooch is a typi-cal “crayfish” decorated type H, found in Varva, Hille Parish, in Gästrikland (fig. 8.6).55 Such brooches are dated to the twelfth–thirteenth centuries and are widely distributed from Novgorod to Norway. A chain holder of the female dress found in Mellösa Parish in Södermanland is as widely spread and of the same period (fig. 8.7).56 These two artefacts belong to a late horizon among the Baltic-Finnic artefacts, and probably arrived during the late Crusade Period beginning in the mid-twelfth century.

Pottery comprises a very distinct group of everyday objects. Ceramic tradi-tions are tied to in-group cultural identity and are sometimes used as ethnic markers. There are four main groups of vessels found in Finland.57 Some of them have thin walls, either round or flat bases, and a polished surface, and are decorated with finger lines, cord impressions, wavy lines, or latticed lines (fig. 8.8). Very few have remains of ash or soot on the surface, indicating that the vessels were used primarily for storage and as containers for beverages.58 Vessels of the first kind were produced from the eighth to the mid-eleventh century in Finland. By then, a latticed and polished type was introduced, remaining in use well into the twelfth century, in some places to the beginning of the thirteenth.59 As similar vessels were produced in northern Estonia, we must consider that some of them could come from this source.60 Throughout the Iron Age and Crusade Period, coarse everyday pottery used for cooking and storage circulated in households in addition to the polished vessels. Close simi-larities between these and local wares in the Mälaren district make it difficult to distinguish cultural differences.

55 Arne 1914: 6, fig. 59.56 Damell 1967.57 Lehtosalo-Hilander 1982a: 76ff.58 Lehtosalo-Hilander 1982a: 84.59 Carpelan 1980: 195; Pihlman 2003: 102; Pihlman personal communication 7 June 2010.60 Lang 1985; Tvauri 2005.

Figure 8.5Strike-a-light with two averted horsemen from Tuna in Alsike, UpplandArne 1934


Figure 8.7Karelian chain holder from Thorsäng, Mellösa Parish in SödermanlandDamell 1967, p. 121, fig. 1

Figure 8.8 Low-profile Baltic Finnic vessel with convex base, Hemlingby in Valbo Parish, GästriklandPhoto by The National Historical Museum, Stockholm

Figure 8.6Karelian tortoise-shaped brooch of type H, from Varva in Gästrikland. Twelfth or thirteenth century a.d.Arne 1914, fig. 59

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All four main groups of Baltic-Finnic vessels have been found in Sweden, and some of them had been produced in Finland as seen in the temper.61 The most common form (63 per cent) has a low profile and convex base, seemingly fit for liquids. By the end of the eighth century Finnish pottery is included in the funerary rites in eastern central Sweden.62 At Birka, they are found in graves dated to mid-eighth century, even earlier, as well as to the second half of the tenth century, when the centre was abandoned.63 They account for 6 per cent of the total amount of vessels in graves at the site. Baltic-Finnic vessels in the Mälaren Valley outside Birka are found in similar chronological contexts. In Sig-tuna, pottery with polished and latticed bodies appears in the earliest deposits (fig. 8.9). Only 11 sherds have been found dated to the first half of the eleventh century, representing remains of as many vessels. In Finland, the tradition changes in form and decoration, but is still maintained well into the beginning of the thirteenth. If close interaction on a household level between Baltic Finns and the Svear had been maintained after the mid-eleventh century, it would have been noticed in the Sigtuna pottery remains; this is not the case.

61 Selling 1955; Tafeln 34–42; Carpelan 1980: 194.62 Callmer 2000: 28.63 Gustin this volume.

Figure 8.9 Three vessels of Baltic-Finnic type found in Sigtuna with high profile and polished surfaceDrawn by the author


In Sigtuna, a vague trace of contacts with the Ves’ can be seen. A duck pen-dant was used by a woman, buried in the early- to mid-eleventh century in the Nunnan block (fig. 8.10).64 Duck-shaped pendants, which were part of the female dress among the Ves’ and Votian peoples, also spread to other Finnish groups in the east. Their connotations are connected closely to beliefs about water birds transcending the upper and lower levels of our existence. By trav-elling in air, as well as on and under water, they acted as emissaries between worlds. In Rus’ the tradition was maintained in an area between the south-eastern shore of Lake Ladoga and Beloozero. The dating in Sigtuna fits with those in Russia and indicates a rapid transfer, as the spread outside the Ladoga area did not commence until the late eleventh to twelfth centuries.65

A bronze spoon common also in Ves’ settlements was retrieved from deposits of unknown date in the Kyrkolunden block and Stora Gatan in 1985.66 In their original contexts, they are dated to the eleventh–twelfth centuries (fig. 8.11).67

The various sets of artefacts described above are definitely of Baltic-Finnic origin. Other objects, however, are more problematic to confirm as culturally identified markers. One reason is that the female set of jewellery changed in the mid-eleventh century, when the round brooches fell out of use.68 Other forms reinforced their presence. The penannular brooch with rolled-up termi-nals is the most common type in Sigtuna as well as in Finland. Considering a wider area, however, it seems to be a common form for the population in the whole eastern part of the Baltic Sea region. The same can be said about the tradition in Novgorod, where brooches with rolled-up terminals are in the

64 Hillbom 1987: 230ff.65 Ryabinin 1980, fig. 2, group I, type 1; Sedov 1987: 268, table 20, no. 22; Makarov 1991: 69.66 Find no. 164.67 Sedov 1987: 265, table 17, no. 20; Makarov 1990, table 16: 14, table 19: 19 and 31.68 Kivikoski 1964: 201f.

Figure 8.10Ves’ pendant duck from a grave in the Nunnan block, Sigtuna. Early to mid-eleventh century a.d.Photo by the author

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majority at the Nerevsky and Troitsky sites.69 Other supra-regional types found in Sigtuna are those with faceted terminals. Brooches with large or shallow-faceted terminals are common in Finland and occur in the Baltic Sea region.70 The information about common traits is interesting as it signals a common material culture in the eastern part of the Baltic Sea area, from Lake Mälaren to the territory of Novgorod. It also must be considered a source-critical prob-lem. The supposed cessation of contacts can be falsely deduced, as this change from distinct regional sets of jewellery to more common ones hides the cultur-al identities of visitors; however, the above arguments concerning the lack of Baltic-Finnic pottery after the mid-eleventh century strengthen the hypothesis.

Besides the artefacts we have a few written sources from the period in ques-tion. Two runestones from rural Uppland and a new find from Sigtuna mention the ethnonym “Tavast”. A stone from Tibble in Uppland (U 467) tells us about “Tafaist”, who “erected this stone … God help his soul. Torbjörn carved”. This stone is dated to c.1020–1050. The one from Löt, Uppland (U 722), says “Tafaist erected this stone after … his brother … God help his soul”. This runestone is dated to the second half of the eleventh century. Both of them are signs of the integration of Tavasts in the Svear society. Tavastia itself is mentioned on another stone from Gästrikland (Gs 13) dated to the first half of the eleventh century, referring to a man who “was slain in Tavastland”. On a runic bone from Sigtuna we read that “nn let Tafast carve the runes”.71 This last find is much later than the runestones, from deposits dated to c.1206–1230. This was a time when the Svear expanded to the east in competition with Novgorod. Naming a person by her or his provenance was a common phenomenon during the Middle Ages. However, we must take into consideration that these cases may refer to descendants of an original forefather.

69 Pokrovskaya 2001: 86, table 1.70 Lehtosalo-Hilander 1982a: 102; Gustin 2004: 213ff.71 Professorn 1 find no. 50406; Gustavsson 2001: 21.

Figure 8.11Ves’ miniature bronze spoon blade found in SigtunaPhoto by the author. Compare with Sedov 1987, p. 265, Tab. xvii, no. 20


In conclusion, personal artefacts representing Finns, Tavasts, Karelians, and Ves’ are present from the eighth to the thirteenth century in the Mälaren dis-trict, a statement that is in accordance with former interpretations.72 Two per-sons from Tavastia positively accepted in society in the eleventh century might strengthen this interpretation, as they are mentioned on runestones intended for social display. The presence was not evenly distributed over time, however. A bias towards the tenth century is evident, and a hiatus is suggested from mid-eleventh century to around 1200. Four distinct agglomerates can be seen as important regions in the network (fig. 8.12). Around and in Birka, with a clear focus on the waterways to Uppsala, we see a diversified and rich set of Baltic-Finnic jewellery and pottery. A second cluster lies just inside the coastline of Roden, in the eastern part of Uppland. A third lies along the rivers in northern Uppland and Gästrikland. Fourth and last, there is a diverging group of objects in the westernmost part of Lake Mälaren.

This pattern diverges from the distribution pattern of Viking Age west European imports in the region (fig. 8.13).73 Tating jugs and bowls, together with other wares from the Upper Rhine, as well as glass vessels from the ninth and tenth centuries are confined to the waterways adjacent to Birka and northward to Uppsala. The jugs with tin-foil crosses have been interpreted as early signs of Christianization, coming from Birka.74 Baltic-Finnic pottery, together with other artefacts, is distributed within a significantly wider network – indicating that Baltic-Finnic contacts were carried by several actors, not only by the elite of Birka. From a gender perspective, both female and male objects were in use, and in their variation indicate migrants from Finland Proper. If the contrasting continental and Finnish artefact groups represent a historical reality, Baltic-Finnic presence was an important part of social exchange in the region known as “Roden”. According to linguists, the Old Swedish word roðer means “rowing”, and forms the root of the toponym “Ruotsi” (Sweden), still current in the Finnish language.75 The well-organized oarsmen probably came from the land just op-posite Finland Proper.

By the mid-eleventh century close relations were at an end. The approxi-mately ten decades without contacts that followed are difficult to explain. Some interaction was maintained, but the very long, regular, and diverse cohabitation seems to have been interrupted from 1060 until restored around 1200. Hypothetically, this must have been related to that era’s changing social interaction and conscious choices, to which the discussion now will turn.

72 Selling 1955: 153ff.; Uino 1997: 175.73 Bäck 2007: 10f., fig. 2 and fig. 3.74 Selling 1955: 59.75 Ekbo 1981; Melnikova and Petrukhin 1991.

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Politics and Social Interaction between Baltic Finns and the Svear: An Interpretation

From the mid-eleventh century there are signs derived from other sources of decreasing contacts between the regions. Besides the proper Baltic- Finnic

Figure 8.12 Baltic-Finnic artefacts in the Mälaren area cluster in Birka and along the waterway to Uppsala, in the coastal landscape of Uppland, in the northern part of Uppland and in the western part of Lake Mälaren. Distribution map by the author based on Selling 1955, Callmer in progress and personal documentationRedrawn by Staffan Hyll


artefacts examined above, indirect references may be used to discuss the diminishing social relations with the Svear. Two interesting observations can be used: firstly, trade between the Svear and Novgorod increases; secondly, we find contrasting patterns in pottery consumption in Sweden and Finland.

Figure 8.13 West European pottery and glass vessels in the Mälaren area from the ninth and tenth centuries a.d. A network along the waterways between Birka and Uppsala is suggested. Distribution map by Bäck 2007, pp. 10f., figs. 2 and 3Redrawn by Staffan Hyll

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In the last quarter of the eleventh century, Sigtuna expanded qualitatively and quantitatively. Artisans became more visible in the urban topography and probably more visually present as individuals. Beginning in the last decades of the century, workshops were established towards the main street, Stora Gatan. Artisan activities in this zone were accentuated in the early twelfth century. Parallel to this change, an increase of merchants from Novgorod lands and the Holy Roman Empire is visible.76 Novgorod became the main trading partner after sharing a mutual political development since the Viking Age. These two coherent trends reflect an increasing flow of goods directed towards Kievan Rus’.

Choices in pottery consumption indicate directions of interest in economic exchange and politics. Birka transformed its connections at the late ninth and beginning of the tenth century, when an interest in eastern riches became prominent. This resulted, among other things, in increasing use of hand-made Ladoga ware and the arrival of wheel-turned pottery from north-western Rus’. Since the turned pottery was an innovation of the early part of the century in the core area, we can understand its simultaneous rapid appearance as the re-sult of a migrating population. After Birka’s decline, the interest in the east was emphasized, leading to more visitors in the successor Sigtuna, probably based on mutual-trade agreements reinforced by marriage networks. Wheel-turned vessels became a familiar element immediately from the establishment of the town around 980. Slavic style was accepted among local Scandinavian potters, who initiated a special urban cultural tradition, Baltic Ware. Late Slavic ce-ramics proper, as well as the closely derived hybrids made by Scandinavians, became a strong sign of ethnic cohabitation. In the last three decades of the eleventh century, imported Kievan Rus’ vessels became more abundant, indi-cating a stronger presence; these became even more prominent in the twelfth century. Migrating Slavic potters also worked in town, making vessels as they had done at home, but using local clays.

This example of cultural transmission and transformation is not visible in western Finland. Kievan Rus’ wares proper are not found in contexts older than the thirteenth century, and there are no signs of Finnic-Rus’ hybridization in the local tradition.77 In Karelia, on the other hand, a strong Slavic pottery tradi-tion prevailed from the beginning of the eleventh century.78 People from Sig-tuna and Novgorod seem to have sailed past the shores of Finland Proper and did not penetrate into the lakes of Tavastia. A lack of settlements and burials

76 Roslund 2007: 516; Roslund 2010.77 Carpelan 1980: 196; Edgren 1999; Haggrén 2005: 93ff.78 Enqvist 2004; Enqvist 2006.


in the Åland archipelago from around 1000 to the Middle Ages may confirm a population displacement, leading to broken social relationships.79 The Finnish population took an interest in other regions to the north and north-east, travel-ling deep into Sami territory.

What was the reason behind this late eleventh-century shift in Svear eco-nomic interest towards the inner part of the Gulf of Finland, Ladoga, and Novgorod? We shall now try to uncover the political, economic, and social reasons behind that shift to the east.

A double tendency can be seen from the early eleventh century. Kievan Rus’ ceased to be an intermediate region for Volga Bulgar trade with Scandinavia and established itself as the most prominent actor, with Novgorod and Rostov-Suzdal’ as regional nodes. Islamic silver decreased and was replaced by coins from Germany, thus acting as an incentive for merchants. Simultaneously, former Baltic-Finnic allies lost their influence over the Svear. Rather than es-tablishing social stability and dependency through gifts and intermarriages in Finland Proper and Satakunta, the Svear chose to bind themselves more firmly through oaths and family ties with the Rurikid princes of Novgorod. In doing so, they gained access to a vast area of riches in the city’s hinterland.

Baltic-Finnic groups from northern Kievan Rus’, among which we include Ves’ and Karelians, became increasingly interested in the vast regions between the Gulf of Finland and the Gulf of Bothnia in northern Fenno-Scandinavia. Among the artefacts acquired by the Sami we find items of Rus’, Karelian, Ves’, and other eastern origin.80 Influence from the creolized population of the Zavolochskaya Chud from Ladoga to Northern Dvina territory is clearly dis-played in the use of jewellery among the Sami. They seem to belong to a first wave of traders and trappers going north in the eleventh century. Makarov stresses that the “eastern” artefacts found in northern Fenno-Scandinavia cannot be assigned to any single ethnic group of actors in the fur trade.81 In the dynamic period of Novgorod and Rostov-Suzdal’ northward expansion, colonizers of Slavic and Finnish descent alike formed the material culture from various sources, thereby creating new local identities. What is certain is that the Vaga River basin became the main area where trade was maintained with the Sami. From the Zavolochie region, and probably also from Lakes Ladoga and Beloe, direct connections were strengthened with the Sami during the twelfth to thirteenth centuries.

79 Hiekkanen 2010: 316ff.; Talvio this volume.80 Zachrisson 1984; Makarov 1991; Spiridonov 1992; Wallerström 1995: 187ff.81 Makarov 1991: 73ff.

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Not all things were accepted by the Sami; however, even if the two groups did not share the same language, some beliefs coincided. For example, lunular earrings and animal pendants were incorporated in Sami social identities. The moon and birds of the lakes, travelling between worlds, may have been parts of a common worldview. Also of significance is the transfer of some artefacts into Sami materials and techniques (fig. 8.14).82 Crosses, earrings, and pendants were made of brass or bronze in the south, but the Sami used white pewter. The open antler moulds also gave another surface and style to the jewellery. The preferences show intimate interaction with the Sami through the eleventh to thirteenth centuries. Why and how these contacts were maintained must be understood in relation to fur trapping.

Karelian presence in northern Fenno-Scandinavia is indicated by finds from the twelfth century onwards. They may have thus come to the area somewhat later than groups from Zavolochie.83 The picture is vaguer here than that con-cerning contacts with the south-easterly Ladoga–Beloozero–Vaga complex, as

82 Zachrisson 1984: 85.83 Hansen 1996: 51f.

Figure 8.14 Jewellery found in Gråträsk, northern Sweden. To the left, bronze pendants and earrings preferred by Ves’ and Zavolochie Chud, to the right Sami reproductions in pewterZachrisson 1984, p. 85, fig. 49


Karelian material culture did not become distinctive until the late eleventh and twelfth centuries. Before this date, a mixture of western Finnish, Scandi-navian, and Rus’ objects was used.84 In written sources a permanent Karelian population in northern Fenno-Scandinavia is mentioned about 1170.85 In the following centuries they established themselves in the region between the Gulf of Bothnia and the White Sea.

A Synthetic Suggestion

Thus, the development in interregional exchange can be traced in the Baltic-Finnic social contacts with the Svear. Social connections through marriages and personal agreements opened up territories with forest resources during the Merovingian Period and the Viking Age. Before the mid-eleventh century, a longue durée of common interests is seen in female and male jewellery, as well as pottery, found in the northern part of the Mälaren region, with a chronologi-cal concentration in the tenth century. These artefacts seem to be remains of a connection to the coast in Finland Proper among the Finns. Two runestones also mention individuals from Tavastia living in Uppland during the eleventh century. Scandinavian finds on the other side of the Gulf of Finland point in the same direction.

The Svear and Baltic Finns in Finland Proper seem to have had less contact from the mid-eleventh century until c.1200, evident from the lack of a distinct Baltic-Finnic material culture in the Mälaren district. Instead, the focus was directed towards Kievan Rus’, where Novgorod and its vast hinterland drew increased attention from traders around the Baltic Sea. A common set of pen-annular brooches with rolled-up terminals emphasizes that material culture was used to simplify negotiations between individuals in Novgorod Rus’, and among the Baltic Finns and the Svear.86 In Sigtuna, imported household pot-tery, amphorae with wine and valuable objects indicate an increased influx of individuals from north-western Rus’. Scandinavian visitors enjoyed privileges in Novgorod, such as a church consecrated to St Olof in the town from the end of the eleventh century, used by varyagi and local residents alike.87

During the eleventh to thirteenth century, new actors emerged on the scene. Inhabitants from Zavolochie, presumably colonizers of Ves’ and Rus’ or-igin, moved along the waterways in the inner parts of Finland to the Bothnian

84 Spiridonov 1992: 560.85 Spiridonov 1992: 565.86 Pokrovskaya 2001.87 Lind this volume.

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Gulf and beyond, trading and taxing the dispersed population of other Baltic Finns and Sami. Beginning in the mid-eleventh century, this demographic shift coincides with decreasing contact with the Svear. Hypothetically, Baltic-Finnic actors were drawn towards this enhanced fur acquisition network, expanding into Ostrobothnia, Savonia, and further north. The Svear became less directly involved with the old partners and concentrated their trading on Novgorod itself.

When the Christian kings of the Svear once again turned their heads towards Finland, they did so as crusaders. According to the legend of Erik the Holy, a crusade was launched against Finland Proper in the 1150s; however, the legend was written in 1273 with the aim of consolidating the power of Erik’s succes-sors and relatives. An interesting find of a papal seal in Sigtuna shows that an emissary of Pope Alexander iii reached this important centre of the Svear with a bull in the 1170s.88 This seal may be the material remains of a letter, written by the same pope in September 1171 or 1172 to the Swedish archbishop and jarl, urging them to support the people of Finland Proper only if they submitted to the Svear.89

There is little evidence of any territorial claim established as a result of this conflict, so we must see Finland Proper and Tavastia rather as independent regions as late as c.1200. After this date, fighting over the territory increased the tension between Svear and Novgorodians. Their hostilities were exacer-bated in Tavastia, where both parties attempted to subdue the inhabitants to their respective rule. Novgorodians entered Tavastia many times, beginning in the twelfth century, coming through the Kymijoki River estuary from the coast – in 1227 with the explicit aim of baptizing the inhabitants.90 In 1238/39, Birger Magnusson fought the Tavastians and settled Svear in Uusimaa/Nyland, where a Baltic-Finnic population already lived. New bonds with the local pop-ulation were emerging, resulting in the participation of Finns and Tavastians against Alexander Nevskii in the Battle of the Neva in 1240. After the Peace of Nöteborg/Pähkinälinna/Oreshek/Schlüsselburg in 1323, an agreement was made confirming a border on the Karelian Isthmus and dividing the resources of the wilderness further north between Swedes and Novgorodians.91 Finns, Tavastians, and a part of the Karelian population became subjects of the Swedish realm. Whether by force or by mutual agreements, the new political

88 Schmid 1942: 81ff.89 Lind et al. 2004: 153.90 Taavitsainen 1990: 163.91 Lind 2000.


situation created possibilities for exchange. In accounts from fifteenth- and sixteenth-century Stockholm, Finland Proper stands out as the most impor-tant export region to the capital. Social relations on all levels in society once again confirmed the important link across the Baltic Sea.

On a theoretical level, changing social relations between the Svear and the neighbouring Baltic-Finnic population expose subtle negotiations at work. Dichotomies such as “core” and “periphery” can be tempting; however, if we accept that people were perceptive actors, employing analyses based on pack-ages of short temporal sequences and close studies of the artefacts actively chosen in social negotiations, we will gain a better understanding of the roles played by indigenous peoples as well as by outside actors entering their societies.

Acknowledgements

For the completion of this work, I am truly thankful for the knowledge con-tributed by my colleagues. Johan Callmer, Ingrid Gustin, and Torun Zachrisson have been indispensable discussion partners along the way. John Lind, Markus Hiekkanen, and Jussi-Pekka Taavitsainen commented on a first draft of the ar-ticle. Aki Pihlman shared his knowledge of ceramic consumption patterns in Finland, and Magnus Källström his expertise on runes and ethnonyms. Faults and misinterpretations of the sources are solely my own.

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chapter 9

Contacts, Identity, and Hybridity: Objects from South-western Finland in the Birka Graves

Ingrid Gustin

The Myth of an Untouched Sweden

In certain circles in Scandinavia there has long been an infatuation with the Viking Age. The period has been woven into the grand national narrative. Nine-teenth-century Nordic national romanticism, which idealized the Old Norse mentality and way of life, promoted the idea of the Viking Period as a Golden Age.1 Some of this romanticism survives today in certain strains of popular culture and among Swedish nationalist groups, where dreams of an “ur-nation” and an “ur-Swedish” identity are projected onto the Viking Age.2 The period therefore still plays a role in the current discourse of Swedish identity.3

The task of writing history from non-national perspectives has begun in Swedish archaeological research. Rather than focusing on Swedes, Danes, and Norwegians, recent works have focused on a number of local and regional groups.4 In my opinion, however, it is not enough merely to emphasize the existence of regional communities; to challenge the national historiography, it is important to consider the interaction that took place between groups and to examine the ways these contacts affected social and cultural identities.

The finds from Birka, the Viking Age trade and crafts centre in the Mälaren Valley, show that people in the town had a vast contact network that included western Europe, the West Slavic region, and eastern Europe.5 The Viking Age connections of the Mälaren Valley population and of Birka with the popula-tions of what are today Russia, Belarus, and Ukraine have long been central to Swedish archaeological research;6 however, Swedish archaeologists have sur-prisingly seldom discussed the Viking Age connections between the Mälaren

1 Arvidsson 2001; Clunies Ross and Lönnroth 2001; Hagerman 2006.2 Gardell 2001: 158.3 Wallette 2004: 16.4 E.g. Burström 1991; Svanberg 1999; Artelius 2000; Svanberg 2003.5 E.g. Gustin 2004: 194–95.6 E.g. Arne 1911; Arne 1914; Arbman 1955; Jansson 1987; Jansson 1997; Callmer 2000a; Callmer

2000b; Hedenstierna-Jonson 2006.

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area and south-western Finland. Archaeologists in Finland, on the other hand, have often pointed out the close links between these areas.7

Interaction between the Mälaren area and south-western Finland can be traced far back in time. This study therefore will not only present and discuss the Birka grave finds of Finnish mainland provenance, but also present an overview of the contacts between the two areas from the Neolithic to the early medieval period, in order to provide a background and a long-term perspective.

Contacts over Water

Although water can separate regions, it can also serve as a link between geo-graphically distant places. Lakes, seas, and rivers were for a long time the most important transport routes for people and things. It is therefore hardly surpris-ing that there have been close contacts, going very far back in time, between regions located both in today’s Sweden and Finland and further south. In this chapter the main emphasis will be on the long-distance contacts that existed between south-western Finland and the Mälaren Valley.

The Neolithic

The earliest archaeological evidence for contacts between these areas goes back to the Early Neolithic. In eastern central Sweden the pottery from the Funnel Beaker Culture shows influences from the Combed Ware Culture that occurred on the Åland islands and mainland Finland.8 In addition, asbestos pottery from eastern Finland, dated to the transition from the early to the mid-dle Neolithic, has been found at the Västra Mårtsbo settlement site, near Gävle on the Swedish mainland.9 From the middle Neolithic period there are fur-ther traces of contacts. Pitted Ware from central Sweden has been excavated at some settlement sites on Åland and the western coast of Finland.10 In the mid-dle Neolithic the Corded Ware Culture was also found over much of central Eu-rope, Scandinavia, and the Baltic region, and in the southern and western parts

7 Kivikoski 1938a; Lehtosalo-Hilander 1982b; Lehtosalo-Hilander 1983: 289f.; Edgren 1992: 249; Uino 1997: 175; Edgren 2008.

8 Larsson 2009: 407.9 Hallgren 2008: 265–67.10 Meinander 1939; Meinander 1957; Laulumaa 2002.

207Contacts, Identity, and Hybridity

of today’s Finland.11 The Battle Axe Culture, also called the Boat Axe Culture, is a regional variant of the Corded Ware Culture. The battle axes that have been found in Sweden, Finland, and Denmark show that eastern central Sweden had more exchange with groups on the Finnish mainland than with groups in regions now belonging to Denmark. The reverse was true for areas located in the southern and western parts of today’s Sweden.12 Early Battle Axe ceramics found in Sweden also display signs of having been made by potters who had acquired their knowledge from the Corded Ware Culture of the south-western parts of Finland. The influences from Finland are particularly clear in the east-ern parts of central Sweden, and it is possible that individuals from the other side of the Baltic Sea emigrated there.13

In the late Neolithic the Corded Ware culture gave way to the Kiukais cul-ture on Åland and in the south-western parts of Finland. The Kiukais culture is believed to build in part on influences from the Baltic and Scandinavian areas. Both shaft-hole axes from these areas and Scandinavian flint daggers and sick-les have been found in Finland. The Scandinavian flint objects mainly occur along the southern and western coasts of Finland.14

The Bronze Age and the Early Iron Age

Cairns of more or less the same type appear in the coastal regions of Sweden and Finland during the second millennium b.c. It has been considered dif-ficult to single out a particular core area as an origin from which the cairns spread – the tradition in equal likelihood might have originated either from the Finnish mainland or from central Sweden.15 Nonetheless, the presence of cairns indicates that there was a close cultural community between the central and northern shores on both sides of the Baltic Sea during the Bronze Age.

During the late Bronze Age we also find the artefacts known as “Mälaren axes”. Russian archaeologists refer to these as bronze axes of Akozino- Mälaren type. These axes were used from around 800 to 600 b.c. Apart from the Mälar-en Valley – where a large number of these axes have been found, giving rise to the initial assumption that this area was the centre of distribution – the axes are found elsewhere in Scandinavia, Åland, Finland, the Baltic region, and

11 E.g. Edgren 1992: 86ff.; Larsson 2009: 59ff.12 Lindström 2003: 148.13 Larsson 2009: 257–61, 409f.14 Carpelan 1992: 112–15; Edgren 1992: 107–15.15 Bolin 1999: 182.

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Russia, and especially along the middle Volga between the mouths of the Oka and the Kama. The finding of a large number of axes in the Volga region has led to doubts that the Mälaren Valley was the central area. Russian archaeolo-gists have been able to demonstrate great typological variation, showing that the Mälaren axes correspond to one of the main types in Russia.16 Also signifi-cant in this context is the fact that bronze axes of Akozino-Mälaren type are unknown as grave finds in Scandinavia.17 In Russian as well as recent Swedish research, scholars have thus pointed out that the influences must have issued from the east to Scandinavia and the Mälaren Valley in the west, rather than from west to east.

There are further signs of lively contacts from east to west over the Sea of Åland and the northern Baltic. In Södermanland and Uppland, pottery from settlement sites and cemeteries dated to the late Bronze Age or the start of the Iron Age corresponds very well to the pottery typical of sites in today’s western Finland and Estonia.18 This is very clear at Darsgärde, Uppland.19 The pottery from this location has been interpreted by some archaeologists as a reflection of migration from the other side of the Baltic Sea or the Gulf of Bothnia.20 Another example of people in the northern Baltic region cross-ing the water and bringing new customs is the tarand graves, a type of grave consisting of rectangular stone frames or cells built in a row. Tarand graves occur especially in northern Latvia, Estonia, and south-western Finland. How-ever, a smaller number of grave complexes of this type have also been found in eastern Södermanland and in Uppland. It is not entirely certain when tarand graves were first made, but there is a great deal to suggest that this type of grave was found on both sides of the Baltic from the late Bronze Age or else the pre-Roman Iron Age up to the Roman Iron Age.21

The pottery and the graves mentioned above show contacts that went in an east–west direction; however, there are finds from the pre-Roman Iron Age indicating that materials and influences went in the other direction as well. In Finland there are a dozen examples of long narrow palstaves, which are thought to derive from palstaves of Mälaren type.22

16 Kuz’minych 1996: 20; Bolin 1999; Bolin 2004.17 Meinander 1985.18 Jaanusson 1981: 123.19 Ambrosiani 1959.20 Jaanusson 1981: 123; Jaanusson 1993: 12.21 Feldt 2002.22 Edgren 1992: 158.


The Late Iron Age

Åland occupies a central position when it comes to contacts between the Mälaren valley and south-western Finland. Beginning in the sixth century, buri-al mounds were built here, forming large cemeteries. This type of cemetery has no counterpart in mainland Finland; the influences are believed to have come from the Mälaren Valley, and it is likely that there was major immigration from central Sweden to Åland in the sixth century. Artefacts from later centuries attest to contacts primarily with Scandinavia, but also with mainland Finland and the Baltic region.23 The clay-paw graves that occur on Åland from the sev-enth century onwards indicate that the islanders also had long-distance east-ern contacts. The clay paws resemble beaver paws most closely, but there are also similarities to bear paws; however, neither animal was common on Åland, and it is likely that these economically important animals were found on the Finnish and Estonian mainland or further east. The close contacts between the population of Åland and the Finnish mainland are evident from the pottery on the islands. There also seem to have been contacts between Åland and the Volga-Oka region in Russia.24

In the Viking Age it seems that not only Åland but also Vakka-Suomi, that is, the northern part of Finland Proper, had closer contacts with central Sweden than other settlement areas in south-western Finland. Vakka-Suomi’s western connections are assumed to be based on the region’s geographical location and the fact that the region functioned as a link between the Baltic region and the prosperous agricultural districts of Eura, Köyliö, and Kokemäki (fig. 9.1). Vakka Suomi was a wealthy district during the late Iron Age. According to Ella Kivikoski, furs and the fur trade were the general basis for the prosperity of western Finland, and the prosperity of Vakka Suomi could be due to the export trade of fur from the hinterland as well as shipping, fishing, and seal hunting. Furthermore, Kivikoski suggests that groups in Vakka Suomi were involved in the extraction of furs from the Sami people.25

The prosperity of Vakka-Suomi during the Viking Age in part has also been explained by the fact that the inhabitants were already producing and export-ing moulded splint vessels, the wooden containers known in Finnish as vakka (Swedish svepask), a profitable export product during much later centuries.26

23 Edgren 1992: 199ff.; Edgren 2008.24 Callmer 1988; Callmer 1990.25 Kivikoski 1964: 215–17.26 Lehtosalo-Hilander 1982c: 75; Lehtosalo-Hilander 1983: 297; Edgren 1992: 249; Edgren

2008: 481.

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The Viking Age artefacts originating in central Sweden and found in Finland have been analysed by Ella Kivikoski.27 The objects she noted consist of some oval brooches, equal-armed fibulae with face masks, amulet pendants, and possibly a needle box and some silver pendants. Line-decorated equal-armed fibulae of Ljønes type may likewise have come from central Sweden, where they are numerous. Kivikoski also suggests that solid arm rings with interlace ornament may have originated in central Sweden. Objects from central Swe-den have above all been found in south-western Finland, but examples also

27 Kivikoski 1938a.

Figure 9.1 Map of south-western Finland showing the regions and settlements mentioned in the text (based on Lehtosalo-Hilander 1982c: 75 fig. 19)


occur in the eastern and north-eastern parts of Finland.28 It should be added that some of the Viking Age Scandinavian artefacts found in Ladoga-Karelia and in eastern Finland were probably mediated through encounters between Scandinavians and the population of the Karelian isthmus in the area around Lake Ladoga and via the trading site of Staraya Ladoga.29

More recently there has been a study of the Scandinavian female ornaments found in Finland.30 This showed that the material chiefly consists of equal-armed brooches from the ninth and tenth centuries, and that some of them are of types that commonly occur in eastern Sweden.31 The Scandinavian female ornaments have been found primarily in Finland Proper and Satakunta; that is, in the south-west.32 It should also be noted that local forms of equal-armed brooches were produced in Vakka-Suomi. These were based on the brooches imported from Scandinavia and they had a vast distribution in the populated areas of the Finnish mainland.33

Sailing Routes

The distribution of similar artefacts in the Mälaren area and in south-western Finland shows that there were periods of well-developed interaction between population groups in the two areas. From historical times, moreover, we find water routes mentioned in written sources, linking regions on either side of the Baltic Sea; examples include King Valdemar’s sailing route, which is described in medieval written sources. It is likely, however, that these sources describe a sailing route probably used as early as the Bronze Age.34 King Valdemar’s route, also known as the West Way, ran from Utlängan in Blekinge, along the east coast of Sweden, via Åland and further along the south-western coast of Finland to Tallinn in present-day Estonia (fig. 9.2). Along the south-western Finnish part of the route, locations for seven harbours and possible trading stations have been identified, including Kyrksundet in Hitis. Finds from Kyrk-sundet show that the site was used as early as the Viking Age. The stations along the route do not appear to have been continuously inhabited, however.

28 Ibid.29 Uino 1997: 113f., 179ff.; Uino personal communication.30 Jansson 1990.31 Cf. Kivikoski 1938b.32 Jansson 1990: 23.33 Edgren 1992: 242.34 Flink 1995; Markus 2004: 103–07.

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It seems as if products from the inland forests were brought to these places where goods were exchanged. Artefacts excavated in Kyrksundet include pen-annular brooches from Gotland, a bracelet with counterparts in central Swe-den, and key shafts with counterparts in Birka and Gotland. Other artefacts found there have parallels in south-western Finland or in parts of Scandinavia other than those already mentioned.35

Another significant water route mentioned in written sources is known as the Eastern Route. Regarding this route, Adam of Bremen says that it possible to travel from Birka to Rus’ in five days. The Eastern Route ran along the Gulf of Finland to the mouth of the Neva and subsequently, via the Volkhov, to places such as Staraya Ladoga and Gorodishche.36

35 Markus 2004: 104f.; Edgren 2005.36 Markus 2004: 104.

Figure 9.2 King Valdemar’s sailing route (based on Breide 1995: 17). Between Bråviken and Arholma on the Swedish side there were numerous places connected to the route, which probably followed an inner as well as an outer itinerary


East–west contacts over the Baltic Sea continued to be lively in later centuries as well. According to the controversial “Florence List”, an ecclesias-tical document, Finland (Findia) and Estonia (Hestia) were regions subject to the kingdom of the Svear. The list is usually dated to around 1100–1120.37 Through time the region of Finland38 became a part of the growing Swedish realm, in the same way as Svealand, Götaland, and Norrland. This eastern part of the kingdom was not lost until 1809.

Objects from Finland in the Birka Graves

QuestionsAs mentioned, the Viking Age contacts between the Mälaren Valley and Fin-land have been rarely considered in Swedish research.39 The Viking Age site in the Mälaren Valley that undoubtedly displays the largest amount of imported objects is Birka. The existence of artefacts from south-western Finland in the graves at Birka was confirmed by Ella Kivikoski in the 1930s.40 Based on these objects, two main issues will be discussed in this chapter. The first concerns what can be deduced from these artefacts and their contexts about the con-tacts between Birka and south-western Finland. The second deals with the so-cial identity of the individuals who were buried with these items. To answer these questions, the number of objects from south-western Finland per grave first will be measured. Then, the chronology and distribution of the graves in

37 Markus 2004: 111.38 Use of the terms “Finland” and “Finnish” are not without problems regarding early peri-

ods, as the meanings of the terms have varied. Originally, “Finland” primarily designated the later historical province Finland Proper. The other provinces east of the Gulf of Both-nia were called “partes orientales” (Swedish “Österlanden”) (Engman 1991; Edgren 2008). It was not until the late Middle Ages that the term “Finland” was extended from Finland Proper to encompass the eastern areas as well (Wallerström 2004; Tarkiainen 2008: 286).

39 When the terms “Finland” and “Finnish” are used in this text regarding late prehistoric con-ditions, they designate the areas of ancient settlement in Finland Proper (Varsinais-Suomi), Satakunta, and Häme (Tavastland) (Edgren 2008: 470). These settlements were mainly located along the seacoast and inland waterways (Lehtosalo-Hilander 1992: 62). In the Vi-king Age new settlements were established, with expansion to the east (Taavitsainen 1990; Edgren 2008: 471). The region north of these territories was “Lappmarken”. Here the Sami found their livelihood, and people from the settlements travelled there for hunting, fishing, and extracting tributes from the Sami population (Taavitsainen 1990: 50 and literature cited there). As regards ancient tribes it is usually claimed that late prehistoric Finland consisted of three: the Finns, the tribe of Häme, and the Karelians (Taavitsainen 1990: 155ff.).

40 Kivikoski 1938a.

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the cemeteries of Birka will be mapped, and the sex/gender and social status of the buried individuals will be analysed. Finally, there will be a discussion of grave types and find combinations for some of the graves with objects from mainland Finland.

Costume Details, Pottery, and IdentityThe objects of Finnish origin that will be studied consist of costume details and pottery. These two groups of objects are especially interesting as they are thought to be able to express identity and as such often have occurred in discussions concerning cultural patterns. The relationship between material culture and cultural identity is, however, complex, and the positions taken within archaeology have varied.41 The influential contextual archaeology of the 1980s emphasized that material culture can be used to communicate mes-sages between individuals and groups. Material culture is viewed as signs or symbols that can be deciphered and interpreted in terms of social and cultural relations. The messages that material culture is supposed to carry, through its design, concern primarily group affiliation, gender, and social status.42 Like-wise, a special importance has been maintained for studying patterns of same-ness and difference in the style and decoration of manufactured objects in order to discern how people used material culture to structure and to commu-nicate their identities. One frequently studied field where negotiations of dif-ference and sameness take place and are expressed is dress and appearance.43 One very obvious example of how material objects communicate sameness is uniforms – garments of standardized appearance that are socially acknowl-edged to represent certain positions and groups. If you wear a specific uniform you also express that you have become part of the group represented by the uniform. Wearing the uniform can in other words be said to visually commu-nicate group membership to those who are knowledgeable and in possession of the code.44 On the other hand, it has also been claimed that the meanings of dress alone are vague and ambiguous, and that great importance must be ascribed to the historical, social, and cultural context.45

Everyday practices and habitual aspects of behaviour are also important for the creation of identities.46 Therefore objects in the immediate environment

41 See e.g. overview in Jones 1997: 106–27.42 Hodder 1982; Hodder 1986.43 Emberling 1997: 310f.; Wells 1998; Sørensen 2000: 127ff.; Lucy 2005: 96f.44 Sørensen 2000: 124.45 Pohl 1998: 20; Entwistle 2000: 58, 66f.; Naum 2008: 151ff.46 E.g. Lucy 2005: 97.


and the household are thought to have been significant instruments with which people could maintain and negotiate their identity and group affiliation.47 In Swedish archaeology, Mats Roslund and Magdelena Naum have pointed out how Baltic pottery may have functioned in this way.48 Mats Roslund has ar-gued that pottery produced at the household level was closely connected to the maker’s habitus.49 Magdalena Naum has elaborated on this. She believes that daily practices such as using and making a particular type of pottery helped in the shaping and reshaping of cultural identity. Pottery-making and household pots may thus have had an identity-creating meaning for both the maker and the user.50

Premises for Studying Costume DetailsThe basis for the study of costume details is an article by Ella Kivikoski, in which she presents the artefacts in the Birka graves considered to have prov-enance from Finland or to show strong influences from this area.51 These identifications have been checked against the analyses of the objects in Birka: Systematische Analysen der Gräberfunde.52 A study of the costume details in Birka’s graves which come from south-western Finland or show strong influ-ences from there entails certain problems in the critical assessment of the evi-dence. For some groups of artefacts the provenance is not entirely certain, and scholars’ opinions can differ on where the objects were made. I have chosen to include objects whose physical origin is disputed in cases where it is likely that the objects nevertheless arrived in Birka via mainland Finland. In these cases I clearly state that opinions differ regarding their origin. In cases where a costume detail had its core area not just in Finland but also within a much wider geographical area, I have chosen not to include that group of artefacts in this study. To mention one example, male as well as female costume was often decorated with bronze spirals in south-western Finland; this phenomenon is not unique to this region, as bronze spirals occur in all the areas inhabited by Finno- Ugrian tribes, and also in what is now Latvia.53 The distribution of these ornaments means that the contacts that this custom can be envisaged to represent are too widespread for this study. Other groups of artefacts that fall

47 For various examples see Emberling 1997: 310f.48 Roslund 2001; Roslund 2007; Naum 2008: 86.49 Roslund 2001: 86.50 Naum 2008: 141.51 Kivikoski 1938a.52 Birka: Untersuchungen und Studien. ii:1; ii:2; ii:3.53 Lehtosalo-Hilander 1992: 67.

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outside the study for various reasons are finger rings, arm rings, and penannu-lar brooches with rolled terminals.54

The Costume DetailsThe study of the costume details in the Birka graves identified altogether thir-teen objects originating from or showing heavy influences from Finland. The graves and artefacts resulting from the survey are shown in Table 9.1.

As Table 9.1 shows, the most frequently occurring costume detail display-ing Finnish provenance or influence is the penannular brooch with faceted and pegged knobs on the terminals (fig. 9.3).55 A major reason why this type of penannular brooch is believed to come from south-western Finland is the small pegs on the faceted terminals. Pegs also occur on other groups of objects,

54 A characteristic feature of the dress worn both on the Finnish mainland and in the neigh-bouring area to the south was the use of spiral arm rings and multiple finger rings (Ģinters 1981: 42f.; Lehtosalo-Hilander 1992: 67). In the Birka graves, by contrast, finger and arm rings are very uncommon (Aiken and Arwidsson 1986: 73ff.). In only one case, in chamber grave Bj 968, were there two finger rings in the same grave. Judging by the find location, one of the rings probably functioned as a pendant in a necklace. The number of finger rings in this grave therefore hardly can be assumed to manifest clear influences from ar-eas on the other side of the Baltic, even if the singly-occurring finger rings in Bj 531 and 557 could come from the Baltic region (Ģinters 1981: 43). Regarding arm rings in Birka of possible Finnish provenance, the bronze arm rings that were found in graves Bj 675 and 1081 have been the subject of discussion (Aiken and Arwidsson 1986: 74). Kivikoski, who has also studied these arm rings, argues that the type should be considered Scandina-vian even though most arm rings of this type have been found in Finland (Kivikoski 1973: 101f.). Since there is great doubt about the provenance of the arm rings in Bj 675 and 1081, these are not included in this study. The same applies to what Kivikoski calls “penannular brooches with rolled terminals”, like those in Bj 954 and 1098 – a type that was common in a large geographical area during the Viking Age, comprising today’s Finland, the Baltic region, and parts of Rus’ (Ģinters 1984; Pokrovskaja 2001). The type is also common on Gotland and in the graves of Birka. A limited number have been retrieved in the Mälaren region as well as in other parts of Sweden (Thålin 1984).

55 Cf. Kivikoski 1938a. The type of penannular brooch with faceted pegged terminal knobs occurs above all in south-western Finland and Tavastland, with a heavy concentration in Vakka-Suomi, the northern part of Finland Proper. Examples of this type of penannular brooch have also been found in both Karelia and Österbotten. The northernmost example comes from Simo, south of Torneå. Over a hundred examples of this type of penannular brooch have been found in Finland. Pegged faceted penannular brooches, however, are not an exclusively Finnish phenomenon. They are also found in other regions, for exam-ple in the Mälaren Valley as well as Norway and the Ladoga area among others (Kivikoski 1938a: 244; Salmo 1956; Kivikoski 1973: 96; Lehtosalo-Hilander 1982b: 102ff.; Ģinters 1984: 28; Lehtosalo-Hilander 1991: 66–70; Edgren 1992: 242; Gustin 2015).


such as round brooches and equal-armed fibulae, also with their main distri-bution in Finland.56 Further detailed studies of these penannular brooches are needed to determine where they were manufactured.

Penannular brooches with faceted and pegged knobs on the terminals occurred in a total of eight graves at Birka.57 The place of manufacture for penannular brooches of this type found in Sweden is a matter of discussion. Helmer Salmo suggested that the faceted and pegged penannular brooches in Birka graves Bj 478, 480, and 1053B were made on mainland Finland. He believed, however, that the ornamentation on other penannular brooches in the Birka graves differs from the decoration on brooches found in Finland.58 Kivikoski claimed that at least some of the penannular brooches with faceted and pegged knobs on the terminals found in Sweden came directly from the Finnish mainland.59 Valdemārs Ģinters, who analysed the Birka material most recently, expressed a differing opinion. According to Ģinters, it is likely that

56 E.g. Kivikoski 1938a: 244; Edgren 1992: 242.57 Cf. Thålin 1984: 15ff.58 Salmo 1956: 38–39; Ģinters 1984: 28.59 Kivikoski 1938a: 244; Kivikoski 1951.

Table 9.1 Graves at Birka containing costume details from Finland or showing strong influences from there

Grave number Artefacts from Finland or showing influences from there

Bj 58A penannular brooch with faceted and pegged knobsBj 104 round broochBj 197 penannular brooch with faceted and pegged knobsBj 478 penannular brooch with faceted and pegged knobsBj 480 penannular brooch with faceted and pegged knobsBj 644 fire-steel with bronze grip in the form of an animal headBj 759 bird-shaped object, perhaps a pendantBj 776 fire-steel with bronze handle in the form of a mounted

figureBj 954 penannular brooch with faceted and pegged knobsBj 1053B penannular brooch with faceted and pegged knobsBj 1074 penannular brooch with faceted and pegged knobsBj 1162 comb-shaped bronze pendantSeton grave vi penannular brooch with faceted and pegged knobs

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all the faceted and pegged penannular brooches found in Birka were brought from Finland.60 Further detailed studies of these brooches are probaly needed to determine where they were manufactured.

Two Birka graves contained fire-steels which can be assumed to have originated from or come via Finland.

Fire-steels with a bronze handle are a group of artefacts that occur in sev-eral variants, one of which often is considered to have been manufactured in the south-western parts of Finland: fire-steels with bronze handles in the form of mounted figures.61 In Birka there is a fire-steel with horsemen in Bj 776 (fig. 9.4). These fire-steels have been found over a vast area, from Norway in the west to the Urals in the east.62 It has been argued that, although the motif is definitely of eastern origin, it was adopted in the south-western parts of Finland, where the fire-steels were produced.63 There have been scholars, however, who have doubted whether these fire-steels really were made on the Finnish mainland.64 Interestingly enough, recently published findings of this type of fire-steel from Russia show that they are more frequent in northern Russia than previously assumed.65 It is therefore possible that the question of where these fire-steels were manufactured will be revisited.

There is yet another variant of fire-steel with a bronze grip, this one in the form of an animal head. One such fire-steel has been found in Bj 644 (fig. 9.5).

60 Ģinters 1984: 28ff.61 Kivikoski 1938a: 244; Lehtosalo-Hilander 1982b: 74; Lehtosalo-Hilander 1991: 61–65.62 According to Pirko-Liisa Lehtosalo-Hilander and Torsten Edgren, 19 fire-steels with

mounted figures have been found in Finland. Outside the borders of Finland there are a few finds from Hedeby, Sweden, Norway, Latvia, and Lithuania. The finds from Russia are more numerous (Lehtosalo-Hilander 1982b: 74; Lehtosalo-Hilander 1991: 74, fig. 21; Edgren 1992: 243).

63 Kivikoski 1938a: 244–45; Kåks 1969; Edgren 1992: 243.64 Cleve 1930.65 A recently published study states that there are as many as eighteen fire-steels of this type

in northern Russia alone (Krylasova and Podosenova 2008: 86–87).

Figure 9.3Penannular brooches with faceted and pegged knobs on the terminals from grave Bj 1053Bphoto Eva Vedin, shmm


Examples of this variant have been found from Russia in the east to Scandina-via in the west. In the 1980s, when this fire-steel was discussed in Birka ii:1, a small subgroup was discerned that was homogeneous as regards manufacture and appearance. This group was considered to have a more limited distribu-tion, with five known examples in all. Besides Birka they were only known from Finland and the Ladoga area. The extremely limited number of known examples in the 1980s made discussions about the area of manufacture dif-ficult; the stylistic influences, however, were considered to point to Finland.66 Since the 1980s the distribution map for fire-steels of this variant has changed. According to Russian archaeologists, there are no fewer than thirty known finds of fire steel with a bronze grip in the form an animal head from the Perm region.67 Of these, six can be considered to be close parallels to the fire-steel from Bj 644. Discussions concerning where this subgroup was manufactured are therefore likely to continue.

One of the more characteristic ornaments used on women’s dress in Fin-land during the Viking Age was the round brooch. In the graves at Birka only one round brooch has been found, in Bj 104.68 Displaying a serpent motif, the brooch was cast in bronze and has a number of holes, at least some of which were drilled. There are also four knobs in the middle of the brooch (fig. 9.6).

A more unusual ornament of probable Finnish provenance is the bird-shaped object (fig. 9.7), probably a pendant, excavated from Bj 759.69 Almost identical examples have been found in the Vanhakartano cemetery in Köyliö, Finland. Similar ornaments have also been found in the Ladoga area.70

66 Hårdh 1984a: 157.67 Krylasova and Podosenova 2008: 84–85.68 Kivikoski 1938a: 245; Arwidsson 1989a.69 Kivikoski 1938a: 245; Arwidsson 1989b: 60.70 Kyhlberg 1973: 187; Arwidsson 1989b: 60.

Figure 9.4Fire-steel with bronze handle in the form of mounted figures from Bj 776photo Christer Åhlin, shmm

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Figure 9.5Fire-steel from Bj 644photo Ny Björn Gustafsson, shmm

Figure 9.6Round brooch from Bj 104 (after Arbman 1940 Tafel 84:5)

Figure 9.7Bird-shaped object from Bj 759 (after Arbman 1940, Tafel 100:1)


Finally, Kivikoski mentions a metal comb from Bj 998 which is thought to be of possible Finnish provenance. However, the comb is not listed under this grave in Birka: Die Gräber. On the other hand, there is a comb-shaped bronze pendant in Bj 1162 (fig. 9.8), which probably came from Finland.71

PotteryPottery that either was made in the north-eastern Baltic area or shows heavy influences from that area has been designated by Dagmar Selling as type A iii in her dissertation “Wikingerzeitliche und frühmittelalterliche Keramik in Schweden”.72 According to her, this pottery occupies a special position during the Viking Age by virtue of its very high quality, as manifested, for instance, in the thin, often dark smoothed fabric (fig. 9.9).

A iii pottery occurs chiefly in areas from Finland in the north to Estonia in the south. The type has therefore been called Fenno-Baltic or Baltic Finn-ish in recent works.73 Besides finds on both sides of the Gulf of Finland, Bal-tic Finnish ware is also found further to the east, as in the earliest layers in Ryurikovo Gorodishche, the predecessor of Novgorod, and east of Lake Peipus.74 Apart from these areas, Baltic Finnish ware has been found on Åland and in the Mälaren Valley.75 It also occurs in the Black Earth at Birka – that is, in the town layers. Roughly 5 per cent of all the pottery retrieved by the 1990–1995 excavations was of this type.76

71 Callmer, personal communication.72 Selling 1955.73 Ambrosiani and Bäck 2007 and Roslund this volume respectively.74 Brorsson and Håkansson 2001: 51–52; Hvoshchinskaja 2004; Uino 2006: 367.75 Bäck 1995; Roslund this volume.76 Ambrosiani and Bäck 2007.

Figure 9.8Comb-shaped bronze pendant from Bj 1162 (after Arbman 1940, Tafel 100:2)

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Selling noted a total of 36 finds of pottery of the type she called A iii in the graves at Birka, from 34 graves.77 In most cases there was only one vessel of this type per grave. However, Bj 104, a double grave, contained three Baltic Finnish vessels along with a round brooch. Apart from Bj 104 there is one grave, Bj 714, where two fragments of Baltic Finnish ware were discovered.78 Since Selling could not identify the fragments in detail, they are reckoned here as belong-ing to the same vessel. The Baltic Finnish ware accounts for 6 per cent of all the pottery from graves. Selling also noted that Björkö is the place showing the largest number of finds of this type of ware in Sweden.79

Is it possible to identify the provenance of the Baltic Finnish ware in Birka? In the 1980s Birgitta Hulthén analysed one vessel from Birka (Bj 731), two from Södermanland, one from Uppland, and three from Finland regarding clay and temper, in order to obtain information about where the vessels were manufac-tured. Hulthén’s analyses showed that the vessel from Uppland came from the Finnish mainland, while those from Södermanland and Birka were produced locally. The latter examples corresponded to a varying degree to the Baltic

77 Bj 9, 45A/B, 51, 94A/B, 98B, 104, 155, 201, 226, 326, 329, 348, 352, 370, 415, 418, 428, 437, 458, 531, 679, 682, 714, 731, 811, 834, 845, 855, 860, 901, 912, 971, 1042, and 1095. According to the database of the Historical Museum in Stockholm, it has been possible to divide Bj 45, 94, and 98 into subgroups. I have added this information here.

78 Selling 1955: 218, 231–35, table 1.79 Selling 1955: 140–44, 153–55, 218, 229.

Figure 9.9 Pottery of Baltic Finnish type from Birka, Bj 731photo Christer Åhlin, shmm


Finnish tradition with respect to style; the vessel from Birka, however, showed a very high correspondence.80 Further analyses of the vessels in Birka and the Mälaren region are needed in order to establish whether these results are cor-rect. Based on the results now at hand, the vessel from Birka indicates that the manufacturer was trained in the Baltic Finnish tradition of pottery-making. It is thus plausible that the manufacturer in this case gained the knowledge from living in the Baltic Finnish region before resettling in the Mälaren Valley.

The analyses made thus far of the vessels indicate close influences and con-tacts between Birka and south-western Finland. What about the region south of Gulf of Finland? Studies of Viking Age ornaments from Estonia suggest that such finds are rare on the Swedish mainland.81 In addition, there are no costume details of Estonian provenance in the graves of Birka, such as certain character-istic types of large dress pins of bronze. Nor have the twisted bronze neck rings and spiral arm rings, so common in the Baltic lands, been found in the graves of Birka.82 Since Viking Age jewellery from the Estonian area is rare on the Swedish mainland, and almost totally lacking in Birka graves, it may be assumed that the Baltic Finnish ware in Birka primarily indicates contacts with south-western Finland.

To sum up, the studies of costume details and pottery showed that of the ap-proximately 1,100 graves hitherto excavated on Björkö, a total of 46 contained material culture originating from or displaying heavy influences from Finland. This means that roughly 4 per cent of the Birka graves held artefacts that are related to that area.

Costume details formed just a small group. A total of 13 items were retrieved in the Birka graves. The most common object among the costume details was the penannular brooch with faceted and pegged knobs on the terminals. Baltic Finnish ware constituted by far the largest group of objects. There are finds from a total of 34 graves. In all cases but one, there seems to have been only one Baltic Finnish vessel in each grave. When it comes to costume details originating from or showing heavy influences from Finland there was only one item per grave.

A Detailed Study of the Birka Graves

IntroductionThe fact that so many graves in Birka contain only one object from Finland is interesting in several respects. For example, the scarce costume details suggest

80 Hulthén 1984.81 Ligi 1993.82 Ģinters 1981: 36f.

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that the buried individuals did not wear those garments of which traces have been found in Viking Age cemeteries in Finland. So who were the people bur-ied with objects from the Finnish mainland? Was their number constant over time? Did they constitute an enclave in Birka, or were they integrated with the rest of the community? Is it possible to discern what kind of contacts these people had with foreign regions?

In this section a number of variables of graves containing objects from Fin-land will be studied, including the chronology and distribution of the graves, the type of grave, and the social status and gender of the buried person.

The Chronology of Graves with Baltic Finnish WareSelling believed that the A iii pottery in the Birka graves ranged from the second half of the ninth century to the middle of the tenth century.83 But does this agree with the dating of the other artefacts found in the graves with Baltic Finnish ware?

In this study datings have been compiled for the combs, oval brooches, round brooches, sets of beads, and pendants found in graves with Baltic Finn-ish ware. The compilation is based on the datings presented in the series “Birka: Systematische Analysen der Gräberfunde”.84 For the sets of beads the datings were established in the dissertation “Trade Beads and Bead Trade in Scandinavia ca. 800–1000 a.d.” as well as the article “Beads and bead produc-tion in Scandinavia and the Baltic region c. ad 600–1100”.85 The datings of the different artefacts are shown in Table 9.2.

Datable objects of the above-mentioned types were found in 15 of the 34 graves with Baltic Finnish ware. In cases where several datable artefacts occurred in the same grave, the dates agreed in all except one. This means that even datings of graves with only one datable object can be regarded as satisfactory in most cases. The dating was performed by scholars who, as the table shows, use different terms to designate the periods in Birka.

The graves in Table 9.2 can be roughly divided into three periods: early Birka, middle Birka/transition early–late Birka, and late Birka. Early Birka broadly corresponds to the time from the foundation of the town to the end of the ninth century.86 Middle Birka or transition early–late Birka has been used in some of the studied articles. This period corresponds to the last decades of the ninth and the first decades of the tenth century. Late Birka runs from the

83 Selling 1955: 221–22, 227.84 K. Ambrosiani 1984; Jansson 1984a; Jansson 1984b; Jansson 1984c; Callmer 1989.85 Callmer 1977; Callmer 1997.86 Jansson 1985: 181–82.


Table 9.2 Datings of graves containing Baltic Finnish ware. The period designations come from the scholars who dated the objects

Grave no. Object Dating Reference

45 Comb A2 Early Birka Ambrosiani, 1984: 171f

51b Comb A3 Transition early–late Birka

Ambrosiani, K. 1984: 171f

94a Comb B1:2 Both early and late Birka

Ambrosiani, K. 1984: 172

104 Comb B1:3 Late Birka Ambrosiani, K. 1984: 171f

326 Comb B1:2 Both early and late Birka


348 Comb A3 Transition early–late Birka


Oval brooch P51 Late Birka Jansson 1984a: 57Beads bp viii 935–955 Callmer 1977: 155,

170418 Pendants (3) Middle period in

the cemeteriesCallmer 1989: 21

531 Pendant Latest period in the cemeteries

Callmer 1989: 21

682 Beads bp i 710–760 Callmer 1997Comb A2 Early Birka Ambrosiani, K. 1984:

172731 Oval brooches

P51 C1Late Birka, perhaps the latter part

Jansson 1984a: 57

Round brooch type v A

Tenth century Jansson 1984b: 66

Large round brooch ii B3

Late Birka Jansson 1984c: 78

845 Round brooch type ii A

Late Birka Jansson 1984b: 73f

Large round brooch type ii B2


Oval brooches of Berdal type with decoration in Borre style

Late Birka Jansson 1984a: 49

Gustin226

first decades of the tenth century until the time when the town ceased to exist in the 960s.

The table shows that Baltic Finnish ware occurred in graves at Birka early on, and that contacts between Birka and Finland go back at least to 760. The contacts then seem to have persisted for the duration of the town’s existence. The youngest grave in the table, Bj 348, has a set of beads that can be dated to c.935–955.

Of the graves containing Baltic Finnish ware that can be dated within the three periods mentioned above, two belong to early Birka, two to middle Birka/transition early–late Birka, and nine to late Birka. A comparison can be made with the Birka graves where it has been possible to date the sets of beads.87 For the latter 15 graves belong to early Birka, 21 to middle Birka/transition early–late Birka, and 49 to late Birka. The proportion of graves per period is shown in Table 9.3.

87 Callmer 1977: 155f.

Table 9.2 Datings of graves containing Baltic Finnish ware (cont.)

Grave no. Object Dating Reference

860 Oval brooches P51 C1

Late Birka, perhaps the latter part

Jansson 1984a: 57

Oval brooches P52/P55

Late Birka, latter part

Jansson 1984a: 57

Pendant Latest period in the cemeteries

Callmer 1989: 21

901 Oval brooches P55:1

Late Birka, latter part

Jansson 1984a: 57

Round brooch type iii B


Pendant Latest period in the cemeteries

Callmer 1989: 21

971 Pendant Latest period in the cemeteries

Callmer 1989: 21

1095 Round brooch type ii A

Late Birka Jansson 1984b: 73f


Table 9.3 shows that the number of graves with datable bead sets is much larger in late Birka than in earlier periods. This seems to apply to other graves in the town as well, and might be due to the fact that many of the graves that cannot be dated are cremation graves, and presumably of an early date. Fur-thermore, the easily dateable chamber graves were more common during late Birka.88 Table 9.3 also shows that the percentage per period for graves with Baltic Finnish ware is roughly the same as for graves with datable bead sets. This indicates that contacts between Birka and Finland were virtually constant over time. It should be noted that the continuity displayed by Baltic Finnish ware differs from other eastern material in the Black Earth. The excavations in the 1990s showed that, while there were a number of artefacts reflecting eastern contacts as early as the first phases of Birka, they were rare amidst the dominance of material from western Europe and from the area south of the Baltic Sea. During the second half of the ninth century, however, the situation changed, when Scandinavian and eastern objects began to exceed western ones in number.89

CemeteriesThe following section will examine the distribution of graves containing Finnish dress items and Baltic Finnish ware in order to detect whether they

88 Gräslund 1980: 29.89 Ambrosiani 2002.

Table 9.3 The number and the percentage of Birka graves per period dated on the basis of bead sets (Callmer 1977: 155f.) and the percentage of datable graves with Baltic Finnish ware

Early Birka Middle Birka/ transition early–late Birka

Late Birka

Percentage of graves with datable bead sets

17% 25% 58%

Percentage of datable graves with Baltic Finnish ware

15% 15% 70%

Gustin228

constituted enclaves on the cemeteries of Birka or if they were integrated with the rest of the buried population.

Björkö has seven cemeteries. In five of these – Hemlanden, Kvarnbacka, Borgs Hage/Borg, north of Borg, and Grindsbacka – objects have been found showing Finnish provenance or heavy influences from that area. In two ceme-teries, Ormknös and Kärrbacka, in contrast, no such objects have been found. In both these cemeteries, however, very few graves have been excavated. Moreover, Ormknös has been considered to be associated with a farm outside the town and Kärrbacka probably belonged to the village site.90 Table 9.4 shows the num-ber of graves with Finnish dress items or Baltic Finnish ware in each cemetery.

In two cases, south of Borg (sub-area 4B) and Borg, the proportion of graves with such artefacts is relatively high: 14 and 11 per cent, respectively. The same tendency was noted by Dagmar Selling in her study of the distribution pattern

90 Arrhenius et al. 1978; Gräslund 1980: 73; Kyhlberg 1980: 62f.; Holmquist-Olausson 1993: 38.

Table 9.4 The number and percentage of graves containing objects originating from or show-ing heavy influences from Finland in the cemeteries on Björkö. The designations of the cemeteries come from Gräslund 1980

Cemetery Total number of graves (based on shm database)

Number of graves with Finnish dress items or Baltic Finnish ware

Percentage of graves with Finnish dress items or Baltic Finnish ware

Hemlanden 1A 156 4 2.6%Hemlanden 1B 253 8 3%Hemlanden 1C 171 7 4%Hemlanden 1D 34 4 12%Hemlanden 1E 146 4 2.7%Hemlanden 1F 35 2 5.7%South of Borg 4A 95 5 5%South of Borg 4B 14 2 14%South of Borg 4C 27 2 7.4%Borg 9 1 11%North of Borg 2A 138 3 2.1%North of Borg 2B 56 1 1.8%Grindsbacka 5 35 2 5.7%


of graves containing pottery of type A iii; that is, Baltic Finnish ware.91 In both the cemetery south of Borg (sub-area 4B) and Borg itself, however, only a few graves have been excavated, which means that the statistical foundation for these places is poor. It is thus not possible to draw any definitive conclusions as to whether these two cemeteries really have more graves with Finnish dress items or Baltic Finnish ware than the other cemeteries.

The cemetery with the largest number of excavated graves is Hemlanden.92 Here the number of graves with costume details from Finland or Baltic Finn-ish ware was 29.93 The share of graves with these objects is between 2.6 and 12 per cent in the different sub-areas of Hemlanden. The sub-areas with the largest percentage of graves containing Finnish dress items or Baltic Finnish ware, 1D and 1F, were located east of the town rampart and at a certain distance from it. In her study of the distribution of A iii pottery, Selling noted that, of the Hemlanden graves with Baltic Finnish ware, only two are situated very close together. These are Bj 94 and 98, which are about 120 m outside the town rampart.94 These two graves could possibly represent a family constellation or some other type of social community. The same applies to Bj 197 and 201, located right beside each other within Hemlanden 1F. In Hemlanden 1C, in the town rampart, there are also Bj 714 and 834, which border on each other.

To sum up, the study shows that the distribution of graves containing Finn-ish dress items or Baltic Finnish ware is relatively even, if we exclude the cem-eteries where very few graves have been excavated. No distinct large clusters or enclaves can be discerned in any cemetery. Hemlanden is the cemetery with the most graves containing this kind of objects . In the different sub-areas within this cemetery, however, the graves with Baltic Finnish ware are likewise scattered as a rule. The same applies to the Finnish costume details that can be localized. In three cases, however, there are groups of two graves lying very close to or bordering on each other, which might suggest that the buried peo-ple belonged to the same family, kin group, or other kind of social community.

Grave TypesThis section will examine the types of graves in which objects originating or showing influences from the Finnish mainland were deposited, as well as social status and gender of the buried persons. It is of special interest to state

91 Selling 1955: 221.92 Gräslund 1980: 5.93 This means that roughly 4 per cent of the graves in this cemetery contained objects from

Finland. Hemlanden is often divided into sub-areas 1A–1F, as presented in Table 9.4.94 Selling 1955: 221.

Gustin230

whether these artefacts also were found in graves of the type that occurred in south-western Finland during the Viking Age, since mortuary practice is con-sidered to be an expression of group affiliation.95

In both Finland Proper and Häme, cremation cemeteries under flat earth were by far the most common form of burial during the Viking Age. In Häme there were, moreover, cremation graves under cairns of stone and earth. This situation prevailed in these areas until the beginning of the eleventh century, when inhumation graves slowly began to gain a foothold in the old crema-tion cemeteries as well.96 Around Lake Pyhäjärvi in south-western Finland, however, several inhumation cemeteries have been discovered. Two of these cemeteries in particular have been well analysed and published.97 They are in the parishes of Eura and Köyliö in Satakunta, and in both these cemeteries inhumations were absolutely dominant from the end of the sixth century.

In Köyliö a total of 65 Viking Age graves have been found, all but one of them inhumation graves. At the excavations in Köyliö, no coffins or traces of other coverings could be demonstrated in the inhumation graves.98 In the most famous cemetery in the Eura area, Luistari, the situation was different. Of the datable graves, 304 came from the Viking Age. The inhumation graves here could be divided into three types: chamber graves, graves with some other tim-ber structure (e.g. coffin graves), and graves without any structural details.99

On Björkö, the island where Birka is located, no cremation cemeteries under flat earth have been identified as yet; rather, the dominant form on the island is cremation graves under mounds.100 If the absence of cremation cemeteries under flat earth on Björkö turns out to be correct, it would indicate that there was no significant immigration to the island from Finland Proper. There is however a more obvious correspondence between Björkö and the Eura-Köyliö area, according to the inhumation graves. On Björkö, inhumation graves ac-count for just under half of all the excavated graves.101 The inhumation graves

95 E.g. Emberling 1997: 323–25; for Viking Age Scandinavia see Burström 1991; Myhre 1993: 195; Svanberg 1999; Svanberg 2003.

96 Lehtosalo-Hilander 1992: 65; Edgren 2008: 472ff.97 Cleve 1943; Cleve 1978; Lehtosalo-Hilander 1982a; Lehtosalo-Hilander 1982b; Lehtosalo-

Hilander 1982c.98 Cleve 1978.99 Lehtosalo-Hilander 1982a: 30–35; Lehtosalo-Hilander 1982c: 24–29; Lehtosalo-Hilander

2000: 164.100 Gräslund 1980: 5.101 Roughly 1,100 graves have been excavated so far on Björkö. By far the most common form

is the cremation grave. Slightly over half, 566, of all the excavated Birka graves can be as-signed to this type, and the vast majority of these, 465, were under a mound. Ann-Sofie Gräslund states that 544 inhumation graves have been found. This group includes the


on Björkö, just as at Luistari, include coffin graves and coffinless graves, as well as chamber graves.102 Chamber graves in Birka make up about 11 per cent of all graves and 20 per cent of the inhumation graves. Corresponding figures for cof-fin graves in Birka are approximately 20 per cent and 40 per cent. The figures for chamber graves are higher in Luistari, where the share of chamber graves was between 29 per cent and 37 per cent of all inhumation graves in parts of the Viking Age; the proportion of inhumation graves with some other wooden structure was almost as high.103 The presence of chamber graves in both Lu-istari and Birka is just one of several indications of connections between the two locations.104

In what types of grave on Björkö have Finnish costume details or Baltic Finn-ish ware been found? Do they derive from grave types known from mainland Finland or from more local grave types?

Table 9.5 shows that all the grave types represented on Björkö contain Finn-ish costume details and Baltic Finnish pottery. Interestingly enough, the largest number of artefacts originating from or showing heavy influences from Finland has been found in cremation graves. The proportion of graves with these objects, however, agrees with the normal distribution of this type of grave at Birka. Cre-mation graves were very common in the Mälaren Valley during the Viking Age. It is therefore likely that those who performed the burial rituals were in many cases familiar with and applied the local custom. Perhaps the buried people be-longed to households with a local foundation.

Two grave types with Finnish dress details or Baltic Finnish ware differ from the normal distribution of the grave types occurring on Björkö: coffin graves and chamber graves. The fact that coffin graves are so poorly represented among graves with these objects probably should be understood in light of the primary association of this type of grave with Birka’s west European con-tacts.105 On the other hand, the proportion of chamber graves containing Finn-ish costume details and Baltic Finnish ware is high at 22 per cent, as against the 11 per cent that this grave type constitutes of all graves. Chamber graves have often been considered to represent an elite consisting of warriors or merchants with long-distance contacts.106

chamber graves, i.e. the 111 chambers that have been excavated, as well as 218 graves with coffins (Gräslund 1980: 5, 15, 27, 50, 64, 72).

102 Gräslund 1980: 5, 27, 50, 64, 72.103 Lehtosalo-Hilander 1982a: 30–35; Lehtosalo-Hilander 1982c: 24–29.104 See further Lehtosalo-Hilander 1982c: 75–78.105 Gräslund 1980: 86.106 E.g. Stenberger 1971: 704; Gräslund 1980: 80; Steuer 1987: 119; Clarke and Ambrosiani 1991:

74f., 156; Ringstedt 1997: 111f., 115; Callmer 2008: 123f.

Gustin232

Tabl

e 9.

5 D

istrib

utio

n of

Fin

nish

cost

ume d

etai

ls an

d Ba

ltic F

inni

sh w

are b

etwe

en d

iffer

ent g

rave

type

s in

Birk

a

Gra

ve ty

peG

rave

s with

Fi

nnis

h co

stum

e de

tails

Gra

ves w

ith B

altic

Fi

nnis

h w

are

Num

ber o

f gr

aves

with

Fi

nnis

h co

s-tu

me

deta

ils

and

Balti

c

Finn

ish

war

e

Dis

trib

utio

n of

di

ffere

nt g

rave

type

s co

ntai

ning

Fin

nish

co

stum

e de

tails

and

Ba

ltic

Finn

ish

war

e

Tota

l dis

trib

utio

n of

diff

eren

t gra

ve

type

s, ba

sed

on

Grä

slun

d 19

80

Crem

atio

n gr

aves

104,

197

, 776

, Se

ton

vi9,

45A

/B, 5

1, 9

4A/B

, 98B

, 10

4, 1

55, 2

01, 2

26, 3

26,

329,

348

, 352

, 370

, 415

, 41

8, 4

28, 4

37, 4

58, 6

79,

682,

714

, 811

, 912

, 104

2

2861

%51

%

Coffi

n gr

aves

an

d ot

her i

nhu-

mat

ion

grav

es

58A,

478

, 480

, 75

9, 1

162

531,

971

, 109

58

17%

38%

Cham

ber g

rave

s64

4, 9

54, 1

053B

, 10

7473

1, 8

34, 8

45, 8

55, 8

60,

901

1022

%11

%

Tota

l13

3446

100%

100%


Social Status and GenderThe high proportion of chamber graves containing Finnish costume details and Baltic Finnish ware indicates that the elite in Birka were over- represented with regard to being buried with such objects. It is particularly remarkable that one of the chamber graves, Bj 644, a double grave, is among the graves on Björkö with the greatest wealth of artefacts.107 In this grave, besides there were objects such as scales, weights, a belt-bag, sword, stirrups, an axe, shield boss, game pieces, gilded oval brooches, shears, and comb beaters. In addition there was a fire-steel brought in from Finland.108 Likewise Bj 834 and 845, which contained Baltic Finnish ware, were very rich in artefacts. In both graves there was a staff, often interpreted as a measuring rod.109

From the objects in the graves it can be concluded that a man and woman were buried together in Bj 834 and 644, while one person, a woman, was bur-ied in Bj 845 (Arbman 1943). What then was the proportion between men and women in the graves with artefacts relating to Finland? Of the total 46 graves on Björkö which contained objects of provenance from mainland Finland or displaying heavy influences from there, it is possible to determine the gender of 23 (see table 9.6). This is based on the archaeological identification of gen-der performed by Holger Arbman in the publication Birka 1: Die Gräber.110 For Seton grave vi the identification was done by Dagmar Selling.111

In seven cases a man was buried along with a Finnish dress item or Baltic Finnish pottery, and in 12 cases a grave of woman contained such artefacts. In addition, there were objects of this type in five double graves containing a man and a woman together. Women account for roughly 60 per cent of the material if the double graves are included. The probable explanation for the slightly higher share of women than men is that it is generally easier to iden-tify women’s graves since they contain more gender-bound characteristics. The distribution of Finnish dress items and Baltic Finnish pottery in the graves of women and men in Birka is thus fairly even.

Lavishly furnished chamber graves in Birka like Bj 644, 834, and 845 indicate that it was important for the elite, when burying their dead, to display that

107 Cf. Ringstedt 1997: 101.108 See the earlier discussion about possible regions of manufacture for this subgroup of

fire-steels. Even if the area of production might be a matter of debate, the fire-steel in Bj 644 can be regarded as an expression of contacts with the Finnish mainland as it is likely to have come to Birka via Finland.

109 Gustin 2004; Gustin 2010; but see Price 2002 for a different interpretation.110 Arbman 1943.111 Selling 1945.

Gustin234

they were part of a network that was directly or indirectly connected to groups in south-western Finland. Displaying Finnish dress details and Baltic Finnish pottery could be seen as representing an ideological as well an economic re-source for this group. Several studies have shown that objects acquired from remote regions are actively used in the ideological legitimation of the group that controls their acquisition, distribution, and use.112 It is therefore likely that foreign objects, such as the ones relating to south-western Finland, were used by groups in Birka to assert status and social position.

The Finnish costume details found in the Birka graves might also be in-terpreted as representing economic resources and alliances with groups in south-western Finland. Items such as scales, weights, and measuring rods in the graves of some people in Birka buried with objects realting to the Finnish mainland can be regarded as an expression of affiliation to groups involved in the sale and exchange of goods. The presence of scales and weights of the same types in south-western Finland is a clear indication that this region was part of a supra-regional network in the Viking Age, just as Birka was, and it does not seem too far-fetched to assume that there were links between them.

It has been considered likely that wooden vessels from Vakka-Suomi and the south-western part of Satakunta as well as furs from the wilds were collect-ed and traded in the region, and that the traders had connections with Birka as well as with Gotland and the Latvian coast.113 The connection to groups in Finland displayed in the Birka graves could therefore been seen as reflecting access to economic resources from the woods east of the Baltic Sea. As dem-onstrated above, there were long-term contacts spanning across the Åland Is-lands to the south-western part of what today is Finland. There, these links connected to routes and networks spanning even further east to the Volga-Oka region. The Birka artefacts relating to Finland thus indicate access not only to the waterways along the Gulf of Finland but also, in a wider sense, to routes

112 Helms 1988; Helms 1993: 165; Lucy 2005: 108; Tsigaridas Glørstad 2012: 36.113 Kivikoski 1964: 215–17; Kivikoski 1969: 55–58; Lehtosalo-Hilander 1982c: 75–77.

Table 9.6 Number of graves with Finnish costume details or Baltic Finnish pottery in graves where the gender of the buried person has been determined ( from Arbman 1943)

Gender Women Men Double graves (women+men)

Number 12 7 5+5


further east leading all the way down to the Caspian Sea and to the riches of the Caliphate.114

To sum up, the Finnish costume details and the Baltic Finnish pottery in the graves of men and women show that some people in Birka were part of a net-work that reached across the Baltic Sea to the Finnish mainland. This network bound people, goods, and land together. Access to the network is likely to have represented an economic as well as an ideological resource for maintaining and strengthening the power base of the elite in the town.115 It may be noted that some of the graves with artefacts related to south-western Finland in Birka seem to have belonged to the supreme elite of town.

Find Combinations in Graves with Penannular Brooches with Faceted and Pegged Knobs

As stated earlier in this chapter, dress and appearance belong to a field in which difference and sameness are negotiated and expressed; furthermore, it stated that the messages that material culture carries through its design primarily concern gender, social status, and group affiliation. The former two categories were discussed above. In this section I will study group affiliation and how dif-ference and sameness were negotiated and expressed in the graves containing Finnish dress items.

In discussions of identities and group affiliation, scholars have noted the im-portance of studying the set of objects as a whole and the way its components are put together.116 This approach is therefore relevant to the analysis of find combinations in graves where Finnish dress items are found. The analysis here will focus on the find combinations in graves containing penannular brooches with faceted and pegged knobs; the style of this brooch type is relatively ho-mogeneous and might be referred to as what Polly Wiessner called emblematic style. Based on this approach, this brooch type might have been well suited to communicate information regarding identity and group affiliation.117 The graves where the penannular brooches with faceted and pegged knobs have been found in Birka are Bj 58A, 197, 478, 480, 954, 1053B, 1074, and Seton vi.

The analysis primarily concerns the provenance and areas of influence of other costume details and pottery, but mortuary practice will also be consid-ered. The material is presented in Table 9.7, which also states the literature that has been used to determine the provenance and area of influence of other

114 See Callmer and Roslund in this volume.115 Cf. Tsigaridas Glørstad 2012: 43 on conditions in Viking Age Norway.116 Jones 1997: 135; Cassel 2008: 114.117 Wiessner 1989: 57.

Gustin236

Tabl

e 9.

7 Fi

nd co

mbi

natio

ns o

f Birk

a gr

aves

cont

aini

ng p

enan

nula

r bro

oche

s with

face

ted

and

pegg

ed kn

obs

Gra

ve n

o.G

rave

type

Sex

Cost

ume

deta

ilsPr

oven

ance

or

influ

ence

Pott

ery

Mis

cella

neou

sRe

fere

nces

Bj 5

8 A

Coffi

n gr

ave

M?

Silv

er b

and

(tab

let-

wov

en b

and

with

silv

er

thre

ad)

Pend

ant

East

ern

Scan

dina

vian

–2

Isla

mic

coi

ns½

gre

y-gr

een

glas

s be

adKn

ife

Silv

er b

and

(Häg

g 19

84:

208f

.; Lar

sson

200

7: 1

54)

Pend

ant (

Duc

zko

19

89: 1

5)Bj

197

Crem

atio

n gr

ave

2 A

iv p

ots

Com

b fra

gmen

t1

Isla

mic

coi

nBj

478

Coffi

n gr

ave

MTo

ngue

-sha

ped

belt

mou

nt w

ith g

rippi

ng

beas

ts in

Bor

re st

yle

Rem

ains

of g

old

band

(t

able

t-wov

en b

and)

Scan

dina

vian

East

ern

–Kn

ifeBe

lt m

ount

s (M

älar

sted

t 19

86: 1

09f.)

Gol

d ba

nd (G

eije

r 193

8:

159;

Häg

g 19

84: 2

08f.;

La

rsso

n 20

07: 1

63)

Bj 4

80Co

ffin

grav

eF

Broo

ches

with

bird

fig

ures

P42

Gilt

tref

oil b

ronz

e br

ooch

with

ani

mal

or

nam

ent

Scan

dina

vian

Scan

dina

vian

–Pe

ndan

t cro

sskn

ives

awl

twee

zers

bead

s

Broo

ches

(Jan

sson

198

5:

60ff.

).Br

ooch

(Hår

dh 1

984b

: 90

f.).


Gra

ve n

o.G

rave

type

Sex

Cost

ume

deta

ilsPr

oven

ance

or

influ

ence

Pott

ery

Mis

cella

neou

sRe

fere

nces

Bj 9

54Ch

ambe

r gr

ave

FBr

ooch

es P

51Sh

ield

-sha

ped

pend

ant

with

swirl

ing

patte

rnTr

efoi

l bro

och

Pena

nnul

ar b

rooc

h w

ith ro

lled

term

inal

sPe

ndan

t of s

trap

mou

nt

Scan

dina

vian

Scan

dina

vian

Scan

dina

vian

East

ern

East

ern

–Cu

bo-o

ctah

edra

l w

eigh

t2

Thor

’s ha

mm

er

amul

ets

ambe

r pen

dant

knife

chis

elke

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costume details. Provenance is divided into three groups: Scandinavian, west-ern, and eastern. The term “eastern” in this case covers both eastern Europe and the diffuse area that is usually known in the archaeological literature as “oriental”. The reason for the extensive and general character of the eastern group is that it is often difficult to state the exact geographical provenance.

Most of the eight graves containing penannular brooches with faceted and pegged knobs indicated widespread origins and area of influence of other cos-tume details and pottery. In two graves, Bj 197 and 480, the faceted pegged pen-annular brooch originating in or showing heavy influences from Finland was combined with costume details or pottery from Scandinavia. In Bj 197 there was pottery of type A iv, that is, indigenous ware. Grave Bj 197 moreover con-sisted of a cremation grave, the type of burial very frequent in the Mälaren Val-ley. In Bj 480 there were two oval brooches to which bird figures were riveted (P 42).118 Oval brooches are considered typical of the dress worn by women from the Scandinavian Peninsula, in Scandinavia as well as in western and eastern Europe.119 In Bj 480 there was also a gilt trefoil bronze brooch120 with animal ornamentation in Scandinavian style.121

In three graves the faceted and pegged penannular brooch had been com-bined with both Scandinavian and eastern costume details. In Bj 58A there was a tablet-woven band of silver thread of eastern type.122 In addition, the grave contained a silver pendant with a swirling pattern. The latter is believed to have been made in Scandinavia.123 Vestiges of a gold band of eastern type were found in Bj 478. The same grave also had a tongue-shaped mount in Borre style – a kind of animal ornamentation originating in Scandinavia.124 Bj 954 held the oval brooches that were worn by women from Scandinavia.125 The shield-shaped pendant with swirling pattern in the same grave is also Scandinavian.126

118 By far the largest number of oval brooches of type P42 has been found in Norway, but several have also been found in Sweden. Occasional examples are known from other parts of the Baltic region and from Russia (Jansson 1985: 60ff.).

119 Jansson 1985: 11.120 Parallels can be found in Norway and Russia (Hårdh 1984b: 90f.; Callmer, personal

communication).121 Hårdh 1984b: 90f.122 Hägg 1984: 208f; Larsson 2007: 154.123 Duczko 1989: 15.124 Mälarstedt 1986: 109f.; Horn Fuglesang 1992: 178.125 Jansson 1985: 81, 204. In this case the oval brooches were made of gilded bronze and

belong to group P 51 type C3. Type C occurs in the west as well as the east, but it is more numerous in the east (Jansson 1985: 81, 204).

126 Duczko 1989: 14–15.

Gustin240

The same grave also contained a gilt trefoil brooch with animal ornamentation in Borre style. The type occurs, above all, in eastern Sweden.127 The eastern-influenced costume details in this grave were a penannular brooch with rolled terminals and a pendant made from an eastern belt mount.128

In one grave, Bj 1074, there were only eastern costume details apart from the penannular brooch with faceted and pegged knobs. These details were 18 massive bronze knobs and cast bronze mounts for belts. Buttons occur in only a few Birka graves; these were probably sewn onto caftans.129 This garment has been considered “oriental” and may reflect a form of dress worn at the Byzan-tine court or in steppe-nomad or Islamic areas.130 The mounts in Bj 1074 were either heart-shaped or tongue-shaped, and they are believed to be of oriental type. Corresponding types have been found in the west from Sweden all the way south to Hungary; in the east there are examples from western Siberia south towards the Caliphate. Direct parallels to the mounts from Bj 1074 have been found in Ukraine.131

The grave Seton vi was a probable double grave for a man and a woman. This grave combined a penannular brooch with faceted and pegged knobs with ob-jects of Scandinavian, eastern, and western origin (fig. 9.10). It contained oval brooches, two scoop pendants, a coin of Louis the Pious turned into a pendant, and another silver pendant. The latter has been described as oriental.132 Scoop pendants have been considered a Scandinavian artefact.133 The brooches, typi-cal of female dress in the Scandinavian Peninsula, are of type P 51, which shows a distribution from Iceland and Ireland in the west to the Dnieper and the Volga in the east. More than half of all the brooches found in graves at Birka are of this type.134 The surviving pot seems to be an A iv vessel, that is, locally made, while the coin pendant suggests western influences or contacts.

Only one grave, Bj 1053B, had neither costume details nor pottery, only a penannular brooch.

To sum up, it may be noted that the costume details and the pottery that accompanied the dead into the graves, apart from the faceted and pegged pen-annular brooches, show a provenance or influences from Scandinavia and the

127 Hårdh 1984b: 85ff.128 Ģinters 1984: 23ff.; Jansson 1986: 82.129 Hägg 1986: 68f.130 Hägg 1986; Jansson 1989: 596.131 Jansson 1986: 94–97.132 Selling 1945: 104.133 Duczko 1985: 47f.134 Jansson 1985: 81.


Figure 9.10 Grave Seton vi (after Selling 1945: 47 fig. 20)

Gustin242

east, from Scandinavia alone, from the east alone, or from Scandinavia and eastern as well as western areas. Thus, there seems to have been a dialogue in Birka whereby different cultural elements were combined in an eclectic way, with local elements becoming entangled with foreign ones in a reciprocal and mutually-constituting process.135 So how is this heterogeneity regarding the origin and cultural influences of the objects in the graves to be understood in terms of group affiliation?

The Birka Graves and Cultural HybridityIn Birka, people from different regions interacted, and this was where cultural encounters took place.136 Isotope analysis performed on skeletal remains from twenty-four inhumation graves in Birka shows that the buried persons in these cases likely originated from different geographic locations.137 Thus, Birka was a site to which people of diverse origin moved and where they settled; however, as has been observed, it is impossible to identify ethnic groups in the grave material.138

In postcolonial studies there has been a focus on multicultural societies and identities. While postcolonial studies primarily concern modern society, theory and terms from this field have been employed in studies of pre-modern societ-ies and early medieval Europe as well.139 Multicultural societies are not a new phenomenon – long before sixteenth-century European expansion, migration between regions was the rule rather than the exception, producing ethnically and culturally “mixed” societies. The creation of hybrid cultures and identi-ties has been central to discussions of multicultural societies.140 Webster’s New Collegiate Dictionary defines “hybridity” as refering to “a person produced by the blending of two diverse cultures or traditions”, “anything of heterogeneous origin and composition”, and “a composite”. Hybridity may be used to desig-nate animal, plants, and people but also cultures, traditions, and languages.141 When it comes to material culture in Birka, the hybridization process can be traced on a micro as well as on a macro level. On a micro level, there are ex-amples of how foreign objects have been reinterpreted. An example of this is the pendant in grave Bj 954 (see table 9.7). Here a male belt mount from the

135 Cf. Hall 2010: 29136 Gräslund 2007; Cassel 2008: 125.137 Linderholm et al. 2008.138 Bäck 2007; Gräslund 2007.139 E.g. Cohen 2000; Gosden 2001; Gosden 2004.140 E.g. Hall 1990; Bhabha 1994; Young 1995.141 Kapchan and Turner Strong 1999: 240.


Volga Bulgaria region was remade into a female pendant.142 On a macro level, it is possible to see how local and foreign objects were recombined in the cos-tumes of the buried persons.

Furthermore, the high degree of hybridity staged in the graves containing faceted and pegged penannular brooches relating to Finland could indicate that the identities of the people in the town were modified and negotiated due to migration, travel, and encounters. Researchers in the postcolonial field have argued that the encounters and inter-group contacts are productive in the sense that something completely new can arise from them. This can be counted as a separate category.143 Are there indications of this process at work shaping group affiliations in Birka?

Situated on the island of Björkö in Lake Mälaren, bounded by a semi-circular town rampart on one side and by the sea on the other, Birka had a well-defined setting and constituted an enclave in the surrounding landscape. However, the town was an enclave not only in a geographical but also in a judicial sense. The town had a prefect (praefectus), judicial matters were handled at a local as-sembly (thing), and the old “Björkörätten” law likely derived from Birka.144 Are there signs that Birka constituted an enclave of mentality as well?

The cultural hybridity evident in the studied graves at Birka – with its com-bination of costume details, pottery, and burial customs, resulting in the play-ing down of ethnic differences – might indicate the emergence of a new affilia-tion. In studies regarding the incorporation of individuals into states, variation has been noted in the strategies pursued regarding ethnicity. Individuals may choose either to minimize or to emphasize this aspect of their identity – the choice depending in part upon each person’s perception of the accruing social, economic, and political advantages.145 The high degree of hybrid composition in costume details, pottery, and burial traditions in the studied Birka graves can thus be interpreted to mean that clear and distinct ethnic group affilia-tions were played down, and that ethnic identity was given a minor role, at least in the context of the graves. In the case of Birka, the lack of emphasis on ethnic differences in graves might be associated with the emergence of a new sense of belonging and an affiliation linked to the group of co-residents in the town. The development of such an affiliation would benefit cooperation among the inhabitants of Birka and lead to economic and political advantages.

142 Jansson 1986: 85.143 Bhabha 2004: 56, 296, 312; Fahlander 2007: 29; Ekengren 2009: 157; cf. Hall 1990 on

diasporization and new forms of identities.144 Clarke and Ambrosiani 1991: 73–76; Holmquist-Olausson 1993: 34.145 Emberling 1997: 310 with references.

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Economically, a greater sense of belonging to the in-group decreases the likeli-hood of cheating and stealing among group members. Politically, a member of the group would have the potential to represent the entire group and thus increase his or her influence.146 The playing down of ethnic differences and the development of an affiliation linked to the town can be understood as a quite rational behaviour for residents at a site based on trading activities, where mutual trust between trading partners was of vital importance.147

To sum up, the cultural hybridity evident in the studied graves at Birka indicates the emergence of a new affiliation linked to the town. There even have been claims that in Birka we see tendencies toward a Viking Age urban identity.148

ParallelsIn earlier periods, similar culturally-varied urban environments existed on the continent in the Roman Empire, when Roman traditions had gradually blend-ed with indigenous ones in conquered areas.149 During the Viking Age, parallel to Birka, there were a number of urban settings in the Baltic area and along the Russian rivers where the material culture shows features from different areas, and where there is rich variation among burial customs. Here we should men-tion Hedeby, Staraya Ladoga, Gnezdovo, and Ryurikovo Gorodishche.

What do the Birka graves displaying cultural hybridity say about the Vi-king Age town and its population? The number of graves analysed in this study is small; many more would be needed to provide a detailed picture of how cultural identity was constructed and negotiated in Birka. Judging by the tendencies observed in the graves with faceted pegged penannular brooches, the Birka graves and their combinations of artefacts may find relevant com-parisons with similar evidence from places frequented by Norsemen in Rus’. Swedish archaeologists have discussed crucial questions of cultural identity in these places. Analyzing material from the large Viking Age cemetery in Gnëz-dovo and from other cemeteries in Rus’, Ingmar Jansson has demonstrated that the different cultural elements are combined and spread in such a way that it is impossible to distinguish population groups with different cultural

146 Emberling 1997: 310.147 Cf. Gustin 2004.148 Cassel 2008: 129. Cf. Hedenstierna-Jonson and Holmquist Olausson, who conclude that

Birka and the towns of Rus’ each developed their own distinctive cultural manifestations (Hedenstierna-Jonson & Holmquist Olausson 2006: 69). Hillerdal discusses Scandinavian towns founded during the eighth century, mentioning briefly that they developed an autonomous identity and served as the setting for new hybrid cultural practices (Hillerdal 2009: 274, 278).

149 Wells 1999: 204f.


affiliations. The buried individuals had both local and foreign backgrounds, not least Scandinavian. Jansson concludes that, even if the inhabitants of these places differed in origin, the majority were united in one society and presum-ably counted themselves as a single unit.150 Johan Callmer has discussed some of the trading sites in Rus’, such as Staraya Ladoga and Ryurikovo Gorodishche. In these places there are elements of Scandinavian, Finnish, Baltic, and Slavic culture. Callmer believes that the trading sites and points of support that arose in Rus’ were probably open, inclusive, and pluralistic communities, and that there was a spirit of acceptance for different cultural patterns.151

Parallels can be found between the cemeteries in the early towns of Rus’ and those in Birka.152 Penannular brooches with faceted and pegged knobs, as we saw above, occur in graves where there were also costume details from other areas than Finland. Costume details originating from or showing heavy influences from Finland and Baltic Finnish ware are also found both in crema-tion graves of frequent Mälaren Valley type and in other grave types. Moreover, there are graves with artefacts originating in or showing heavy influences from from Finland in most of the cemeteries in the town, and these graves do not form enclaves; those who were buried in these graves were integrated with the rest of the town’s population, and there were no sharp cultural boundaries.

Summary

Archaeological evidence of contacts between eastern central Sweden and south-western Finland is found through the ages: the Neolithic, the Bronze Age, the early Iron Age, and the late Iron Age. Archaeologists in Finland often have described the close links between the areas during the Viking Age, where-as Swedish archaeologists surprisingly seldom have discussed these connec-tions. It therefore has been interesting to examine to what extent and during what period artefacts originating in or showing heavy influences from south-western Finland are found in Birka’s graves and thus what can be concluded about the contacts between Birka and south-western Finland. Furthermore, this study has explored what the artefacts and the find combinations show about the identity of the buried persons.

The study concludes that there were contacts between Birka and south- western Finland throughout more or less the entire duration of the town’s

150 Jansson 1994: 18–20; Jansson 1997: 25; Jansson 2000: 132.151 Callmer 2000b: 74.152 The correspondence between Birka and the early towns of Rus’ is also to some extent

addressed in Hedenstierna-Jonson and Holmquist Olausson 2006: 69.

Gustin246

existence. The earliest evidence of these contacts is from the 760s and the lat-est from the mid-tenth century. Unlike other eastern material in Birka, which became much more frequent during the second half of the ninth century, the contacts with Finland were constant through time. However, these contacts might have been less extensive than Birka’s contacts with regions further east. The study shows that, of the roughly 1,100 graves on Björkö, 13 contained costume details originating in or showing influences from Finland and 34 contained pottery of Baltic Finnish ware. The number of graves with objects relating to south-western Finland amounts to roughly 4 per cent of all the graves in Birka. However, it should be pointed out that this is the minimum amount since there might be pottery – especially coarse ware for cooking and storage – and other objects with provenance from the Finnish mainland that cannot be distinguished from local material or material from other regions.

Analysis of Baltic Finnish ware from the Mälaren Valley and Birka indicates that some of the vessels were manufactured in the Mälaren region, and there-fore it is likely that there was migration from Finland to this area. However, mi-gration to Birka cannot be traced from the graves, since only one object relating to south-western Finland was found in each grave. The only exception to this is a grave which contained a Finnish costume detail as well as Baltic Finnish ware. In addition, the graves containing objects relating to Finland showed no clusters or enclaves in the various cemeteries, but rather they were dispersed relatively evenly. Interestingly enough, Finnish dress items and Baltic Finnish ware related to south-western Finland were most frequent in cremation graves under a mound, a form of grave that was very common in the Mälaren Valley, and it is likely that the people who performed the funeral ritual followed local customs.

A large share of objects originating from Finland or showing influences from there occurred in chamber graves as well. This type of grave is believed to represent an elite of warriors and merchants with long-distance contacts. Some of the chamber graves with artefacts related to south-western Finland are also among the richest in Birka as regards the amount of grave goods. This shows that members of the leading circle in the town, men as well as women, were part of a network with direct or indirect contacts with groups on the Finnish mainland. The presence of artefacts related to south-western Finland in these burials could be seen as representing an ideological as well an eco-nomic resource enabling the elite to assert status and social position. Through connections to groups on the Finnish mainland, groups in Birka were linked to networks, routes, and resources not only in Finland but also indirectly to groups further east. As some of the chamber graves with artefacts linked to south-western Finland contained objects indicative of trade, we may assume that one reason for the contacts across the Baltic Sea was the exchange of


commodities. It is probable that Vakka Suomi and south-western Satakunta, where the same type of tools of trade have been found, also belonged to this supra-regional exchange network.

What were the group affiliation and cultural identity of the people buried with objects relating to south-western Finland? To answer this question, the combinations of objects in the Birka graves containing penannular brooches with faceted and pegged terminals were studied. This survey showed that the material culture in the graves was heterogeneous as regards provenance and areas of influence. Besides the penannular brooches, these graves in some cas-es contained only Scandinavian or eastern objects, in other cases both Scan-dinavian and eastern objects, and in one case a combination of Scandinavian, eastern, and western artefacts.

While it is generally considered impossible to identify ethnic groups based on the grave material in Birka, the evidence presented in this chapter suggests that migration to Birka as well as encounters taking place there prompted a di-alogue in which elements from different cultures were combined eclectically, with local elements becoming entangled with foreign ones. It is likely that eth-nic identities in the town were played down in favour of the construction and negotiation of new identities and affiliations. In the study I therefore propose that a new sense of affiliation linked to the co-residency of the townspeople emerged, and that the hybridity seen in Birka might be a result of an evolving Viking Age urban identity.

Acknowledgements

I am grateful to Björn Ambrosiani, Christian Carpelan, and Pirjo Uino for dis-cussions and for comments on an earlier version of this chapter. Many thanks as well to Johan Callmer and Mats Roslund for their inspiration, advice, and com-ments. I am indebted also to the Swedish Research Council and Riksbankens Jubileumsfond for making this work possible by providing financial support.

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chapter 10

Swords from the Carolingian Empire to the Baltic Sea and Beyond

Anne Stalsberg

The Carolingian Empire was the military superpower of its time, and usually was at war with its neighbours. In order to maintain military-technological superiority, the Carolingian authorities strove to prevent their weapons from falling into enemy hands; the archaeological material shows that they were not entirely successful in this, as Carolingian-type swords, genuine or imitations, were spread all over Europe. This chapter will discuss two questions: was there an export of swords from the Carolingian Empire to the countries around the Baltic and beyond, and did the swords found in early Rus’ and Volga Bulgaria pass through the Baltic with the Scandinavians? The sources are finds of Caro-lingian swords and written Carolingian and Islamic sources.

Background: Some Previous Studies

From the earliest discussions of the Viking Age swords, they have been called “Carolingian” or “Frankish”. The Norwegian archaeologist who first examined and discussed the origin of Norwegian Viking Age swords, Anders Lorange, concluded that all Viking Age swords found in Norway were manufactured in the Carolingian Empire and plundered; the Vikings were not capable of pro-ducing swords of such quality.1 Jan Petersen, author of the fundamental – and still relevant today – typological-chronological study of Viking Age swords found in Norway, was convinced that the overwhelming majority of these swords were manufactured in Norway, although foreign swords were brought to Norway throughout the Viking Age.2

For the Baltic Sea it is natural to turn to Holger Arbman’s study of the ninth-century trade relations between the Carolingian Empire and Sweden.3 In his opinion only simpler sword blades were made in Sweden; the Vikings brought home Frankish weapons as plunder, but he assigned greater weight

1 Lorange 1889: 48.2 Petersen 1919: 200ff.3 Arbman 1937.

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to trade: “Dass Schwertklingen auf fränkischem Gebiet in grossen Umfang für den Export fabriziert wurden, geht nicht nur aus den in den Capitularien auferlegten Exportverboten, … sondern auch aus den Mitteilungen der arabischen Verfasser über den Schwerthandel hervor”.4 He mentions a find from Öland, which in his opinion is a result of trade from the Carolingian Empire: five sword blades without handles would have handles mounted in Sweden.

In 1966 A.N. Kirpichnikov, in his study of the swords found in early Rus’, referred to the Carolingian capitularia, especially the one from Thionville from 805, which forbade merchants to bring arms and bruniae with them into the lands of the Slavs and Avars; he remarked that the ban obviously did not stop trade, as swords ended up in early Rus’.5 He also noted that the weapons often were spread by the Scandinavians who held in their hands the main part of the trade between early Rus’ and the west.

In the enormous literature on the Vikings, scholarly and popular authors alike have without hesitation reiterated the thesis that weapons were exported from the Carolingian Empire.

The work of two eminent scholars, Bergljot Solberg and Signe Horn Fuglesang, has inspired the present study of the Vlfberht swords and the question of weapon exportation from the Carolingian Empire.

Solberg examined the archaeological material in Norway and concluded that there was an importation of weapons from the Carolingian Empire, which Charlemagne’s and Charles the Bald’s capitularia attempted to ban.6

Fuglesang reread the relevant capitularia and convincingly argued that the capitularia do not support the idea that weapons were exported from the Carolingian Empire to Scandinavia.7 She concluded that the capitularia were ad hoc laws issued to prevent enemies within the empire from getting hold of weapons. The most sought-after weapons evidently were defensive weapons such as bruniae, leg guards, and horses. Fuglesang does not, however, doubt that there was a considerable weapon export from the Carolingian Empire, especially to the eastern border areas, since she interprets the Thionville capitulare from 805 as a general prohibition of sale to Avars and Slavs.8

4 Arbman 1937: 230–231; 235.5 Kirpichnikov 1966: 48f.6 Solberg 1991.7 Fuglesang 2000.8 Fuglesang 2000: 181f.

261Swords from the Carolingian Empire

Carolingian Swords

With the exception of Norwegian and Baltic single-edged swords, the Viking Age swords found in pagan Europe as well as in the Carolingian Empire and the British Isles were of the same basic shape: a 75–81 centimetre long, double-edged blade with edges gradually narrowing to a fairly rounded point, with a steel handle consisting of a lower hilt and an upper hilt, usually with a pommel, and a wooden grip between the hilts. Thus, to be able to discuss the diffusion of Carolingian swords to the Baltic and beyond, it is necessary to identify them – no simple task, as the discussions in the literature confirm.

To the best of my knowledge there is no systematic study of possibly Caro-lingian handles in Europe outside the empire; the known handles are single cases, which are of rather limited use for a viable analysis of their diffusion.

Pattern-welded (also called damascened) blades are usually regarded as Carolingian, as the technique’s complexity has been assumed to exceed the mastery of Scandinavian blacksmiths. Jorma Leppäaho argued that while Scandinavian blacksmiths had both the skill and the tools to damascene, the absence of damescened blades among Norwegian single-edged blades should be taken as evidence that they did not employ the process.9 In a limited search in 1989, however, I found five pattern-welded single-edged blades from the university museums in Trondheim and Oslo – evidence that Norwegian black-smiths did pattern-weld.10 Our ongoing examinations of double-edged blades in the university museum in Trondheim do not indicate that pattern-welding – i.e., building blades of steel rods – was a rarity; thus, the technique of pattern-welding per se is not necessarily indication of a Carolingian product.

The term “damascene steel” should be avoided, as it implies a process of making steel as well as using that steel to forge e.g. sword blades. The eastern carburization process, called “damascening”, “wootz”, or “bulat”, which pro-duced the metal for forging, was not known in Europe in the Viking Age.

An analysis of the handles, form, metallurgy, and forging technique may be an indicator of production region. A sword consists of two parts which may come from different places and be made at different times; a Carolingian blade does not guarantee a Carolingian handle. A newer handle will cause the blade to be dated too late, a newer blade with an older handle will be dated too early.11 This discrepancy can have serious consequences for chronology, especially in Christian Europe, where grave goods were not intended to

9 Leppäaho 1956.10 Stalsberg 1989.11 Example Stalsberg 2009: 97ff.

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accompany the dead in the grave, and where the swords are isolated finds in rivers that can be dated only by handle typology.

Carolingian Blades

One group of sword blades produced in the Carolingian Empire were inscribed with genuine signatures in Latin letters. Of these, the Vlfberht group is the most studied, most discussed, and most numerous – 166 blades as compared to the 42 combined total of Ingelrii, Rex, Cerolt, Ulen, Leutlrit, and Nred blades.12

The Origin of the Genuine Vlfberht Blades

The tradition of welding Latin letters onto the blades must have originated in the Carolingian Empire, where such letters were developed during the Carolingian Renaissance in the decades around 800. This assumption is supported by the Frankish origin of the name Vlfberht.13 The “Vlfberht”/“Ulfberht” spelling is unknown in contemporary sources.14 There are, however, names with the same pronunciation of the initial semi-vowel [w]: “Wulfberti” (genitive) in a will from 802 on the Lower Rhine.15 Libri Confraternitatum Sancti Galli lists several spellings of the name from the ninth to the eleventh century: Uolfberht, Uolfbernt, Uolfbernus, Uolfberht/Wolfbert, Uolfbertus/Wolfbertus.16

Vlfberht is generally believed to have been a blacksmith, but I have not seen adequate support for this idea in the discussion. It is implausible that Vlfberht was a single person, as 166 Vlfberht blades are known, and according to the datings of their handles they were made and used throughout the Viking Age, from around 800 to perhaps the twelfth century (one sword in eastern Germany is peculiar, and very late); it is improbable that one blacksmith produced so much and definitely over such a long period (fig. 10.1). Even if he produced for an arsenal during a man’s lifetime, the number of Vlfberht blades is improbable. I have no solution to this problem.

12 Stalsberg 2009.13 E.g. Lorange 1889: 15–20; Jankuhn 1951: 217–218; discussions with linguists.14 Cf. Jankuhn 1951: 218–220.15 Jankuhn 1951: 218.16 Piper 1884.


As seen in Figure 10.2, there are two main ways of “writing” the name on the blades – +VLFBERH+T and +VLFBERHT+ − but there is no chronological difference between them. One possible lead may be to search for Vlfberht as a title other than a personal name. Due to the initial cross in the signature, Vlfberht may have been a bishop or an abbot; the signature’s second cross, which bishops and abbots did not command, may indicate some other posi-tion that contributed to the weapon production process (production overseer? swordmaster?) under the authority of a bishop or abbot.17 The salient point for the present discussion is that Vlfberht was a Frankish name from the Carolingian Empire.

It has been claimed that +VLFBERH+T is genuine and +VLFBERHT+ a copy or falsification.18 However but neither the distributions nor the chronology of the handles suggest a such a difference between these two inscriptions. It may simply be that there were persons who had their names “written differently”. To solve the question of the authenticity of the Vlfberht blades, a large quantity of blades, including examples with and without the signature, must be examined for welding/forging techniques and metallurgical characteristics.

An incorrectly “written” signature does not imply that the blade is a copy made outside the Carolingian Empire, because on one of the earliest known Vlfberht blades, found in the Rhine at Mannheim with a very fine

17 Discussion Stalsberg 2009: 101ff.18 Alan Williams, personal communication.

Figure 10.1 Chart of variants of Vlfberht signatures and reverse marks. The number of blades in brackets

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Mannheim-Speyer – type handle dated to around 800, the signature is written as +VLFBEHT+ and the geometrical mark on the reverse is rather clumsy. This fine and well-made handle is undoubtedly genuinely Carolingian, so the blade perhaps was made by an illiterate tenant on a demesne or by a slave black-smith in a state, ecclesiastical, or monastic weapon smithy. It is unlikely that blacksmiths were literate, while Vlfberht having a signature suggests he was literate. Slavery had enormous dimensions in the Carolingian Empire, given the economic reliance on slave labour and the horrendous scale and economic value of the slave trade. The illiteracy of slave blacksmiths could explain the deviant signatures and reverse marks; however, this explanation does not rule out foreign copies or falsifications, as there is no doubt that blacksmiths in pagan Europe mastered the simple technique of welding wires onto sword blades to shape letters and other marks.19 This is indicated by blades without any signature, but with geometrical marks, among them some marks similar to those on the reverses of Vlfberht blades, sometimes on both sides of the blade. Among the blades examined by Kirpichnikov and J. Leppäaho there are 54 such blades in Finland, Russia, Ukraine, Sweden, and Norway. There is no reason to believe that these were not made in pagan Europe. The most

19 Cf. Andresen 1993.

Figure 10.2 The phases of the chronology of the sword handles found with Vlfberht blades, according to Petersen 1919 with adjustments© Anne Stalsberg


striking evidence is two blades from Ukraine on which Kirpichnikov found inscriptions in Cyrillic letters. One is the famous eleventh-century sword with a cast-bronze handle in Scandinavian runestone style, with the name “Людoтa” on one side of the blade, on the other side “кoвaлъ/кoвaль” – either the verb “to forge” in the preterite, or the noun meaning “blacksmith”.20 A handle with Scandinavian- style ornamentation on a blade with a Cyrillic signature is a reminder that blade and handle may have different origins. The other blade is a tenth-century sword with a fragmentary blade, with the letters “CЛAB”, probably the beginning of a name, such as Slavomir, Slavuta, or others.21 These blades were undoubtedly made in early Rus’. Strangely enough, no runes have been found on any blade, even if there must have been a considerable sword production in Norway with its more than 3,000 swords.22

Since it is next to impossible with our present knowledge to distinguish genuine Vlfberht blades from imitations, they will all be treated as genuine in this chapter, with due reservations. It is in any case reasonable to see some con-nection between false and genuine Vlfberht blades – some were the masters, some were the apprentices, and knowledge of this type had to be transmitted face-to-face, directly.

The Distribution of the Vlfberht Blades

Maps 10.1–10.4 do not reflect the original distribution of the Vlfberht blades, as there are so few in the Carolingian Empire – the source of the Vlfberht blades – and so many in Norway. This discrepency is easy to explain: in the Carolingian Empire Christianity forbade the practice of grave goods and the swords found there are accidental, isolated finds in rivers, while in pagan Norway there was a sizeable steel production from bog ore, the burial rites were very generous, and according to laws dating to the period immediately after the Viking Age all free adult men were obliged to possess a sword or an axe, plus a spear and shield; the research on Norway has also been substantial, not least thanks to Kirpichnikov’s 1992 research.23 There were indeed many weapons in Norway. The shift in the distribution – from the early phase of the Viking Age in Map 10.2, through the middle phase in Map 10.3, to the late phase in Map 10.4 – also reflects the spread of Christianity and its ban on grave goods in

20 Kirpichnikov 1966: 84f., No. 87.21 Kirpichnikov 1998.22 Perhaps runes were not used for swords, and only letters were considered acceptable?.23 Partly published; Solberg 1985: 68f.; Martens 2003a; Martens 2003b.

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Christian graves; from the late Viking Age more swords have been found in the Carolingian Empire than in Norway.

No less than 74 out of 166 known (at the time of my 2007 study) Vlfberht blades from all Europe have been found in the countries around the Baltic Sea, in early Rus’, and in Volga Bulgaria: Sweden, Finland, Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, former East Prussia (now Kaliningradskaya oblast’ in Russia), Poland, the eastern part of Germany, and the area south-east of Lake Ladoga in Russia (which is accessible by boat from the Baltic Sea). From early Rus’ 12 Vlfberht swords are known (five from Russia, one from Belarus, and six from Ukraine), and two from Volga Bulgaria (Tatarstan). In addition ten swords with other signatures in Latin letters are known in Europe; of these three are from Russia (Ulen, Cerolt, and Nred); plus one from Tatarstan in Russia (Leutlrit) and one from Sweden (Pulfbri). The Baltic was not a backwater as regards Carolingian swords or sword blades.

The Character of the Diffusion of the Carolingian Swords

Archaeology as a study of mute objects cannot tell us exactly how Carolingian swords ended up in pagan Europe – as legally exported goods, through smuggling or plunder, as ransom, or as gifts. The six capitularia containing bans on supplying unauthorized persons with weapons are worth another glance. Five capitularia were issued by Charlemagne and one by Charles the Bald.24

– Capitulare Haristallense, a.d. 779: “concerning bruniae, that no one should dare to sell outside our kingdom”.

– Capitulare Mantuanum, a.d. 781: “let no one sell … arms of any kind or stal-lions outside our kingdom”. If caught, the perpetrators were subject to fines.

– Capitulare missorum, a.d. 803: “Leg guards or bruniae shall not be given to merchants”. A variant of the text held in the Vatican specifies that merchants foras marcas must not be given leg guards, bruniae, or swords. Foras marcas included inhabitants of the areas bordering on Spain and Brittany, as well as the Saxons, Avars, and Slavs.

– Duplex Capitulare missorum in Theodonis Villa datum (Thionville), a.d. 805 (addressing the royal officials, the missi, who supervised provincial administration): “Concerning merchants who travel in the territories of

24 Texts quoted in Fuglesang 2000; see also Loyn and Percival 1976: 49ff.


Slavs and Avars, and how far they could go on their business: in the region of Saxony as far as Bardowiek, Schesel, Magdeburg, Erfurt, Halazstadt, Forcheim, Pfreimt, Regensburg, and Lorsch. They must not take arms and bruniae with them to sell; and if they are caught while carrying them, their entire stock is to be confiscated”.

– Capitulare from Boulogne-sur-Mer, a.d. 811: “no bishop, abbot or abbess, or rector or custos shall without our permission give or sell bruniae or sword to any foreign man, nor shall their vassals do so”. In Fuglesang’s opinion, this capitulare does not ban normal arms trade with Scandinavia, but was an ad hoc decision responding to the Vikings’ having forced church institu-tions to hand over coats of mail and swords that may have been stored in monasteries and churches, either because they were produced by ecclesias-tical workshops or because they were kept there for the use of local cavalry.

Edictum Pistence, a.d. 864, also states that no one may dare to sell coats of mail or weapons to a foreign man without the king’s permission. Accordingly, person who has given a Nortmann coats of mail or any kind of weapon or a horse, for whatever reason, either as ransom or for a price, is deemed a traitor and a lapsed Christian and shall suffer death as a pagan, without any return or salvation. This is the only capitulare which prescribed capital punishment for allowing foreigners to have weapons; apparently a response to an outstanding instance of Viking plundering.

These items naturally were sought after by the Vikings, as bruniae and swords were cavalry equipment needed for confronting the Carolingian cavalry on equal terms while moving overland. These were expensive items: according to a Carolingian law, a trained stallion and a sword with sheath cost 7 shillings, while a brunia cost 12 shillings.25

Swords are explicitly mentioned in only two capitularia (cap. a.d. 803, and cap. a.d. 811), but it is not unreasonable to assume that swords were included in the capitularia which refer only to arma, i.e., weapons (cap. a.d. 781; cap. a.d. 805; Edictum Pistense a.d. 864). Swords were part of the horsemen’s equipment, as were bruniae, leg guards, and horses. Horses (stallions) are mentioned twice, once in the Mantova capitulare, which generally forbade selling horses outside the empire. Edictum a.d. 864 with threats of capital punishment explicitly forbids giving or selling horses to the Nortmanni – something that had occurred. The Vikings naturally had to acquire horses

25 Prietzel 2006b: 18.

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upon landing in the empire, as horses were needed to confront the Carolingian cavalry but inconvenient to transport aboard warships.

Legal Export or Illegal Foreign Trade/Smuggling of Weapons?

It is obvious that the capitularia did not forbid legal trade, in the sense of trade activity undertaken with the emperor’s permission and whose agents paid customs and taxes; the activity forbidden by the capitularia was classified, as an effect of the ban, as smuggling or illegal trade.

In the vast literature on the Vikings, scholarly as well as popular, it is usually said that there was a considerable export of weapons from the Carolingian Empire to Scandinavia, sometimes with reference to the large number of weapons, especially swords with blades with the signature Vlfberht found in Scandinavia and other countries outside the empire. Terminology is important; the term “export” refers to the legal sale of items to another country. “Export” does not refer to smuggling. For a modern example, the voluminous global sale of illegal drugs is not classified as export, but as smuggling. If modern authorities have not succeeded in stopping smugglers, the Carolingian authorities had even fewer resources at their disposal to prevent smuggling; nevertheless, they tried, as shown by the capitularia.

Likewise, attempts were made to control the sale of weapons within the emipre. Two capitularia (Cap. a.d. 803; cap. a.d. 805) forbade supplying weapons to merchants (see above). Adriaan Verhulst (2002: 78) points out that “several abbeys had arms manufactured for the military services of their vassals, and only for them. Selling them to other persons, particularly to merchants was repeatedly forbidden”. Furthermore, Edictum a.d. 864 designates certain places in the empire where merchants were to be permitted to carry and sell bruniae and weapons; if they were found carrying and sell-ing weapons outside these areas, all their wealth would be confiscated. It was obviously imperative to control the weapons by keeping them out of the hands of merchants. If there had been a regular, legal weapon trade, capitularia would not explicitly ban letting merchants getting hold of weapons; it seems reason-able that the Carolingian authorities would seek to prevent a large export of weapons to fierce enemies such as the Vikings whose “visits” to the Caro lingian Empire frequently spread horror and death. Likewise, Slavs, Avars, Spain, Brittany, and Saxony were regarded as enemies to be prevented from acquiring weapons (a.d. 803).

The crucial point, or rather the crucial line, was the border – the limit of the territories controlled by the Carolingian authorities, the line which the


Carolingian authorities tried to prevent weapon dealers from crossing. Beyond this line – in the language of the capitularia, foras marcas – the smugglers, merchants, plunderers, or others could sell the weapons without being disturbed by the Carolingian authorities.

The Viking Way: Plunder and Ransom

The Vikings were not the only people to practice plunder – for example, the Arabs plundered as badly in the Mediterranean – but the Vikings became infamous for it.26 They looted all property in the country they could, whether secular or ecclesiastical, private or public; old and young, women and men, strong and sick were murdered indiscriminately. During wars, the fallen enemies and their country were plundered as part of the ritual of war – “Das Plündern als Symbol des Sieges”, as Malte Prietzel formulates it.27 Plunder-ing weapon arsenals could be lucrative, and the existence of arsenals in the Carolingian Empire is indicated by the fact that the authorities in Arles could collect 150 swords as part of the ransom paid to an Arab prince in exchange for their archbishop (see below). Charlemagne’s requisition sent to Abbot Fulrad during a summer campaign, requesting stone-throwing machines and the men to operate them, also indicates that there were not only ready weapons in the abbey, but also men skilled in their use.28

Ransom, in exchange for either freeing captured dignitaries or leaving the country without plundering it, was practised not only by the Vikings on the Atlantic coasts and partly along rivers of the Carolingian Empire, but also by the Arabs in the Mediterranean.29 I have not yet found any explicit evidence that the Vikings demanded weapons as ransom; rather, they demanded gold and silver – in mass quantities. As ransom for releasing the Archbishop of Arles in 869; the Arab prince demanded 150 swords, along with 150 pounds of silver, 150 coats, and 150 slaves; his demands were met.30

As no sources clearly indicate legal and taxpaying trade of weapons to the Vikings and other enemies, plunder and ransom remain the more probable means of acquiring weapons from the Carolingian Empire. Swords which thus

26 Loyn and Percival 1976: 16.27 Prietzel 2006a, Kap. IV: 2,2.28 Bachrach 2001: 57.29 Loyn and Percival 1976: 16.30 Annales Bertiniani sub anno 869, ed. Nelson 1991: 163.

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had been brought outside of the empire may have been traded subsequently within pagan Europe and also to the Caliphate.

Swords across the Baltic and on the East European Plain

From prehistoric times, the Baltic Sea has been a highway of contacts among peoples living around it. Carolingian swords with Vlfberht blades also have crossed the Baltic, at least to Sweden and Finland, while they may have come overland to the countries south of the sea. Vlfberht swords have also been found on the inland East European Plain, a region so different from western Europe that it has been called a sub-continent; it could not be reached by seagoing vessels, so travellers had to transfer to river-going boats.

Among the swords found on the plain are 15 with Vlfberht blades (the Ladoga area is not included since it could be reached directly from the Baltic Sea), one near Novgorod; one in Polotsk near Daugava; on the Volga, one in Yaroslavl’and two in Volga Bulgaria; on the Dnepr route, two in Gnezdovo, one in the Kiev area, and one in Shestovitsa on the Desna; and on the steppes, three in the Dnepr rapids and one near the Dnepr mouth into the Black Sea. The Novgorod sword is late Viking Age, the others are early or mid-dle Viking Age. Four of the swords have been found in graves (which in 1974 I did not doubt to be Scandinavian), three in the Dnepr; the remainder are chance finds.

The discussion of the swords south of the Baltic Sea and inland on the plain has had a political dimension, as the swords found in the region are connect-ed to Swedish activities there. Representing the Normanist school, T.J. Arne regarded the swords found in Russia as either imports from Sweden or copies of Scandinavian types.31 Birger Nerman agreed about the swords in Estonia and Latvia.32 V.I. Ravdonikas counts six sword types from the area south-east of Lake Ladoga as definitely Scandinavian.33 None of them mentions Carolingian swords. Representing the anti-Normanist view, A.V. Artsikhovskii argued in 1939 that the swords found in early Rus’ cannot be called Norman (i.e. Varangian, Scandinavian), since they are of general European, Carolingian types.34 In 1966 Kirpichnikov wrote that the Scandinavians often distributed the swords, since

31 Arne 1914: 230. In 1914 the Russian Empire included the Baltic Sea countries of Finland, Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, Prussia, and Poland.

32 Nerman 1929: 64ff., especially p. 94.33 Ravdonikas 1930: 107.34 Artsikhovskii 1939.


they controlled most of the trade between the early Rus’ realm and the west, and that they could trade Carolingian swords after obtaining them.35 He also pointed to the Capitulare a.d. 805 which forbade merchants travelling to the countries of Slavs and Avars to bring weapons to sell to these peoples. Trade over land from the Carolingian Empire to Rus’ cannot be excluded.

In my 1974 M.A. dissertation I attempted to determine whether the swords found in the early Rus’ realm had arrived there from Scandinavia on the belts of Scandinavians. My study examined 113 known Viking Age swords, among them known find contexts for 47 graves; 17 of these graves I concluded are those of Scandinavians, based on the full find complexes in the graves.36 There can be no doubt that these swords arrived in early Rus’ as personal weapons of Varangians.37 None of the swords in Scandinavian graves had Vlfberht blades, which may indicate either that the Vlfberht blades came with the Scandina-vians, or on the contrary that they came via the continent from the Carolingian Empire.

As for the question of trade, we must consult the written sources, particularly the Islamic sources.

The Islamic Sources on Trade in Swords beyond the Baltic Sea

The Arabs did not always distinguish the different peoples; ar-Rūs usually refers to Scandinavians, mainly Svear, while as-Saqaliba refers to Slavs, but also could include neighbouring groups.38

Referring to Ibn Fadlān, Ibn Miskawaih, and Ibn Hordādbeh, Arbman claims “Dass Schwertklingen auf fränkischem Gebiet in grossen Umfang für den Export fabriziert wurden, geht nicht nur aus den in den Capitularien auferlegten Exportverboten … sondern auch aus den Mitteilungen der arabischen Verfasser über den Schwerthandel hervor”.39

Of these authors, only Ibn Hordādbeh wrote in the 840s–880s about the sword trade and ar-Rūs.40 The ar-Rūs merchants, themselves a subset of as-Saqaliba, imported swords and furs from the remotest areas of the land of the Slavs to the Black Sea, where they had to pay tithes to the Byzantine lord

35 Kirpichnikov (1966: 48f.).36 Stalsberg 1974.37 The term used in early Russian sources for military men.38 Birkeland 1954: 134, note 2.39 Arbman 1937: 230f.40 Birkeland 1954: 10ff.; Noonan 1991.

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( probably in Crimea). If they sailed on the Don, they paid tithes to the Khazar lord. They subsequently travelled to the Caspian Sea, from where they some-times took their goods on camels to Baghdad.41 Ibn Hordādbeh mentions the swords only once, listed among the goods from the land of the Slavs; he does not mention where they were sold, nor does he reveal whether the swords were Frankish.

Ibn Hordādbeh also wrote of Jewish merchants whose inventory included swords when they sailed from the Frankish realm on a journey to Pakistan, India, and China.42 According to N. Velikhanova’s translation, the Jews acquired their goods, including swords, in al-Maghrib.43 According to I.G. Konovalova these goods came from Muslim Spain.44 Arbman for some reason supposes that these were Frankish swords.45

Writing after 902, Ibn al-Faqīh, not mentioned by Arbman, repeated Ibn Hordādbeh’s description, with three important exceptions: the merchants were not ar-Rūs, but as-Saqaliba; swords are not mentioned, only furs; they sold their goods on the Caspian Sea, and all the goods ended up not in Baghdad, but in Rey.46 Rey is a town 8 kilometres south-east of Tehran; a journey to Rey is a much more plausible story than the long journey across deserts and mountain ranges to Baghdad.

Ibn Fadlān visited Bulghar in the summer of 922. In his report to the Caliph he did not mention the sword trade, but he noted that the swords of ar-Rūs were broad, flat, and ridged according to the Frankish pattern or of Frankish production Islamic (Arabic) swords were straight, double-edged and without grooves.47 The wording regarding the Frankish element is unclear, as Arabists translate it variously as: “according to Frankish pattern”; “have Frankish decoration”; “Frankish production”; or simply “Frankish”. Unfortunately, Ibn Fadlān says nothing about how the swords came to Bulghar, whether through trade or as personal weapons.

Ibn Miskawaih (†1030) and Ibn Atīr (†1233) repeat al-Masudi’s account of the ar-Rūs plundering the town Barda’a in Azerbaijan in 944, and add that Muslims exhumed weapons from the ar-Rūs graves after the latter had departed. Ibn

41 Velikhanova 1986: 384f. and Novosel’tsev 1965: 385: “sometimes”, rather than “often”, as Birkeland says 1954: 11.

42 Velikhanova 1986: 38ff.; 123f.43 The Muslim north-west African coastal areas.44 Konovalova 1999: 205f.45 Arbman 1937: 231.46 Novosel’tsev 1965: 385.47 Yücel 2001: 54ff., Plates 23–30.


Miskawaih noted that their swords were of excellent quality.48 These weapons clearly were personal weapons.

According to a text written by Ibn Rustah after 922, ar-Rūs had Suleiman (Salominic) swords. The meaning of “Suleiman” here is not clear. Konovalova cites various interpretations, stressing that these are guesswork, and proposes that “Suleiman” may connote high quality (personal communication).

According to the book Hudūd al-Ālam (The Regions of the World), written in 982 by an anonymous Afghan author, there was in the ar-Rūs land, west of the Pecheneg mountains and east of the as-Saqaliba, a town called Urtāb, where valuable swords and blades were made.49 Urtāb is not identified, but in the event, this account may be an indication that swords were made in eastern Europe, outside the Carolingian Empire.

As I understand the Islamic texts, they support the existence of a sword trade outside the Carolingian Empire.

Experiences from the Sources

In this discussion, mute archaeological objects and verbal written sources complement each other. It seems that legends are perpetuated more easily in archaeological than in written sources, since the finds cannot tell how and why they ended up where they were found. On the other hand, written sources must be read carefully, and the reliability of their translations must be considered. It is advisable that linguists, archaeologists, and historians cooperate closely when translating difficult texts; philological translations can be overly literal, while historians may catch cultural implications of the wordings in a text. Likewise for etymological studies. Both types of sources are indispensable – taken together, they describe different aspects of the same realities.

Conclusion

This article has raised two issues: (1) the question whether there was an export of weapons – in this case, swords – from the Carolingian Empire to non-Christian Europe, and (2) the question whether the swords found in

48 Birkeland 1954: 58; 92.49 These swords could be bent double, but as soon as the hand was taken away, the blades

returned to their previous shape; Birkeland, 1954: 51f.

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early Rus’ and Volga Bulgaria arrived via the Baltic. The questions were in-vestigated on the basis of the finds of swords and analyzed in light of Caro-lingian and Muslim written sources. The answer to the first question is no: the Carolingian authorities tried to control the weapon trade within the em-pire, to prevent the Vikings who had arrived in the empire from acquiring weapons, and to ban the sale of weapons outside the empire. The finds of swords indicate that these efforts were not fully successful, as the swords were illegally sold, i.e., smuggled out of the empire; the number of swords smuggled is unknown, but not insignificant. The answer to the second question is yes, as the swords found in Scandinavians’ graves were their personal weapons, brought across the Baltic. Swords also may have been taken across the continent by land from the Carolingian Empire, a practice that was banned by the 805 Thionville Capitulare. Islamic sources mention that ar-Rūs merchants obtained swords from the remotest parts of Slav-inhabitet land to the Caspian and even further to Rey, sometimes Baghdad. In Bulghar the ar-Rūs had swords of Frankish shape or ornamentation – the text is not clear about which aspects were Frankish. Arabs plundered swords from ar-Rūs graves on the Caspian Sea. There is no mention of the western Europeans having owned Muslim (Arabic) swords.

It would have been impossible to write this article without compari-sons between the mainly mute archaeological finds and contemporary written sources, in this case the capitularia; without these, the discussion of the swords’ distribution would have had to rely to a discomfiting degree on archaeological guesswork. Some of the swords are themselves a type of written source, since their blades are marked with a Frankish name in Latin letters, revealing that these blades – apart from an unknown number of copies and falsifications – were made in the Carolingian Empire. They are, however, silent regarding the circumstances of how they ended up in areas far outside the empire. The capitularia reveal that weapons were smuggled out of the empire. It was no easier to curtail smuggling in the ninth to eleventh centuries than it is today, and the number of smuggled swords remains unknowable. Well outside the empire, the swords may have been freely traded to subsequent parties, as indicated by the Muslim sources mentioning the sword trade.


Map 10.1 General distribution of the Vlfberht swords (status 2007). Two of the swords marked in Russia are found in Tatarstan (Volga Bulgaria) to the right of the frame of the mapConstructed by Mona Ødegården. © Anne Stalsberg

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Map 10.2 Vlfberht swords datable to the early phase of the Viking Age. One of the swords marked in Russia is found in Tatarstan (Volga Bulgaria) to the right of the frame of the mapConstructed by Mona Ødegården. © Anne Stalsberg


Map 10.3 Vlfberht swords datable to the middle phase of the Viking Age. One of the swords marked in Russia is found in Tatarstan (Volga Bulgaria) to the right of the frame of the mapConstructed by Mona Ødegården. © Anne Stalsberg

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Map 10.4 Vlfberht swords datable to the late phase of the Viking AgeConstructed by Mona Ødegården. © Anne Stalsberg


References

Andresen, Kasper. “Hvordan ble dekor og innskrifter på vikingsverd utført?” SPOR, fortidsnytt fra midt-norge 1 (1993): 38–39.

Arbman, Holger. Schweden und das karolingische Reich. Stockholm: Bokförlagsaktiebo-laget Thule, 1937.

Artsikhovskii, Artemij Vladimirovich. “Russkaya druzhina po arkheologicheskim dan-nym.” Istorik- Marsksist 1 (1939): 193–195.

Arne, Ture J. La Suède et l’Orient. Archives d’études orientales 8. Uppsala: K. W. Appelberg, 1914.

Bachrach, B.S. Early Carolingian Warfare. Penn, University of Pennsylrania Press. Phila-delphia, 2001.

Birkeland, Harris. Nordens historie i middelalderen etter arabiske kilder. Skrifter, Norske videnskaps-akademi i Oslo. ii, Hist.- filos. Klasse 2. Oslo: Jacob Dybwad, 1954.

Fuglesang, Signe H. Skriftlige kilder for karolingisk våpeneksport til Skandinavia? Collegium Medievale 13 (2000): 177–184.

Jankuhn, Herbert. “Ein Ulfberht-Schwert aus der Elbe bei Hamburg.” In Festschrift für Gustav Schwantes zum 65 Geburtstag, edited by Karl Kersten, 212–233. Neumünster: Wachholtz, 1951.

Kirpichnikov, Anatolij Nicolaevich. Drevnerusskoe oruzhie i. Mechi i sabli ix–xiii vv. Leningrad: Nauka, 1966.

Kirpichnikov, Anatolij Nikolaevich. “O nachale proizvodstva mechei na Rusi.” In Trudy vi mezhdunarodnogo kongressa slavyanskoi arkheologii T.4, edited by Valentin V. Sedov, 246–251. Moscow: Rossijskaja akademija nauk, 1998.

Konovalova, Irina G. “Vostochnye istochniki.” In Drevnyaya Rus’ v svete zarubezhnykh istochnikov, edited by Elena Aleksandrovna Mel’nikova, 169–258. Moscow: Logos, 1999.

Leppäaho, Jorma. “Damaskering.” Kulturhistorisk leksikon for nordisk middelalder 2, edited by John Granlund and Ingvar Andersson, 627–630. Köpenhamn: Rosenkilde og Bagger, 1956.

Libri Confraternitatum Sancti Galli, Augiensis, Fabariensis. Edited by Paul Piper. Monu-menta Germaniae Historica 4:o 9. Berlin, 1884.

Lorange, Anders L. Den yngre Jærnalders Sværd: et bidrag til Vikingetidens Historie og Teknologi. Bergen: Bergens Museum, 1889.

Loyn, Henry Royston and Percival, John. The Reign of Charlemagne: Documents on Caro lingian Government and Administration. Documents of medieval history 2. New York: St Martin’s Press, 1976.

Martens, Irmelin 2003a. “Viking Age Weapons in Norway: Their Role in Society.” In Pro-ceedings of the xvi IAMAM Congress 2002, edited by Carl Olsson, 114–121. Oslo: The Norwegian Armed Forces Museum, 2003.

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Martens, Irmelin. 2003b. “Tusenvis av sverd. Hvorfor har Norge mange flere vikingtids-våpen enn noe annet europeisk land?” Collegium Medievale 16 (2003): 51–66.

Nelson, Janet. Ninth-century histories. Vol 1, The Annals of St-Bertin. Translated and annotated by Janet L. Nelson. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1991.

Nerman, Birger. Die Verbindungen zwischen Skandinavien und dem Ostbaltikum in der jüngeren Eisenzeit. Kungl. Vitterhets-, historie- och antikvitetsakademiens handlin-gar 40:1. Stockholm: Kungl. Vitterhets-, historie- och antikvitetsakademien, 1929.

Noonan, Thomas S. 1991. “When did Rus/Rus’ merchants first visit Khazaria and Baghdad?” Archivum Eurasiae Medii Aevi 7 (1987–1991): 213–219.

Novosel’tsev, Anatolij P. “Vostochnye istochniki o vostochnyh slavyanah i Rusi vi–ix vv.” In Drevnerusskoe gosudarstvo i ego mezhdunarodnoe znachenie, edited by Anatolij P. Novosel’tsev, Vladimir T. Pashuto and Lev V. Cherepnin, 355–419. Moscow: Nauka, 1965.

Petersen, Jan. De norske vikingesverd: En typologisk-kronologisk studie over vikingetidens vaaben. Kristiania: Dybwad, 1919.

Prietzel, Malte. Kriegführung im Mittelalter. Handlungen, Erinnerungen, Bedeutungen. Krieg in der Geschichte 32. Paderborn: Ferdinand Schöning, 2006a.

Prietzel, Malte. Krieg im Mittelalter. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2006b.

Ravdonikas, Vladislav Iosifovich. Die Normannen der Wikingerzeit und das adogagebiet. Kungl. Vitterhets-, historie- och antikvitetsakademiens handlingar 40:3. Stockholm: Kungl. Vitterhets-, historie- och antikvitetsakademien, 1930.

Solberg, Bergljot. “Social Status in the Merovingian and Viking Periods in Norway from Archaeological and Historical Sources.” Norwegian Archaeological Review 18, Issue 1–2 (1985): 61–76.

Solberg, Bergljot. “Weapon Export from the Continent to the Nordic Countries in the Carolingian Period.” Studien zur Sachsenforschung 7 (1991): 241–259.

Stalsberg, Anne. Dei skandinaviske vikingtidsfunna i Rus’-riket. Magister artium disser-tation, University of Oslo. Unpublished, 1974.

Stalsberg, Anne. “Mønstersmidde sverd og varjagerkontroversen.” Norsk våpenhistorisk selskap. Årbok 1988 (1989): 7–31.

Stalsberg, Anne. “Herstellung und Verbreitung der Vlfberht-Schwertklingen: Eine Neu-bewertung.” Zeitschrift für Archäologie des Mittelalters 36/2008 (2009): 89–118.

Velikhanova, N. ed. Ibn Khordadbeh. Kniga puteĭ i stran. Azărbaijan tarikhină dair mănbălăr. Baku: Elm, 1986.

Verhulst, Adriaan. The Carolingian Economy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002.

Yücel, Ünsal. Islamic Swords and Swordsmiths. Istanbul: O.I.C. Research Centre for Islamic History, Art and Culture, IRCICA, 2001.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ��7 | doi �0.��63/97890043�847�_0��

chapter 11

Dirham Hoards from the Gulf of Finland Region

Tuukka Talvio

There is an obvious connection between Viking Age trade routes and dirham hoards, despite the fact that, as noted by Sebastian Brather, the geographical distribution of the hoards does not necessarily provide any direct answers to questions concerning the trade.1 The Gulf of Finland is even today an important waterway between Russia and the rest of Europe, and its importance for the early connections between Sweden and Russia is attested by archaeological finds as well as historical sources like the Russian Primary Chronicle. The existence of several dirham hoards along the shores of the Gulf is hardly surprising; they are not numerous, however, and they are found mainly in Estonia. How to explain this situation?

We must begin by defining the minimum size of a hoard. The finds listed as hoards vary from fewer than a handful to thousands of coins. In principle, two coins or other objects hidden together form a hoard, as distinct from a single or cumulative find – and from a subjective point of view, even a single object can be classified as a “hoard”.2 A more practical interpretation is usually preferred, however. In two recent comprehensive surveys, only finds consisting of at least five coins have been accepted as hoards, and I have followed this principle here.3

Finds from Russian Territory

The shortest route from Sweden to Staraya Ladoga was by way of the Gulf of Finland and the Neva and Volkhov rivers. Staraya Ladoga is also where the earliest dirham hoard in eastern Europe has been found. It consisted of 31 coins with a terminus post quem of 786. Another early hoard is known from Knyashchina, a few kilometres from Staraya Ladoga, but here the coins were found on several occasions and only some of them were identified, so that it is not

1 Brather, 1997: 107.2 Mørkholm 1976.3 Brather 1997: 74; Kilger 2008: 247ff.

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quite certain whether all of the approximately 400 coins belonged to the same hoard. If they did, the t.p.q. was probably 809.4

In 1809 or 1810, a spectacular find was discovered in the Ladoga area: a dirham hoard weighing more than a hundred kilograms. It subsequently was dispersed and nothing is known of its dating.5 Large dirham hoards are, however, more typical of the tenth than the ninth century. There are also several other, much smaller hoards from the VolkhovNovgorod area.6

When we turn to the shores of the Gulf of Finland itself, we meet another early hoard. Found in Petrodvorets (Peterhof) some 30 kilometres west of St Petersburg, it contained at least 34 coins with a t.p.q. of 804.7 What is surprising is that no other coin hoards are known from the Russian coast of the Gulf from the ninth and tenth centuries. This presumably can be explained by the sparsity of the population in that area before c.1000.8 It may also be noted that there are no hoards with western coins from that area before the 1020s.9

Finds from Estonia

After Petrodvorets, the secondearliest hoard from the southern coast of the Gulf of Finland is the Kohtla find – the earliest dirham hoard from Estonia, with a t.p.q. of 837. According to Ivar Leimus’s recent Sylloge, there were 500–600 coins, of which 481 are known.10

There is probably also another Estonian find from the same time: in 1962, the Saaremaa museum acquired a private collection containing a parcel of 87 dirhams, apparently a hoard or part of a hoard with a t.p.q. of 837. The hoard may well have been found on the island of Saaremaa itself, in which case it does not come from the Gulf of Finland region.11

No other ninthcentury dirham hoards are known from the northern coast of Estonia, with the exception of a very unusual find from Haljala: a necklace with six golden pendants, including one ‘Abbāsid dinar from 864/5.12 The two

4 Noonan 1981: 82, 84.5 Markov 1910: 130f.6 Brather 1997: 91.7 Brather 1997: 130.8 Tallgren 1938: 98ff.9 Potin 1967: 137ff.10 Leimus 2007: 12ff.11 Leimus 2007: 15f.12 Leimus 2007: 18.

283Dirham Hoards From The Gulf Of Finland Region

other hoards from that century are associated with Lake Peipus and the city of Pärnu, respectively. The exact find location in both cases is unknown.13

In the tenth century, the situation was already very different: there are at least eleven datable hoards from northern Estonia. With the exception of the Paunküla (“A”) find consisting of a necklace with ten coins, t.p.q. 942, all the hoards date from 951–1010.14 This is also true of most of the dirham hoards from southern Estonia. In all, dirhams are known from 69 Estonian hoards, but more than half of them belong to the eleventh century and consist mainly of western coins. Besides the northern coast there are two distinct find concentrations, on the island of Saaremaa and west of Lake Peipus. The latter group probably was connected to trading with the Pskov and Novgorod areas.15 The total number of dirhams published by Leimus from Estonian finds is nearly 4,000.16

Finds from the Finnish Mainland

In Finland, as in Estonia, the earliest dirham hoards date from 837. There are two of them with this t.p.q., from Svedjelandet (Geta) in Åland and Housulanmäki (Vähäkyrö) in Österbotten. The Svedjelandet hoard appears to have originally consisted of at least 114 coins, while the Housulanmäki hoard may have been larger, but only 21 of its coins are known today.17 Neither of the find places is situated on the Gulf of Finland, but Åland lies along the sailing route from Uppland to the Gulf of Finland. The finds from Åland will be presented separately in the next section.

Found in Österbotten, the Housulanmäki hoard would seem to be wholly isolated from the other Finnish dirham finds, but it has an interesting connection with the Svedjelandet hoard: both are dated by dieidentical specimens of a rare and unusual coin which is nowadays attributed to Ard alKhazar, “Land of the Khazars”, and dated to 223 (837/8). What is even more interesting is that the Kohtla find – the earliest of the Estonian dirham hoards – is dated by a coin from the same reverse die. Due to the rarity of these coins, we perhaps might be justified in supposing that the three dielinked Khazarian dirhams originally belonged to a single parcel of coins that reached the Gulf of

13 Leimus 2007: 16f.14 Leimus 2007: 23.15 Selirand 1978: 248.16 Leimus 2007.17 Talvio 2002: 133, 164.

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Finland some time around 840. Recently it has been noted that the “manifest increase in finds in the area of Northern and Eastern Europe in the 830s … can be associated with the concentration of Khazar imitations in a number of hoards. This may reflect both a change in and the intensification of contacts with the east”.18

There are no dirham hoards from the northern coast of the Gulf of Finland itself, with the exception of a “minihoard” of four dirhams from Hanko, which is situated on the southernmost point of the Finnish mainland as well as on the westernmost point of the Gulf of Finland. Consisting of coins dating from 859/60–864/5, it is a remarkably compact find and well may have been left behind by a participant in the eastern ventures.19

Only one of the four Finnish dirham hoards from the tenth century comes from the mainland. This is the Tiikkinummi find from Perniö (t.p.q. 935), of which eight coins are known.20 A very poorly documented find of five to eight dirham fragments (t.p.q. 915) from Kärsämäki (Turku) has not been taken into account here.21

Finds from Åland

In addition to the Svedjelandet hoard there are two other ninthcentury hoards from Åland: Hammarudda (Jomala, 158 coins, t.p.q. 857) and Bertby (Salvik, 859 coins, t.p.q. 874). In both cases a number of coins were dispersed.22 The Bertby find is by far the largest dirham hoard from Finland, and because it predates the influx of the Sāmānid coins, ‘Abbāsid issues dominate the find statistics of Finland.

From the tenth century there are three smallish finds (28–92 coins), all dating from the 950s.23

The 1,300 coins that are known from Åland make up some 75 per cent of the Finnish dirhams finds. There are no west European coins from Åland, with the exception of one AngloSaxon penny from the years 924–936 found at a house site in Saltvik.24 Most of the 400 dirhams from the Finnish mainland come

18 Kilger 2008: 224.19 Talvio 2002: 91, 151.20 Talvio 2002: 142.21 Talvio 2002: 148ff.22 Talvio 2002: 134ff.23 Talvio 2002: 131, 133, 136.24 Talvio 2002: 31ff.


from eleventhcentury “mixed” hoards (consisting mainly of western coins) and graves.

Situated between Finland and Sweden, Åland is now an autonomous region belonging to Finland, but in earlier times the situation was otherwise: Ella Kivikoski’s characterization of Viking Age Åland as “a part of Central Sweden” is echoed by other writers, and she also mentioned the hoards of Arabic silver coins that “underline this connection”.25 Since the 1920s at least, the dirham hoards have been explained by the participation of the islanders in Viking ventures to the east.26 The Bertby hoard was buried in an Oriental bronze vessel, and C.A. Nordman interpreted this vessel, together with the “clay paws”, as crucial evidence of the eastern relations.27 At least four containers of similar narrownecked type are known from various parts of Sweden.28

The clay paws have not been found together with coins but are themselves of interest as evidence of eastern contacts. These enigmatic objects, resembling bear or beaver paws, are found in graves in Åland and in the YaroslavlVladimir area. They are unknown in mainland Finland and the eastern Baltic region, and there is only one find from Sweden. Kivikoski dated the finds from Åland to the seventh–ninth centuries. She originally associated them with cultural influences from central Russia, but subsequently she concluded that they in fact spread from Åland to Russia.29 According to Johan Callmer it is probable that the Ålandic “clay paw group became involved in hunting expeditions further and further east, and in the ninth century some of the members established themselves in three or four settlements on the middle Volga”.30 Ingmar Jansson, too, situates their origin in Åland “and perhaps also central Sweden”, thereby underlining the role of Åland in the emigration of Scandinavians to Russia.31

The coins, on the other hand, were not all necessarily acquired through direct contacts with the Middle Volga – eastern silver was also available in northwestern Russia and elsewhere in the Baltic area. Considering that the imports to Åland lasted for more than a hundred years, with an apparent hiatus in the decades around 900, there is no need to suppose that all the coins came from the same source.

25 Kivikoski 1967: 132.26 Hackman 1924: 40; Nordman 1933: 76.27 Nordman 1933: 76; 1942: 272f.; Talvio 2002: 93f.28 Mikkelsen 1998: 41ff.29 Kivikoski 1934: 390; Kivikoski 1967: 133.30 Callmer 1994: 13.31 Jansson 1987: 782ff.

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It has been suggested that Åland transmitted Birka’s trade with Finland, a scenario that could, of course, explain much of Åland’s wealth, as well as the similarities between Åland and Birka in terms of material culture.32 From a numismatic point of view it is interesting that “Hedeby” coins and other early western coins are remarkably common in the grave finds from Birka.33 No “Hedeby” coins are known from Åland, but the fragment of an early AngloSaxon penny from Saltvik plausibly could have come from Birka. If the relations between Åland and Birka were as close as has been claimed, however, one would have expected more nonIslamic coins from Åland.

Without a doubt, Åland is the most important repository of dirham hoards in Finland, but when the eastern imports came to an end around 960, they do not seem to have been followed by an import of western coins prior to the twelfth or thirteenth century. The finds from this period will be discussed briefly at the end of this paper.

Comparisons with Sweden

Before commenting on the finds from the Gulf of Finland region in greater detail, it is useful have another look at the Swedish find material. In Sweden the import of dirhams seems to have been more or less continuous since the opening years of the ninth century.34 The number of hoards reached a peak in the 860s, subsequently diminished and culminated with the Sāmānid imports that began in the 890s.35 The plentiful supply of dirhams declined radically in the midtenth century, and although it increased again at the end of the century, it was on a smaller scale and came to an end soon after the 1000.36

There are more hoards from Gotland from the 950s than from any other decade of the tenth century, but finds from the first half of the century are not rare either. In Uppland, on the other hand, the situation seems to have been somewhat similar to that on Åland: in addition to three ninthcentury hoards and six dating from 954–977, there are two hoards from the early tenth century, both of them small.37 The latest hoard from Björkö has the t.p.q. 963/4.38

32 Salo 1999: 64.33 Wiséhn 1989: 21ff.34 Brather 1997: 127ff.35 Noonan 1985.36 Noonan 1989.37 Wiséhn 1989; Gustin 2004: 106f.38 Wiséhn 1989: 32.


Elsewhere in Uppland, the latest dirham hoards date from 958/9 and 969/70.39 Hoards with western coins continue in Uppland until the late eleventh century, but only two are known from the years between 970 and the 1010s.40

It is believed that Birka and the Mälaren Valley played a central role in the trade with Russia, whereas the people of Gotland obtained most of their dirhams from the southern coasts of the Baltic.41 This may at least partly explain the differences between the finds from Uppland and Gotland.

How to Explain the Regional Differences?

As already mentioned, the number of dirham hoards found in the Gulf of Finland region – as opposed to the coast and islands of the central Baltic Sea or the Baltic Proper – is relatively small. Only one hoard (Petrodvorets/Peterhof) is known from the Russian coast of the Gulf, and a plausible suggested explanation is the paucity of settlement in that area in the period of the eastern silver.

We have also seen that there are no hoards at all from the Finnish (northern) coast of the Gulf, disregarding the four coins from Hanko. In addition to this “minihoard” the only coin finds of the coastal province of Uusimaa (Nyland) consist of an AngloSaxon penny and a few dirham fragments from graves and single finds.42 It has been assumed that the Viking route to the east made the coast too dangerous for habitation.43 On the other hand, it also has been pointed out that, according to the “Danish itinerary” from the thirteenth century, the route to the east did not necessarily follow the northern coast of the Gulf beyond the first leg of the journey.44 The lack of navigable river connections between the coast of Uusimaa and the interior also must be taken into account.45

The “Danish” sailing route, as documented in a codex from c.1300, was originally a guide to sailing from Ribe in Denmark to Tallinn in Estonia, which at the time belonged to Denmark.46 The route followed first the eastern coast of Sweden and then the southern coast of Finland until it crossed the Gulf from

39 Zachrisson 1998: 375.40 Zachrisson 1998: 229ff.41 Stalsberg 1979: 157; Jansson 1983: 233.42 Talvio 2002: 178f., 198.43 E.g. Huurre 1979: 158.44 Nordman 1942: 276.45 Masonen 1989: 82ff.46 Gallén 1993.

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the Porkkala Peninsula (50 km west of Helsinki) in the Tallinn region. It seems natural to suppose that this route was used already in Viking times.47 The Finnish coast of the Gulf had no permanent population before it was colonized by Swedish immigrants in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries.

In Estonia the situation was different from in Finland, as is shown by Leimus’s catalogue of dirham finds.48 Here, as in Åland, the number of hoards culminated in the 950s, but they did not cease in the second half of the century, and newlyimported dirhams were still common in the “mixed” hoards of Estonia around 1000. The fact that western coins became increasingly common in Estonia from the second half of the tenth century onwards seems to indicate that there were close contacts with Gotland, for it has been supposed that most of the western coins in Estonia came from there.49

While the lack of hoards from the Finnish side of the Gulf can be explained by the lack of permanent settlement on the coast, the numerous finds from Estonia are clearly associated with a dense population.50 Whatever the reasons for the ending of dirham imports to Åland, Estonia apparently continued to prosper, and its importance, if measured by coin finds, grew at the same time as the hoards in Åland ceased.

Conclusion

The close study of the numismatic history of the Viking Age in the territory of the present republics of Finland and Estonia and northwesternmost Russia (the St Petersburg region) gives an important contribution to the economic, political, and cultural history of the Gulf of Finland region and adjoining lands. The Gulf played a significant role in the flow of Islamic silver from the east and later of west European coins brought to the east. The various coastal districts were integrated in this economic network in different ways. The size of the population of these districts played a considerable role and may explain the difference between the relatively rich southern coast of the Gulf and the almost complete lack of finds in the north. Most significant is the economic importance of the population of the Åland Islands. The inhabitants of the denselypopulated major islands of this archipelago had close social and economic relations with southwestern Finland even before the Viking Age. In addition

47 Edgren 1992: 220.48 Leimus 2007.49 Molvõgin 1994: 23.50 E.g. Selirand 1989: 147.


to their Finnish network, the Ålanders certainly were also engaged in the longdistance trade in the ninth and tenth centuries towards the east. The rather abrupt cessation of finds from the Åland Islands in the late tenth century may be evidence of a significant discontinuity in this key district. Whether we are concerned with a complete abandonment or a heavy demographic decline remains uncertain. The weakening or cessation of the economic and political activity of the Ålanders may have created a vacuum that only gradually could be filled again; in fact, the interaction between the Scandinavian and the Finnish sides was altered. At least superficially similar phenomena are known from the coasts of the Baltic region, such as the decline in the Vasa region of Österbotten around 800 and the radical change in the Grobin settlements in coastal Curonia in the first half of the ninth century.

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Index

Abbasid 79, 80, 159, 170, 282coins 10, 282

Adam of Bremen 112, 117, 212Adventus ceremony 60, 66Agriculture 26–27, 38Ainola, weapon hoard 54Åland 13, 126, 172, 173, 193, 206, 207, 209, 211,

221, 284–285, 288–289hoards in 283

al-Masudi 272Andersen, Niels 27Anivehmaanmäki 173Arbman, Holger 233, 259–260, 271Ard al-Khazar 283

dirhams 283–284Arne, Ture J. 78, 270ar-Rus 136–162, 172, 179Artsikhovskii, Artemij Vladimirovich 270Axes 51, 127, 154, 181

bronze axes of Akozino-Mälaren type/Mälaren Axes 207–208

Baltic Finns 29, 38, 140, 153, 171–181artefacts of 190

Balts 35, 69, 82Western Balts 51, 58

Barrows see BurialsBarth, Fredrik 4, 91Battle axe culture 207Beloe 156, 193Beloozero, lake 179–181,Birka 11–12, 57, 93, 97, 189, 192, 205, 213, 286

Baltic-Finnish pottery at 36, 221–223Byzantine coins at 99cemetaries at 228, 230graves at 230, 231, 233, 242identity of 95–97, 243–244periods of 224–227

Björkö see BirkaBoat axe culture see Battle axe cultureBoguslavskii, Oleg Igorevitj 150Bolin, Sture 79Borre style see StyleBrooches and fibulae 173, 182–183, 184,

187–188, 224–226beaked 82

buckle 82equal-armed 210, 211oval 37, 175, 184–185, 210, 239, 240penannular 175, 182–183, 212, 216–218,

233, 235–238, 244ring 3round 182–183, 219, 220Scandinavian 151See also Dress; Jewellery; Pendants

Bulgars 272Volga Bulgars 97, 99, 100, 136, 159, 172

Bulghar 272, 274Burials

big barrows of the Moshchiny culture 143boat graves 57chamber graves 227, 230, 231clay paw graves 209, 285collective burials 25, 32–33, 38–39cremation 36–37, 142, 227double graves 233, 240female graves in Kainuu 178gender and 35, 233horses and horse equipment in graves 9,

48–70individual burials 26, 27–29, 30–34inhumation graves 34, 126, 142, 173, 178,

230–231, 242long barrows 51male and female 54secondary burial customs 25ship graves 23single graves 178sopka, grave 142–145, 151, 156, 158stone cist graves 23–25, 28stone graves in Estonia 51, 52tarand graves 22–25, 28, 31, 33, 208urn burials 143Votic graves 54warrior burials 28, 30–34weapons in graves 25–28, 30–34, 51, 54,

55, 56

Callmer, Johan 245Cargo cult of Melanesia 158Chernyakov culture 64, 66

Christianization 12, 56, 111–112in Finland 178See also Crusades

Cimmerians 58, 65Clay paws see BurialsCoins

‘Abbasid 10, 282Anglo-Saxon 286Byzantine 99coin pendant 240

Combed ware culture 206Corded ware culture 206–207Crosses 127

Pendants 176, 181Crusades 125–127, 129, 178, 196Cult of Ikanhoe 110Cult of St Olav 110, 112–114, 125–127Cultural identity 2–3

See also Ethnic identity; Salient identitiesCultural patterns 3Cultural translation, theory 65–66Curonia 37

settlement 23Curonians 55

settlement 23

Danes 117, 178Danube

area 51, 65river 51, 58

Daugava, river 23, 54scandinavian colony at 37sword find near 270See also Dvina Western, river

Demography 152–153contraction of 172

Dental caries 26–27Dirhams 13, 79–80, 85, 159, 161

hoards of 138, 153–154, 281–289Khazarian dirhams 283–284See also Coins; Hoards

Dnepr, river 100, 140sword finds 270

Dogsgrave goods 56iconography 68

Dress 94, 97–98, 151–152, 214female ceremonial 161See also Brooches and fibulae; Jewellery; Pendants

Dress accessories see Brooches and fibulae; Jewellery; Pendants

Drinking horn, iconography 60, 62–64, 67Dvina Northern, river 180Dvina Western, river 140D’yakovo Culture 140

Egalitarian/collective social model 19–20, 38

Ehmja, stone grave at 51Engels, Friedrich 18Ethnic identity/ Ethnicity 3–5, 91–92, 243,

See also Cultural identity; Salient identities

Ethnicity, definition 91Eura 173, 178, 209, 230Evolutionist worldview 8–9, 17–20

Feldt, Björn 23Fewster, Derek 21Fibulae see Brooches and fibulaeFinland Proper 125, 127, 173, 175, 178, 189,

209–211, 213Finno-Ugrians 51

pendants of 52Finns 82, 84, 126, 170

See also Baltic FinnsFortifications 138Franklin, Simon 94–95Fried, Morton 18Fuglesang, Signe Horn 260Funnel beaker culture 27

pottery 206Furs 10, 12, 79, 81, 83, 84, 85, 153, 155, 159, 169,

170, 172, 179, 180, 181, 193, 194, 196, 209, 234, 271, 272,

Gamla Uppsala see UppsalaGender relations 35, 38Ģinters, Valdemārs 217Glazov type neck rings see Jewellery, neck

ringsGnezdovo 94, 100

sword finds at 101, 270Gorodishche 212

settlement at 141Gotland 56, 57, 60, 69

hoards at 286–287penannular brooches from 212, 216picture stones 60–62, 65–68

294 Index

Rus’ churches in Visby 179Grave goods, prohibition of 265Graves see Burials

Haljala, finds at 282Hämäläiset see TavastsHanko, hoard at 284

See also UusimaaHedeby coins 286

Khazarian dirhams 283–284Sāmānid coins 284, 286Sassanian 179Viaticum 59See also Dirhams; Hoards

HoardsAinola, weapons 54definition of 281dirham hoards 79, 281–289hack-silver 160Kohtla find 282See also Coins; Dirhams

Horses and horse equipment, grave goods 47–70

Houses 145–148Hulthén, Birgitta 222Hybridity 242–244

Ibn Atīr 272Ibn Fadlān 159, 272Ibn Hordādbeh 8, 271, 272Ibn Miskawaih 272Identity, definition 2–3, 91Inhumation see BurialsIntermarriage, Scandinavian-Finnish 139Intersectionality 5Iron

technology 83, 151tools 85, 140

Islamic sources 271–273, 274swords of 272terminology 8

Ivory 55, 155

Jansson, Ingmar 244–245Jewellery

beads 83, 153–154, 224–227belt mounts 240bracelets 183, 212chain holder, Karelian 185female 175

fire-steels 218, 219, 220hair ornaments 151–152key shafts 212necklaces 283rings, finger and arm 216rings, neck 159–162spoon, bronze 187strike-a-lights 183, 184See also Brooches and fibulae; Dress; Pendants

Jonuks, Tõnno 59

Kainuu 178Kalman, Jonathan 26Kama, river 170, 179,

axes at 207–208Käräjämäki 174Karelia 37, 175–178, 196, 211

Finns in 140pottery in 192

Karelians 170, 173, 175–176, 193, 194–195burial practice 178–179jewellery 184–185See also Baltic Finns

Karjalajset see KareliansKhazars 172, 272

fortifications 138kaganate 136state 153trade with 8See also Ard al-Khazar

Kiev 98Kievan Rus’ 5, 170–171, 172, 180–181, 193, 195

pottery 192Kievo-Pecherskii paterik see PaterikonKirpichnikov, Anatolij 80, 260, 264Kiukais culture 207Kivikoski, Ella 209–210, 213, 215, 217, 221,

285Knuutila, Jyrki 126–127Knyashchina, hoard at 281Kokemäenjoki see Kokemäen RiverKokemäen River 172

Curonian settlement at 23, 175Kokemäki 209Komi 159, 171Korol’ Denis Aleksandrovich 62–64Köyliö 174, 209, 219, 230

cemetery at 219inhumation graves at 230

295Index

Köyliönsaari 126, 174pendants at 127

Kubenskoe, lake 180, 181Kuz’min, Sergei 84Kvečiai 55Kvenland see Kainuu

Ladoga, lake 78, 139–141, 179, 211, 219Baltic Finns at 176, 179–180

Land of Khazars see Ard al-KhazarLatgallia 69Latgallians

cemeteries 54burial practice 55

Lepna see SaaremaaLeppäaho, Jorma 264Lihula 50, 51Liiva-Putla see SaaremaaLindqvist, Sune 60, 68Livs 37, 54

Gauja-Livs 54Long Barrow culture 51

of the Polotsk-Smolensk type 140, 151of the Pskov type 143, 152–153

Long-distance communication 7, 76–77Lop see SamiLorange, Anders 259Luga, river 143, 150, 156Luistari 127, 174, 230Lyubutino see Beloe

Mari 159, 171Martial culture 93–94Martynovka, hoard 82Marx, Karl 18Marxism 24Material culture, in archaeology 7Merya 172, 181Mologa, river 143, 156Mordvinians 159, 172Morgan, Lewis Henry 18Moshchiny culture

big barrows of 143Msta, river 156Muroma 159Mythology, afterworld 59–70

Näsijärvi, lake 137Nationalistic myths 1–3, 205–206Naum, Magdalena 215

Nerman, Birger 23–24, 270Nevolino culture, Permian belts of 170Noonan, Thomas S. 79, 80Nordman, Carl Axel 285Novgorod 11, 112–114, 172, 176, 179, 180–181,

187–188, 192–193, 195–196See also Ryurikovo Gorodishche

Novye Duboviki, settlement 141Nyland see Uusimaa

Oka, river 51, 143, 208Onega, lake 139, 140, 179–180Oriental style see StyleÖsel see SaaremaaÖsterbotten see OstrobothniaOstrobothnia 137, 172, 173

hoards in 283

Päjänne, lake 137Paterikon 119–124Pedersen, Anne 57Peipus, lake 221,

hoards near 283Pendants 52, 53, 210, 220

axe-shaped 127bird-shaped 219coin 240cross 176, 181duck-shaped 187See also Brooches and fibulae; Dress; Jewellery

Peredol’skoe 156Permian belts 170Perniö, hoard at 284Peterhof, hoard at 282, 287Petersen, Jan 259, 264Petrodvorets see Peterhof, hoard atPicture-stones, Gotlandic 60–62, 66, 68Plokhov, Alexei Vjachjaslavovich 150Podsop’e, settlement at 141Pottery 184–186

amphorae, Byzantine 81Baltic Finnic 36, 185, 189, 221–227Baltic Ware 192battle axe ceramics 207fine grained 67of the Funnel beaker culture 206household ceramics with carinated body 149Kievan Rus’ vessels 192

296 Index

Ladoga type 149–151, 192narrow necked vessels 285Pitted ware 206type A iii 221–222, 229type A iv, indigenous ware 239, 240wheel-turned 192

Povest’ vremennykh let, see Tale of Bygone Years, The

Pskov, province 143, 150

Ravdonikas, Vladislav I. 78, 143, 270Relics, of St Alban 110Repnikov, Nikolay Ivanovich 145Rider-warrior, iconography 60, 66–68Rostov-Suzdal’ 172, 180, 181, 192

See also Suzdal’Rune stones 188Runic bone 188Rurikid dynasty 112, 119, 129, 193Rus’ 94–95, 172

culture 11–12duck-shaped pendants in 187grand duchy of 136identity 96–97, 116style 100–102terminology 7–8, 107, 118See also Ryurikovo Gorodishche; Staraya Ladoga

Ryurikovo Gorodishche 100, 148, 155, 221, 245

Baltic-Finnish ware at 221pottery of Ladoga type at 149See also Novgorod

Saaremaa 9, 30, 34, 36–37, 50–52, 69–70, 282, 283

finds at 49hoards at 282–283stone circle graves 30, 31tarand grave at 24

Sahlins, Marshall 18Sailing routes 211–213, 287Saint Canute 12Salient identities 91–92Salmo, Helmer 217Salo, Unto 23Sami 140, 168, 176, 178, 179, 181, 196, 209,

jewellery 193, 194lappmarken 213

Sassanian

coins 179empire 170

Satakunta 125, 126, 127, 137, 173, 178, 211, 234, 284

Savonia 173, 196Scales 233–234Scandinavians 85, 136–137, 153

house building 148style 239swords 170terminology 8

Schortman, Edward 91–92Selling, Dagmar 221–222, 228, 233Selonians 54–55Semigallians 55Service, Elman 18Shepherd, Jonathan 39Shestovitsa 100

sword in 270Shlyapkin, Il’ya A. 108Sickles 56Sigtuna 176, 192,

finds at 81–82, 182–183, 186–188, 196Rus’ churches 179

Silver vessels 82Skeggjason, Markus 112Slaves 12–13, 155, 156, 269

in the Carolingian empire 264Slavs 1, 2, 5, 7, 8, 10, 12, 21, 51, 80, 84, 85, 94,

99, 110, 112, 118, 140, 150, 153, 168, 170, 180, 181, 192, 193, 245, 260, 266, 268, 271, 272, 274

islamic accounts of 94Šnē, Andris 23Social aggregation 5Social stratification 155–157Sociology, communication studies 6–7Solberg, Bergljot 260Sopka graves see BurialsSpitsyn, Alexandr Andreyevich 143Staraya Ladoga 9–10, 76–86, 99, 139, 141, 180,

211, 212, 281establishment of 9–10ethnic identity 84houses at 145–148pottery 149, 150, 192sopka at 144

Stone graves see BurialsSturluson, Snorri 113Šturms, Eduards 23

297Index

298 Index

Style 92–93Borre style 95, 100, 101, 239–240Late Slavic 192Oriental style 100of Rus’ 100–102Scandinavian 265

Subsistence, economy 26–27, 176Suzdal’

pendant from 127See also Rostov-Suzdal’

Svear 137, 178, 188Swords 101, 259–278

Carolingian 259–278Scandinavian 170Viking age, terminology 259

Syas, river 150

Tale of Bygone Years, The 117Tarand graves see BurialsTaurapilis 66Tavastia 175, 178, 179, 188Tavasts 170, 173, 188Trade

smuggling 268tithes 271–272See also Furs

Udmurts 159, 172Umayyads 170Uppsala 170,

brooches at 182waterways to 189

Urnfield culture/religion 58Urtāb 273Uusimaa 126, 172–173, 196

Vainaga see Jewellery, hair ornamentsVakka-Suomi 178, 209

See also Finland ProperVarangian Christianity 5–6,

terminology 114–116Varangians 271

terminology 8, 107, 122–123Västra Mårtsbo 206Ves 171, 179–180, 181, 187

See also Baltic FinnsVierck, Haio 83–84Vikings 70, 269Vilcāne, Antonija 54Visby see GotlandVlfberht blades 262–266, 270, 275–278

pattern-welded blades 261sword hilts, Scandinavian style 33See also Swords; Weapons

Volga, river 51, 99, 170, 208Volkhov, river 10, 78, 139, 141, 212

graves at 142Vyatka, river 51, 170

Weapons 51, 54, 55, 56axes 51as grave goods 25–28, 30–34, 51, 54,

55, 56ornamentation 26, 28See also Swords

Weights, grave goods 233–234Weissner, Polly 92, 235Wobst, Martin 92World system theory, critique of 169

Yläne 173

Zavolochie region 193–195Zavolochskaya Chud 180, 193, 194, 195Zhemaitian, graves 55

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