High-Ranking Widows in Medieval Iceland and Yorkshire the Northern World

High-Ranking Widows in Medieval Iceland and Yorkshire The Northern World

North Europe and the Baltic c. 400–1700 A.D. Peoples, Economies and Cultures

Editors Barbara Crawford (St. Andrews) David Kirby (London) Jon Vidar Sigurdsson (Oslo) Ingvild Øye (Bergen) Richard W. Unger (Vancouver) Piotr Gorecki (University of California at Riverside)

VOLUME 49 High-Ranking Widows in Medieval Iceland and Yorkshire

Property, Power, Marriage and Identity in the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries

By Philadelphia Ricketts

LEIDEN • BOSTON 2010 Cover illustration: The seal of Rohaise de Clare. © The British Library Board. Harl. Ch. 50.F.32. Reproduced by permission of the British Library.

Back cover illustration: Western arch and doorway of Nun Monkton church, North Yorkshire.

This book is printed on acid-free paper.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Ricketts, Philadelphia. High-ranking widows in medieval Iceland and Yorkshire : property, power, marriage and identity in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries / by Philadelphia Ricketts. p. cm. — (The Northern world, 1569-1462 ; v. 49) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-90-04-18471-8 (hbk. : alk. paper) 1. Widows—Iceland—History— To 1500. 2. Widows—England—Yorkshire—History—To 1500. 3. Aristocracy (Social class)—Iceland—History—To 1500. 4. Aristocracy (Social class)—England— Yorkshire—To 1500. I. Title. II. Series.

HQ1058.5.I2R53 2010 306.88’308621094281—dc22 2010010426

ISSN 1569-1462 ISBN 978 90 04 18471 8

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printed in the netherlands To my parents Bill and Ruby for their faith in me, and to my husband Mark for his constant encouragement and support, with all my love

CONTENTS

List of Diagrams and Tables ...... xi Preface ...... xiii Acknowledgements ...... xv Abbreviations ...... xix

Chapter One Introduction ...... 1

Chapter Two Sources ...... 23 Legal Sources ...... 24 Contemporary Sagas ...... 37 Charters ...... 43 Conclusion ...... 49

Chapter Three Property and Marriage: The Laws ...... 51 Inheritance ...... 51 Marriage ...... 67 Consent in Marriage ...... 67 Dowry, Dower and Other Marital Property ...... 73 Land Transactions ...... 79 Conclusion ...... 82

Chapter Four Property ...... 85 Inheritance ...... 87 Lineal versus Collateral Descent ...... 88 Female Inheritance ...... 91 Division of Inheritance ...... 100 Illegitimacy ...... 116 Marital Assignments ...... 121 Conclusion ...... 129

Chapter Five Remarriage ...... 133 Marriage Patterns and Age at First Marriage ...... 133 Marital Demographics ...... 139 Marital Demographics for Icelandic and Yorkshire Widows ... 144 viii contents

Remarriage ...... 149 Wealth and Heiresses ...... 149 Lordship and Family ...... 152 Social Status ...... 156 Fertility and Children ...... 158 Ecclesiastical Influence ...... 163 Political Change in Iceland ...... 169 Conclusion ...... 174

Chapter Six Power ...... 177 Consent in Marriage ...... 180 Wardship and Transference of Property and Authority to the Next Generation ...... 195 Property Transactions and Management ...... 216 Conclusion ...... 239

Chapter Seven Identity ...... 245 First Names ...... 246 Family Nomenclature ...... 253 Titles and Seals ...... 266 Property Management and Patronage ...... 278 Conclusion ...... 294

Chapter Eight Conclusion ...... 297

Appendices Key to Appendices ...... 313 Appendix 1 Icelandic Widows ...... 318 Appendix 1 A Icelandic Widows (continued) ...... 323 Appendix 2 Yorkshire Widows ...... 327 Appendix 2 A Yorkshire Widows (continued) ...... 331 Appendix 3 Types of Property Acquired by Widows and Degree of Wealth ...... 334 Appendix 4 Descent of Lands and Power ...... 341 Appendix 5 Information about Remarried Widows’ Circumstances before Remarriage ...... 345 Appendix 6 Information about Widows’ Circumstances at End of Final Marriage and Including Subsequent Liaisons ... 348 Appendix 6 A Information Regarding Widows Who Do Not Survive Last Relationship ...... 353 contents ix

Appendix 7 Remarriage, Lordship, Kinship and Rank ...... 354 Appendix 8 Seals of the Yorkshire Widows ...... 365 Appendix 9 Naming Patterns—Sons ...... 367 Appendix 9 A Naming Patterns—Daughters ...... 373 Appendix 10 References ...... 378 Appendix 11 Avice Meschin’s Marriages and the Inheritance of her Daughter Alice Paynel ...... 402

Genealogies Key to Genealogies ...... 411 Icelandic 1–12 ...... 413 Yorkshire 13–20 ...... 425

Bibliography ...... 433

Index ...... 447

LIST OF DIAGRAMS AND TABLES

Diagrams

3.1 Inheritance order according to Grágás ...... 52 4.1 Guðný’s kin ...... 94 4.2 Hallveig’s kin ...... 96

Tables

4.1 Lineal female succession ...... 90 4.2 Descent of lands ...... 93 4.3 Inheritance of Þórðr Sturluson’s property at his death ...... 101 4.4 Lands inherited by the daughters of William Meschin and Cecily de Rumilly ...... 107 4.5 Inheritance of Alice de Rumilly I’s daughters ...... 113 4.6 Illegitimacy and inheritance ...... 119 5.1 Duration of marriage ...... 145 5.2 Marriages, liaisons and remarried widows ...... 147 5.3 Wealth and remarriage ...... 151 5.4 Lordship and remarriage ...... 153 5.5 Kinship and lordship ...... 155 5.6 Social status and remarriage ...... 158 5.7 Fertility upon entering widowhood ...... 159 5.8 Children upon entering widowhood ...... 161 5.9 Childless widows ...... 162 5.10 Chronological changes in Iceland and remarriage ...... 170 5.11 Widows of chieftain rank and chronological changes ...... 171 6.1 Transference of property and authority ...... 199

PREFACE

All medieval Icelandic personal names are spelled in standardized Old Icelandic in the nominative case, except where they are connected with other Old Icelandic words that require them to be inflected. Place names are spelled in modern Icelandic in the nominative. Old Icelandic nicknames are uncapitalized and italicized following Icelandic practice. Where they exist, the modern English equivalents of Latin personal names have been used. Thus, ‘Aeliz’, ‘Alicia’ and ‘Adeliza’ (among others) are all Alice. The one exception is Adeliza de Percy, whom I have chosen to refer to as Adeliza simply to add further differentiation to the large number of women in the book named Alice. When there is no common modern equivalent in English, as in the names Rohaise, Avice, Hawise and Juetta, I have chosen the form that is used most often in the secondary literature. The Old Icelandic letters þ, ð and æ (capitalized Þ, Ð and Æ) have been retained, as have diacritical marks over vowels. The letter þ (thorn) is unvoiced and pronounced like ‘th’ in ‘thing’. The letter ð (eth) is voiced and pronounced like ‘th’ in feather. Old Icelandic o and œ have been rendered as ö and æ following standard practice. For alphabetizing, the letter ð is found after d, but þ, æ and ö follow, in that order, z. Vowels with diacritical marks are intermingled with their unaccented counterparts when located in the middle of a word, but words which begin with these letters come after words beginning with their unaccented equivalent. Thus, Jochens, Jón, Jórunn, then Judith, but Agnes, Anna, then Álof. Quotations are rendered in their original form, which has led to some discrepancies in spelling. Translations are my own unless otherwise stated. I have consulted and on the whole adopted the excellent translation of Grágás by A. Dennis, P. Foote and R. Perkins, eds. I have also referred to the translation of Sturlunga saga by J. McGrew and G. Thomas. However, I have rarely adopted this version because it is riddled with errors. Scholars with hyphenated surnames are listed alphabetically in the bibliography by the first surname. Non-hyphenated surnames are under the final surname. Icelandic scholars are known by their first and second names in references, not by their patronymic (invariably xiv preface ending in -son or -dóttir). The only exception is when an Icelandic scholar has a hereditary surname, such as Guðrún Nordal. In these instances, the surname is used, and the usual referencing rules are followed. Their first names are, however, never abbreviated unless found in this format in articles published by them. All Icelandic scholars, regardless of surname, have been placed in the bibliography under their first name. This organization is in accordance with Icelandic practice. References in footnotes are to page numbers unless otherwise stated. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I am indebted to the kindness and generosity of many people and organizations. The Arts and Humanities Research Council awarded me a three-year studentship, making possible the doctoral thesis (University of Liverpool, 2005) that formed the basis of this book. Without their aid and compassionate consideration for my circumstances, there is little chance that I would have been able to undertake and complete such a project. I am also grateful to the American Historical Association for their generous contribution (in the form of the Bernadotte E. Schmitt grant) towards essential research. I must thank the University of Liverpool and the School of History for their ongoing support, both financially and academically, of my professional development. Finally, a one-year Economic History Society Eileen Power Postdoctoral Research Fellowship provided me with necessary funding, as well as an invigorating academic milieu at the Institute of Historical Research, in which to revise my thesis for publication. There are several individuals whose guidance has proved invaluable. My doctoral supervisor, Professor Pauline Stafford, has been an enor- mous inspiration and motivator. She has provided assistance over and above that which is required, and she has always taken an active interest in my growth, both academic and personal. Her door has always been open when I needed to talk, and she has offered excellent guidance, encouragement, critical comments and advice. I appreciate her hard work and effort, and I am extremely fortunate to have found such an exemplary mentor. Nic Percivall’s friendship and academic interest in this book have never faltered. She has read far more drafts of my work than anyone should ever have to, and for that alone I have every reason to thank her. But she has also never refused to help me resolve a crisis, to lend an ear when I was baffled or discouraged, to help me thrash out an argument, or even to listen to me think aloud and clarify my thoughts. Our discussions have enhanced my understanding of medieval society and reinvigorated me when my enthusiasm was flagging, while her insights have greatly added to the refinement my arguments. I cannot express how much her conversation and friendship have helped me, and I am forever grateful. xvi acknowledgements

I also owe thanks to numerous scholars and colleagues who have given generously of their time and have provided me with the benefit of their specialist knowledge. Jenny Jochens and Jón Viðar Sigurðsson have been steadfast in their support, and they have given me many insightful comments on my work. Were it not for Edward James, who first sparked my interest in the Icelandic sagas, I may not have even considered this topic. The revisions I made to the text owe much to my examiners, Judith Green and Martin Heale, and to the anony- mous reviewer, all of whom suggested changes which have helped me improve the book. I must also thank Paul Brand, Janet Burton, John Hudson, Jinty Nelson, Agnes Arnórsdóttir, Bruce O’Brien and Kathleen Thompson for specific comments about certain aspects of my work, Val Fry for general help, Marjorie Harrison for her insight and local knowledge about Nun Appleton and Nun Monkton, and numerous participants and organizers of the International Medieval Congresses 2001–3; the M6 seminar, Liverpool, 2001; the Gender, Memory and Identity Conference, Liverpool, 2002; and the Religious and Laity Conference, Leicester, 2003. Any mistakes that remain are entirely my own. Finally, Marcella Mulder at Brill has been helpful and patient. She has always been quick to answer questions or to help solve problems, and her guidance in the process of publication has been invaluable. There are many more people who have helped me achieve my goal of completing this book, and I cannot name you all here. Be assured that I appreciate all the little kindnesses and help you have given me since I embarked on my studies. I owe many thanks to the librarians, archivists and staff at the University of Liverpool Library in Liverpool; the British Library and the Public Record Office in London; St. Johns College Library and the Bodleian Library in Oxford; the Cumbria Record Office in Whitehaven; and Durham Cathedral archives. I am also grateful to the Duke of Northumberland for access to the Percy cartulary, and to the very helpful archivists at Alnwick castle, Northumbria. The cover image shows the seal of Rohaise de Clare, Harl. Ch. 50.F.32, reproduced by permission of the British Library. Finally, I cannot end without thanking my family for their tre- mendous support and good will. My parents have encouraged and supported me in all my endeavours without faltering, and they have always believed in my ability to complete this book. My husband acknowledgements xvii has assisted me in every way, doing more than his fair share of the mundane household tasks and proofreading. He has also encouraged, cajoled, pushed, consoled and bribed, all the while tolerating much without complaint. My sons have been a source of comfort and joy when I felt as if I could not keep going. I cannot express how much your love has sustained me. Thank you.

ABBREVIATIONS

Abstracts Abstracts of the Charters and other Documents con- Fountains cart. tained in the Chartulary of the Cistercian Abbey of Fountains, ed. W.T. Lancaster, 2 vols. (Leeds, 1915). ANS Anglo-Norman Studies BL British Library Book of Fees Liber Feodorum: The Book of Fees Commonly Called Testa de Nevill, reformed from the earliest MSS by the Deputy Keeper of the Records, HMSO, 3 vols (London, 1920–31). CC Coronation Charter of Henry I, in Select Charters and Other Illustrations of English Constitutional History from the Earliest Times to the Reign of Edward the First, ed. W. Stubbs, 9th edn (Oxford, 1913), 116–9. II Cnut II Cnut, in English Historical Documents, c. 500–1042, ed. and trans. D. Whitelock, 2nd edn (London, 1955), vol. 1, 455–67. CP Cokayne, G.E., The Complete Peerage of England, Scot- land, Ireland, Great Britain, and the United Kingdom, revised edn, eds V. Gibbs, et al., 13 vols in 14 (London, 1910–59). CRR Curia Regis Rolls of the Reigns of Richard I, John and Henry III, preserved in the Public Record Office, printed under the superintendence of the Deputy Keeper of the Records, HMSO, 18 vols (London, 1922–79). DB Domesday Book, general ed. J. Morris, 38 vols (Chi- chester, 1986). EHR English Historical Review EYC Early Yorkshire Charters, vols i–iii, ed. W. Farrer (Edin- burgh, 1914–16), vols iv–xii and index to i–iii, ed. C.T. Clay, YAS Rec. Ser., extra series 1–10 (Wakefield, 1935–65). Fines, PRO Feet of Fines in the Public Record Office of the Reign of Henry II and of the First Seven Years of Richard I, A.D. 1182–1196, PRS, xvii (London, 1894). xx abbreviations

Fines, Richard Feet of Fines of the Ninth Year of the Reign of King Richard I, 1197–1198, PRS, xxiii (London, 1898). Fines, Warwickshire Warwickshire Feet of Fines, eds. E. Stokes and F.C. Wellstood (London, 1932). Fines, Yorkshire Feet of Fines for the County of York, ed. J. Parker, YAS Rec. Ser., lxii (from 1218 to 1231), lxvii (from 1232 to 1246) (Wakefield, 1921, 1925). Glanvill The Treatise on the Laws and Customs of the Realm of England Commonly called Glanvill, edited with introduction, notes and translation by G.D.G. Hall, with a guide to further reading by M.T. Clanchy (Oxford, 1993). Grágás, Ia Grágás. Islændernes Lovbog i Fristatens Tid, udgivet efter det kongelige Bibliotheks Haandskrift, 2 parts, ed. Vilhjálmur Finsen (Copenhagen, 1852–70; reprinted Odense, 1974), part 1. Grágás, Ib Grágás. Islændernes Lovbog i Fristatens Tid, udgivet efter det kongelige Bibliotheks Haandskrift, 2 parts, ed. Vilhjálmur Finsen (Copenhagen, 1852–70; reprinted Odense, 1974), part 2. Grágás, II Grágás. efter det Arnamagnæanske Haandskrift Nr. 334 fol., Staðarhólsbók, ed. Vilhjálmur Finsen (Copenhagen, 1879; reprinted Odense, 1974). HKF Farrer, William, Honors and Knights’ Fees, 3 vols (London and Manchester, 1923–5). HMSO His/Her Majesty’s Stationery Office HSJ Haskins Society Journal Islandske Annaler Islandske Annaler indtil 1578, ed. G. Storm (Oslo, 1888). Leges Leges Henrici Primi, edited with translation and commentary by L.J. Downer (Oxford, 1972). Mon. Angl. Dugdale, William, Monasticon Anglicanum, eds. J. Caley, H. Ellis and B. Bandinel, 6 vols in 8 (London, 1817–30). Mowbray Charters Charters of the Honour of Mowbray, ed. D.E. Greenway, Records of Social and Economic His- tory, new series i (London, 1972). P&M Pollock, Frederick and Frederic William Mait- land, The History of English Law Before the Time abbreviations xxi

of Edward I, reprinted with an introduction by S.F.C. Milsom, 2 vols (Cambridge, 1968). Percy cart. The Percy Chartulary, ed. M.T. Martin, Surtees Society, cxvii (Durham, 1911). PR Pipe Rolls of the reigns of Henry II, Richard I and John, eds. D.M. Stenton, et al., Publications of the PRS (London, 1883–1964). PRS Pipe Roll Society Rec. Ser. Record Series Red Book Red Book of the Exchequer, ed. H. Hall, RS, xcix, 3 vols (London, 1896). RD Rotuli de dominabus et pueris et puellis de XII Comitatibus, ed. J.H. Round, PRS, xxxv (London, 1913). Rot. Chart. Rotuli Chartarum in Turri Londinensi asservati, (1199–1216), ed. T.D. Hardy, Public Record Commission, xxv (London, 1837). Rotuli Curiae Regis Rotuli Curiae Regis, ed. F. Palgrave for the Public Record Commission, 2 vols (London, 1835). Rot. de Fin. Rotuli de Oblatis et Finibus in Turri Londinensi asservati, tempore Regis Johannis, ed. T.D. Hardy, Public Record Commission, xx (London, 1835). RS Rolls Series Seals BM Birch, W. de G., Catalogue of Seals in the Department of Manuscripts in the British Museum, 6 vols (London, 1887–1900). Seals PRO Ellis, Roger H., Catalogue of Seals in the Public Record Office: Personal Seals, 2 vols (London, 1978, 1981). SS Sturlunga saga, eds Jón Jóhannesson et al., 2 vols (Reykjavík, 1946). St. Bees Register of the Priory of St. Bees, ed. J. Wilson, Surtees Society, cxxvi (Durham and London, 1915). Topographer Nichols, J.G., ed., The Topographer and Genealogist, 2 vols (London, 1846–53). TRHS Transactions of the Royal Historical Society Whitby Cart. Cartularium Abbathiæ de Whiteby, ed. J.C. Atkinson, Surtees Society, lxix (Durham, London and Edinburgh, 1879). xxii abbreviations

Wifmannes Be Wifmannes Beweddung, in English Historical Docu- ments, c. 500–1042, ed. and trans. D. Whitelock, 2nd edn (London, 1979), vol. 1, 467–8. YAS Yorkshire Archaeological Society CHAPTER ONE

INTRODUCTION

Þórdís Snorradóttir was an exceptional thirteenth-century Icelandic woman. The high-born, illegitimate daughter of one of the most powerful men in Iceland, she was married as a teenager for her father’s personal political advantage to a chieftain in his late forties or early fifties. She was widowed within four years, having given birth to a daughter and a son. She was then living in a remote part of Iceland with five illegitimate, but grown, stepsons as rivals to her infant son for their father’s chieftaincy. Her father again tried to use her for his own struggle for power, attempting to control her future marriages and her son. Yet despite these disadvantages, Þórdís remained independent of her natal family and chose her own path. During her years as a widow, she set up and ran her own household while her son grew to manhood. She took lovers of her own choice to help further her goals. She managed to play power politics with some of the most influential men in Iceland, a game normally reserved for men. For a time, she was respected by local farmers, had men at her command and had the authority to force others to do as she wished. Þórdís Snorradóttir is interesting because she was a woman in a man’s world who used her position and property effectively to secure power for herself and her son. But not all high-ranking medieval widows, who also had to negotiate within the same confines, were as remarkable or successful as Þórdís. This book examines and compares the property, power, marriage and identity of a selected group of aristocratic widows in twelfth- and thirteenth-century Iceland (fifty in number) and twelfth-century Yorkshire (twenty-five in number). It encompasses only high-ranking widows, that is, farmer rank and above in Iceland and honorial baronage and above in Yorkshire, but it excludes royal women.1 In particular, questions of property acquisition and its use, power, authority and room for manoeuvre will be addressed, as well as related but also

1 Royal women are excluded from this study because they constitute a separate class of women for whom different social norms and privileges applied. 2 chapter one separately significant questions concerning the identity of widows. The book focuses on the property that aristocratic widows could possess in theory and practice; on the control they exerted over that property; on their remarriage and the extent of their ability to influence that; and on how a widow’s identity was viewed by society and perhaps by herself. Legal statements concerning Icelandic and Yorkshire widows will be utilized to formulate some general views about widows and widowhood. These views will then be examined and refined in light of practice as found in contemporary sagas and charters in relation to one group of widows from each region. The book is a comparative work. Comparative history is important in itself as a methodology, and there is much to commend it. In his article of 1928, the eminent historian Marc Bloch discussed the usefulness and advantages of such a method.2 It often suggests research in new directions, since it allows questions in the historiography of one area to be extended into another or questions concerning one topic to be asked of another. It can bring out similarities, but its true usefulness lies in its ability to highlight differences, not least through systematic comparison of specific factors among individuals and between groups. A comparative approach fosters attempts to determine not only that which is common to a specific group of people, a region, an institution or a development, but also that which is dependent on particular circumstances and context. This is especially important in an area like widowhood, where generalizations about the social status or category ‘widow’ are often made. It is not uncommon to read that upper-class widows were more independent and had more freedom of action than other women. This statement is frequently applied to widows across large geographical areas and usually made without reference to the social, political and familial

2 Marc Bloch, ‘Toward a Comparative History of European Societies’, trans J.C. Riemersma, in Enterprise and Secular Change, Readings in Economic History, eds F.C. Lane and J.C. Riemersma (London, 1953), 494–521; originally printed as ‘Pour une histoire comparée des sociétés européennes’, Revue de synthèse historique, 46 (1928), 15–50. Despite conceptual problems in the model which Bloch advocated as a basis for historical comparison, the advantages of the method still apply. For a discussion of Bloch’s article, see Alette Olin Hill and Boyd H. Hill, Jr., ‘Marc Bloch and Comparative History’, American Historical Review, 85, 4 (1980), 828–46. For further discussion of the merits of historical comparison as a method, see Raymond Grew, ‘The Case of Comparing Histories’, American Historical Review, 85, 4 (1980), 763–78; Richard W. Slatta, ‘The Whys and Wherefores of Comparative Frontier History’,Journal of the West, 42, 1 (Winter 2003), 8–13. introduction 3 circumstances of those involved.3 Yet the historiography of women in different countries often examines them from specific viewpoints which do not provide a fully contextualized picture of the women or their lives. For example, Icelandic women of the Commonwealth period have been seen traditionally in terms of family and kinship relations, while women in England after the Norman Conquest have been viewed mainly in a legal context. Comparing widows in the two regions allows us to extend the questions in each historiography to an analysis of widows in the other, hopefully providing a fresh perspective on both. Previously unasked questions about family and kinship of twelfth-century Yorkshire widows can then be asked. Likewise, Icelandic widows can be studied thoroughly in relation to the law and associated institutions like remarriage and inheritance. In this way, comparison should broaden the picture we currently have of these women. Not only can we see the similarities common to widows in both regions, but differences resulting from regional variations will be highlighted. Only in this way will it be possible to generalize any or all of the aspects of widowhood that are common to aristocratic widows. This question of generalizing widows, and how far that can be done, also lies behind the second theme of the enquiry, that is, the need to see widows and, more generally, women in context and against the background of their lifecycle. Comparison, across regions and widow against widow, allows us to ask how far it was individual experience and situation, rather than social custom and expectation, which were major determinants of widows’ experience. For example, it is possible that widows who were, at an earlier stage, heiresses may differ as a group from those who only received a dowry from their natal kin. Or the opportunities of young and old widows might have varied as a result of their age and associated fertility. Even the intersection of current political circumstances and family dynamics of a particular widow could have produced different opportunities than those available to other widows of similar rank, age, wealth and position within the family. The often-made generalization about high-ranking widows

3 See Helen Jewell, Women in Medieval England (Manchester, 1996), 143–4; Sue Sheridan Walker, ‘Introduction’, in Wife and Widow in Medieval England, ed. S.S. Walker (Ann Arbor, MI, 1993), 1–16 at 3–4; Charlotte A. Newman, The Anglo- Norman Nobility in the Reign of Henry II: The Second Generation (Philadelphia, 1988), 44–5; Susan Johns, ‘The Wives and Widows of the Earls of Chester, 1100–1252: The Charter Evidence’, HSJ, 7 (1995), 117–32, at 122. 4 chapter one having more freedom of action than other women might not apply equally to different groups of aristocratic widows, or even to different individuals within those groups. Comparison therefore allows us to ask how far the basic structures of kinship, political life or legal framework were the major determinants of a widow’s life. Much recent history has stressed one or other of these as especially significant.4 The two societies were chosen with this in mind. By the twelfth century, Iceland and Yorkshire arguably differed in kinship structure (Iceland more bilateral, Yorkshire more agnatic). They also differed in political organization (Iceland lacking a strong central power and king, Yorkshire part of a kingdom with a strong central monarchy) and legal framework (Iceland with customary law, Yorkshire with one much affected by growing royal power). Comparison is thus interesting. Was there a common experience of widowhood in both areas, or are there differences which relate to these allegedly significant factors? Or were a widow’s individual circumstances, situation and experience more crucial than any or all of these factors? Perhaps there were factors other than these basic structures which were critical, for example a position as heiress or potential fertility, factors that have remained unexplored. Comparison of widows between two regions and against each other within the regions hopefully will bring into focus those factors which were most significant, be they social structures, personal experience or individual characteristics, or a combination of all three. Questions therefore will be raised about a number of important areas of widows’ experience, including property acquisition and disposal, remarriage, power and identity.

4 See, for example, Jo Ann McNamara and Susan Wemple, ‘The Power of Women through the Family in Medieval Europe, 500–1100’, in Women and Power in Middle Ages, eds M. Erler and M. Kowaleski (Athens, GA, 1988), 83–101; Gunnar Karlsson, ‘Kenningin um fornt kvenfrelsi á Íslandi’, Saga, 24 (1986), 45–77; Else Mundal, ‘The Position of Women in Old Norse Society and the Basis for Their Power’, Nora, 1 (1994), 3–11; Ólafía Einarsdóttir, ‘Kvindens stilling in fristatstiden Island: sociale og økonomiske betragtninger’, in Historica IV: Föredrag vid det XVII Nordiska historiker- mötet, Jyväskylä 1981, Studia Historica Jyväskyläensia xxvii (Jyväskylä, 1983), 227–38; Janet Senderowitz Loengard, ‘“Of the Gift of Her Husband”: English Dower and Its Consequences in the Year 1200’, in Women of the Medieval World, eds J. Kirshner and S.F. Wemple (Oxford, 1985), 215–55; Joseph Biancalana, ‘Widows at Common Law: The Development of Common Law Dower’, Irish Jurist, 23 (1988), 255–329; Sir James Holt, ‘Feudal Society and the Family in Early Medieval England, iv. The Heiress and the Alien’, TRHS, 5th series, 35 (1985), 1–28; S.F.C. Milsom, ‘Inheritance by Women in the Twelfth and Early-Thirteenth Centuries’, in On the Laws and Customs of England, eds M Arnold, et al. (Chapel Hill, NC, 1981), 60–89. introduction 5

Despite the insights that can be drawn from this period and topic, there is no systematic study addressing widows in Iceland and England during the high Middle Ages. The historiography of widows in twelfth- and thirteenth-century Iceland is meagre and based more on theoretical statements than practice. In her study of Icelandic women’s economic rights according to the law, Anna Sigurðardóttir argues that women, including widows, had very few legal rights, based on a general overview of what the law states, merely presenting it without much critical commentary.5 She differentiates between different types of women (married, widowed, underage, etc.), but does not distinguish between their legal rights when assessing the position of women as a whole. Nor does she compare the theory of the normative legal statements with practice. Jenny Jochens’s studies of women are more critical. She also explores the question of women’s position in law,6 and how theory and practice regarding women in general coincided.7 However, widows do not feature prominently in her work, except in a short section on widowhood where she makes the important point that the life stages of women and the economic and political context of their lives are interconnected.8 Other scholars rarely look systematically at the laws that affected women, and, when they do attempt to compare theory with reality, they rarely focus on widows from the later Commonwealth period. Only Agnes Arnórsdóttir and Guðrún Nordal examine the relationship between twelfth- and thirteenth-century law and practice concerning widows, and neither spends more than a few pages on the comparison.9 Jochens, Agnes Arnórsdóttir and Nordal recognize the need to place widows in context, but do not develop their study of widows very far. More has been written on women in medieval Iceland, where the principal questions concern family, kinship and household, although most research relates to the period prior to the twelfth century. Debate

5 Anna Sigurðardóttir, ‘Islanske kvinders ökonomiske retslige stilling i middelalderen’, in Kvinnans ekonomiska ställning under nordisk medeltid, eds H. Gunneng and B. Strand (Gothenburg, 1981), 89–104. 6 Jenny Jochens, ‘Gender Symmetry in Law? The Case of Medieval Iceland’, Arkiv för nordisk filologi, 108 (1993), 46–67. 7 Jenny Jochens, Women in Old Norse Society (Ithaca, 1995), passim. 8 Jochens, Women in Old Norse Society, 61–4. 9 Agnes S. Arnórsdóttir, Konur og vígamenn: staða kynjanna á Íslandi á 12. og 13. öld (Reykjavík, 1995), 88–9, 139–45; Guðrún Nordal, Ethics and Action in Thirteenth Century Iceland, The Viking Collection: Studies in Northern Civilization, xi (Odense, 1998), 108, 136–40. 6 chapter one has centred on whether women as a group were powerful or powerless, often employing a public / private dichotomy in the analysis, and conclusions are usually confined to general statements. For the most part, scholars are polarized, adopting one of the two views.10 Jón Viðar Sigurðsson’s comment is typical. He states that Women did not play an active part in politics . . . This was probably because of the low level of political and social rights enjoyed by women in the Commonwealth period. They were usually regarded as almost on a par with objects that could simply be given away.11 This view is much too simplistic. Such statements argue for the need for further investigation into women and power in medieval Iceland. An in-depth study of one group of widows, often stated as the most powerful of all Icelandic women, provides a suitable group to test the generalizations in the historiography. Jochens and Agnes Arnórsdóttir, together with Gunnar Karlsson, are among the very few scholars of medieval Icelandic history who have examined structures of inheritance and marriage with a particular emphasis on women. Jochens and Gunnar Karlsson both view women and their role in these areas as limited, arguing that women had very little control over their lives and property.12 This view arises from their approach, in which they focus on questions of power, employing a narrow, traditional definition which this book questions. Agnes Arnórsdóttir, on the other hand, is more aware of informal ways in which to exercise power. She explores the flexibility in inheritance practice which allowed some women to benefit financially, and

10 For those who argue for powerful Icelandic women, see Nanna Damsholt, ‘The Role of Icelandic Women in the Sagas and in the Production of Homespun Cloth’, Scandinavian Journal of History, 9, 2 (1984), 75–90; Ólafía Einarsdóttir, ‘Om hús- freyjamyndighed i det gamle Island’, in Festskrift til Thelma Jexlev: Fromhed og verdslighed i middelalder og renaissance, eds E. Wabben, et al. (Odense, 1985), 77–85; Mundal, ‘Position of Women’, 3–11. For an opposing argument, see Helgi Þorláksson, ‘Arbeidskvinnens, särlig veverskens, ökonomiske stilling på Island i middelalderen’, in Kvinnans ekonomiska ställning under nordisk medeltid, eds H. Gunneng and B. Strand (Gothenburg, 1981), 50–65; Anna Sigurðardóttir, ‘Islandske kvinders stilling’, 89–104; Jenny Jochens, ‘The Medieval Icelandic Heroine: Fact or Fiction?’,Viator , 17 (1986), 35–50; Gunnar Karlsson, ‘Kenningin’, 45–77. 11 Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, Chieftains and Power in the Icelandic Commonwealth, trans. J. Lundskær-Nielsen, The Viking Collection: Studies in Northern Civilization, xii (Odense, 1999), 101. 12 Jochens, Women in Old Norse Society, 17–64; Jenny Jochens, ‘Consent in Marriage: Old Norse Law, Life and Literature’, Scandinavian Studies, 58, 2 (1986), 142–76; Gunnar Karlsson, ‘Kenningin’, 52–60. introduction 7 the importance of natal kin in a woman’s power within marriage.13 However, she does not always place women fully within their social, political and familial context, nor does she always acknowledge the difference which gender usually made in the strategies one adopted to achieve power. These issues of Icelandic women’s inheritance, marriage and power are rarely related to widows, which this book seeks to remedy. The contemporary sagas, alongside the laws, are the most useful source material for the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. They are frequently neglected as sources for social history and seldom used for the history of women. The few exceptions are Jenny Jochens, Agnes Arnórsdóttir, Gunnar Karlsson, Auður Magnúsdóttir and Jón Viðar Sigurðsson.14 None, however, has spent more than a few pages on widows, and thus my work offers especial possibilities to augment the meagre research currently available and to compare theory with practice. An examination of the laws and sagas also presents the opportunity to view important aspects of Icelandic widowhood in relation to those of another region, thereby providing some evidence to begin establishing generalizations concerning widows who lived during the high Middle Ages across Europe. More research has been conducted on widows in England in the high Middle Ages, who, like all English women of the period, are studied largely in a legal context. Several studies discuss at length, from a legal point of view, issues associated with widows, including inheritance, marriage and marital assignments. Buckstaff was the first to draw attention to a widow’s theoretical control over dower, a theme returned to roughly a century later by Loengard and Biancalana.15

13 Agnes Arnórsdóttir, Konur og vígamenn, 44–7, 85–98, 105–39, 146–72. 14 Jenny Jochens, ‘Snorris kvinder’, in The Ninth International Saga Conference: Samtíðarsögur—The Contemporary Sagas, Akureyri 31.7–6.8 1994, 2 vols (Reykjavík, 1994), vol. 1, 380–94; Jenny Jochens, ‘Wealth and Women in Snorri’s Life’, in Sagnaþing helgað Jónasi Kristjánssyni, sjötugum 10. apríl 1994, ed. Gísli Sigurðsson, 2 vols (Reykjavík, 1994), vol. 2, 455–63; Agnes S. Arnórsdóttir, ‘Kvinner og “krigsmenn”: kjønnenes stilling i det islandske samfunnet på 1100– og 1200–tallet’, unpublished MPhil dissertation, University of Bergen, Norway, 1990; Agnes Arnórsdóttir, Konur og vígamenn—this approach is taken throughout both works by Agnes; Gunnar Karlsson, ‘Kenningin’, 45–77; Auður G. Magnúsdóttir, ‘Ástir og völd: frillulífi á Íslandi á þjóðveldisöld’, Ný saga, 2 (1988), 4–12; Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, ‘Konur og kvennarán á Íslandi á 12. og 13. öld’, Ný saga, 9 (1997) 71–80. 15 Florence Buckstaff, ‘Married Women’s Property in Anglo-Saxon and Anglo- Norman Law’, Annals of the American Academy, 4 (1893–4), 33–64; Loengard, ‘Of the Gift’, 215–55; Biancalana, ‘Widows at Common Law’, 255–329. 8 chapter one

Milsom, Holt and Green combine a theoretical approach with an insightful examination of the law in practice in relation to inheritance by women after the Conquest. Although only partly concerned with widows, their overall discussion is significant in any analysis of women’s power and land. All three see inheritance practices as flexible in the twelfth century.16 They also explore structures of inheritance and marriage in the context of familial and lordly interests, highlighting the importance of royal intervention and the potential tensions between family and lord in twelfth-century England. These issues of acquisition and control over property, including flexibility in practice, and familial and lordly interests in inheritance and marriage, will be explored in this book. Useful and important as these studies are, overall research on twelfth- century English widows could benefit from thinking more about the familial questions which are traditional in the Icelandic context. The two studies that concentrate on widows in the twelfth century do this. DeAragon takes a broad overview of one group of widows, that is, countesses. She uses statistics to explore questions about women, such as the likelihood of multiple marriages, the duration of widowhood, the longevity of marriages, reproduction rates and incidences of childlessness, thus attempting to establish patterns.17 Johns focuses on individual widows, placing them in their familial, social and political context and noting how opportunities varied according to their circumstances and their life stages.18 DeAragon and Johns both stress the importance of individual circumstances. These approaches can augment our knowledge of twelfth-century Yorkshire widows. This book aims to examine scholars’ conclusions concerning flexibility in inheritance practices, familial and lordly interests in marriage, and the importance of individual circumstances, in light of a detailed study of one group of widows, while broadening the focus through family reconstruction.

16 S.F.C. Milsom, ‘Inheritance by Women’, 62–9; Holt, ‘Feudal Society, iv’, 4–8; Judith A. Green, ‘Aristocratic Women in Early Twelfth-Century England’, in Anglo- Norman Political Culture and the Twelfth-Century Renaissance, ed. C. Warren Hollister (Woodbridge, 1997), 59–82, at 61–72. 17 RaGena C. DeAragon, ‘Dowager Countesses, 1069–1230’, ANS, 17 (1994), 87–100. 18 Susan M. Johns, ‘The Wives and Widows of the Earls of Chester, 1100–1252: The Charter Evidence’, HSJ, 7 (1995), 117–32, expanded and refined in Susan M. Johns, Noblewomen, Aristocracy and Power in the Twelfth-Century Anglo-Norman Realm (Manchester, 2003), 53–80. introduction 9

To investigate fully questions of power and room for manoeuvre, it is necessary to explore how widows used their resources to act effectively. Yet ‘women have been studied within a specific scholarly agenda dominated by the politics of the family and marriage, legal developments and property rights, especially inheritance, dower and dowry’, usually to the exclusion of a focus on the actions of the women themselves.19 Most scholars who examine the property which twelfth- century women in England could or did acquire concentrate on the implications for the men in the women’s lives. Very few analyse how lands were in practice controlled or alienated by women or widows, taking the strategies and aims of these women as a point of reference. Johns and, to a lesser extent, Green, are exceptions.20 They use charter evidence effectively to explore the ways in which women exercised power, including their control over land, within the framework of the above-mentioned institutions, an approach taken in this book for both Iceland and Yorkshire. Thus, questions of power and authority are current in the historiography of women. Generations of scholars have seen non-royal women, both in Iceland and in England, as weak members of a male- dominated society without any public role or authority outside of the home. These scholars have often focused on public office and military roles and have defined power as bending others to one’s own will. But this approach will not allow a full, contextualized picture of women to emerge. More recently, several historians of women’s history have accepted ‘a wider view of power which encompasses the ability to act effectively, to influence people or decisions, and to achieve goals’, thereby allowing for a kind of informal power.21 Such an approach has highlighted the problems of seeing women merely as pawns in a man’s world. A woman’s ability for manoeuvre was in some important ways

19 Johns, ‘Wives and Widows’, 119. 20 Johns, Noblewomen, passim; Green, ‘Aristocratic Women’, 59–82. Nelson and Wilkinson also take this approach, for Carolingian widows and for a thirteenth-century English noblewoman over her entire lifecycle, including her widowhood, respectively. Janet Nelson, ‘The Wary Widow’, in Property and Power in the Early Middle Ages, eds W. Davies and P. Fouracre (Cambridge, 1995), 82–113; Louise Wilkinson, ‘Pawn and Political Player: Observations on the Life of a Thirteenth-Century Countess’, Historical Research, 73, 181 (2000), 105–23. 21 M. Erler and M. Kowaleski, ‘Introduction’, in Women and Power in the Middle Ages, eds M. Erler and M. Kowaleski (Athens, GA, 1988), 1–17, at 2; Pauline Stafford, ‘Emma: The Powers of the Queen in the Eleventh Century’, in Queens and Queenship in Medieval Europe: Proceedings of a Conference Held at King’s College London, April 1995, ed. A. Duggan (Woodbridge, 1997), 3–25; Johns, Noblewomen, 2. 10 chapter one circumscribed as a result of being female, but this new definition of power, adopted as a main approach to the material here, enables scholars to observe the ways in which she could work within the existing social framework that favoured men. It recognizes that there were different societal expectations for men and women, and that the manner in which they attempted to wield power might have varied as a result.22 It also recognizes that authority was not reliant solely on the holding of public office. A social role or status—such as remarried wife, widow, guardian of her husband’s heir, domina or heiress in her own right— might confer authority that allowed a widow to act effectively.23 There is much work that can still be done in this area, especially in relation to property and its disposal. Acquisition, control and alienation of land could have important implications for the power and authority of widows. Land was one of the most important sources of power in twelfth- and thirteenth-century Iceland and Yorkshire.24 Both were societies of conspicuous consumption, in which a lavish lifestyle, gifts to followers and/or religious institutions and expenditure on military matters were significant for the prestige and continued power and authority of the ruling classes.25 Land provided the elite with the revenue that was essential to the exercise of good lordship. It is most often men who have been acknowledged as using land in this manner, but possession might also have provided widows with the opportunity for effective action. However, land was not the only source of power and authority.26 Rank, a position as heiress, influential kin, even the status of ‘widow’, might have given these women opportunity and room for manoeuvre. These factors will all be considered.

22 Johns, Noblewomen, 2. 23 On Emma, queen of England in the eleventh century, and her authority based on her roles as wife, mother, queen and lady, see Stafford, ‘Emma: Powers of the Queen’, 3–26. 24 Susan Reynolds, Fiefs and Vassals: The Medieval Evidence Reinterpreted (Oxford, 1994), 65; Johns, Noblewomen, 53; Kirsten Hastrup, Culture and History in Medieval Iceland: An Anthropological Analysis of Structure and Change (Oxford, 1985), 192; Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, Chieftains and Power, 84–150, especially 102–19; Agnes Arnórsdóttir, ‘Kvinner og “krigsmenn”’, 163–4. 25 Judith A. Green, The Aristocracy of Norman England (Cambridge, 1997), 143–5; Jesse L. Byock, Medieval Iceland: Society, Sagas, and Power (Berkeley, 1988), 5–6, 77–8. 26 Green has made this point concerning links between lords and their men, arguing that it was not only tenurial considerations which were of significance. Green, Aristocracy of Norman England, 218. introduction 11

Scholars have recently begun to show how patterns of power as indicated by this new definition—in remarriage, over disposal of property, over children and their property—fluctuated with a woman’s lifecycle and personal circumstances.27 Identities based on the stages of the lifecycle, such as ‘daughter’, ‘sister’, ‘wife’, ‘mother’ and ‘widow’, have emerged as significant in the ebb and flow of a woman’s power and authority over her lifetime. So, too, have identities based on economic, familial or political circumstances, such as ‘mistress of the house’, ‘lady’, ‘countess’ and ‘heiress’. These identities were not necessarily mutually exclusive. Examination of a widow’s identity, how she was seen by society, perhaps even how she saw herself, and how that identity altered over time are questions important in themselves, but also connected to those of power and authority. Questions of the extent of natal associations and links after marriage and in widowhood, of how great a role property and its disposal played in the shaping of identity, and of the shifting nature of identity are all significant. Almost no work has been done on these questions for twelfth-century England (Johns is the primary exception), and none has been done for Iceland. This book seeks to fill this gap. This book deals with widows over a comparatively short period, the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. This period was significant for change, including changes which affected women in western Europe. There are those who see a decline in women’s status in the eleventh to the thirteenth centuries due to Gregorian reforms and an increased emphasis on lineage.28 There are also those who argue that in women’s history little changes.29 And there are those who allow for change, but argue that the eleventh to the thirteenth centuries is a period where

27 Stafford, ‘Emma: Powers of the Queen’, 3–26; Johns,Noblewomen . The theme runs throughout Johns’s book. 28 Jo Ann McNamara, ‘Victims of Progress: Women and the Twelfth Century’, in Female Power in the Middle Ages: Proceedings from the Second St Gertrud Symposium, Copenhagen, August 1986, eds K. Glente and L. Winther-Jensen (Copenhagen, 1989), 26–37; David Herlihy, ‘The Making of the Medieval Family: Structure, Symmetry and Sentiment’, in Women, Family and Society in Medieval Europe: Historical Essays 1978–1991, ed. A. Molho (Providence, RI, 1995), 135–53; Georges Duby, ‘Lineage, Nobility and Knighthood: the Mâconnais in the Twelfth Century—a Revision’, in The Chivalrous Society, trans. C. Postan (London, 1977), 59–80, especially 67–73. 29 Judith Bennett, ‘History That Stands Still: Women’s Work in the European Past’, Feminist Studies, 14 (1988), 269–83. 12 chapter one more research is necessary before we can generalize.30 The book cannot engage directly with this huge debate. But its findings may throw some light on, for example, how far the so-called Gregorian reform and Church influence affected women and widows, something which may emerge especially clearly in a comparison with an area (Iceland) where the impact of the Christian Church and reform was much more limited. The book may also throw light on the significance of alleged changes in lineage and agnatic descent, again through comparison of a society where such developments are alleged to have occurred (Yorkshire), and one where they are not seen as significant, indeed one with very different kinship and inheritance structures (Iceland). In general, however, the book will attempt to add case studies to this debate, which are necessary before generalizations can be made. One of the challenges faced in the book is to study the selected group of widows within the context of their family and lifecycle as fully as possible. The rationale for this approach is that such contextualizing is the only way to see all the factors involved in a widow’s life. It is necessary to view these women over the course of their lives, because they were first daughters and wives, and possibly heiresses and sisters, before becoming widows. Issues related to property and power, such as inheritance, marital assignments and marriage, affected widows because they affected women. They might have impacted on a widow earlier in her lifecycle, often as an unmarried daughter or as a wife. That impact had implications for the woman as a widow, and played a part in determining her position upon entering widowhood. Consideration of these issues cannot and will not be restricted to the period of widowhood alone. Yet it is also necessary to place widows within their particular social, political and economic contexts. Such an approach is employed by Janet Nelson and Pauline Stafford, who have argued that the category ‘woman’ is too broad.31 All women share their biological sex, but there are many aspects that might divide them, including rank, wealth and

30 Pauline Stafford, ‘La mutation familiale: A Suitable Case for Caution’, in The Community, the Family and the Saint: Patterns of Power in Early Medieval Europe, eds J. Hill and M. Swan (Turnhout, 1998), 103–25. 31 Pauline Stafford, ‘Women and the Norman Conquest’,TRHS , 6th series, 4 (1994), 221–49, at 229–35. Nelson has discussed the distinct, yet overlapping, categories of ‘women’ and ‘widow’. Nelson, ‘Wary Widow’, 84. See also, Denise Riley, ‘Am I That Name?’ Feminism and the Category of ‘Women’ in History (Minneapolis, 1988), 1–17; Eileen Power, Medieval Women, ed. M.M. Postan (Cambridge, 1975), 1. introduction 13 age. The same can be said of widows. All have been married and lost a husband to death. But the same factors that divide women might also divide widows. A widow’s situation might be affected by how many times she was widowed; her social status; how much property she had accumulated, as inheritance, dowry or dower; and her potential fertility. Thus, ‘a “universal” category of the widow does not exist, nor can different conceptions of widows within a particular society be reduced to a single “typical” image’.32 Generalization can lead to assumptions about all widows that prevent certain questions from being asked about specific widows. The way forward, therefore, lies in examining widows within the context of society and its institutions, with a focus on the actions of the women themselves, while considering the impact of their particular circumstances on their opportunities for action. Such an approach allows for broad generalizations to emerge, against which the cases of individual widows can be examined. Nelson’s study of Erkanfrida, a Carolingian widow, places her as a widow within the context of widowhood in the early Middle Ages. But Nelson also shows how her individual circumstances—her differing interests in the lands, her rank, the absence of children—affected her powers over the property. She indicates the constraints on the exercise of those powers, and argues for Erkanfrida’s awareness of those constraints and, under the circumstances, adoption of appropriate strategies.33 Stafford takes a similar approach in the case of Queen Emma, showing the limits of power and also the possible opportunities available to a woman who was a king’s wife, widow and mother, indicating how a queen’s power might have been affected by the fluctuations of lifecycle, motherhood, politics and ideologies of power.34 This book seeks to place widows fully within the context of family and lifecycle and considers their particular circumstances within their individual social, economic and political contexts. Few historians have attempted this, largely because the nature of our sources, particularly charters, makes it difficult. Yet such an approach is useful because it provides a fuller picture and understanding of widows’

32 Marjo Buitelaar, ‘Widows’ Worlds: Representations and Realities’, in Between Poverty and the Pyre: Moments in the History of Widowhood, eds J. Bremmer and L. van den Bosch (London, 1995), 1–18, at 15. 33 Nelson, ‘Wary Widow’, 82–113. 34 Stafford, ‘Emma: Powers of the Queen’, 3–26. Also useful for a study of a woman throughout her lifecycle and the varying extent of her power is that of Wilkinson, ‘Pawn and Political Player’, 105–23. 14 chapter one lives, actions and experiences. It also allows us, for example, to look at factors beyond lordship in relation to remarriage and to gain a more complete appreciation of the nature of kinship organization and family structure. This approach is adopted in the book, and it requires as full a family reconstruction of the Icelandic and Yorkshire widows as possible. Indeed, the attempt at such reconstruction is a major contribution of the book. However, this is not without its problems.35 It is not always possible to determine important facts of a widow’s life, such as date of birth, marriages, death or husband’s death. Often these can only be narrowed to a span of years. Other information might be unavailable, such as number and age of children, and precise dating of particular actions. Such ambiguity occasionally leads to difficulties in fully placing a widow’s actions within the context of her lifecycle. These difficulties posed questions of presentation, resolved through the substantial appendices which tabulate some of the major findings, indicate methodology and provide references on which the work was based. Other problems and questions surround the land widows held. It is of great importance to decide whether the land was inheritance (hers as an heiress), dowry (hers as a daughter who married), or brideprice / dower (hers as a wife). This distinction is rarely made clear in the sources. But it is often possible to determine whether land came to a woman from natal or marital kin, less frequently whether natal land was dowry or inheritance, or from which husband dower was acquired. The methods used to infer whether land was inheritance, dowry or dower are described in the key to the appendices. Placing widows in context requires the study of individual widows, an area deserving far greater attention than it currently receives.36 The book analyses all fifty high-ranking Icelandic widows who appear in the contemporary sagas and a selection of twenty-five aristocratic widows from twelfth-century Yorkshire.37 The number of Icelandic widows and the information about them is sufficiently large as to allow for systematic study which can indicate overall patterns. Yet it is not so great as to be unwieldy and prevent in-depth examination of individuals.

35 Green has noted the same problem in relation to women in the early twelfth century. Green, ‘Aristocratic Women’, 61. 36 Wilkinson, ‘Pawn and Political Player’, 105. 37 See appendices 1 and 2 for details of the widows in this book, including dates of birth, marriage and death, and information concerning husbands and children. introduction 15

The total number of twelfth-century widows in the Yorkshire charters is in excess of seventy-five, and the amount of information about many exceeds that which is available about many of their Icelandic counterparts. Systematic study of this group alone is beyond the limitations of a book, without the added dimension of comparison with Iceland. It was therefore necessary to narrow the group. To do this, three families—Percy, Rumilly and Arches—were chosen. The first two are of baronial rank and include widows who were countesses either by birth or by marriage. The third family is of the lesser aristocracy. These choices were made to enable comparison within various social classes in Yorkshire and against comparable ranks in Iceland. All three families have heiresses among the widows. The Percys had more in- marrying widows, while the Rumillys had several generations of widowed heiresses in the natal lineage. The Arches family had in-marrying widows, as well as heiresses and non-inheriting widows among the women of Arches descent by birth. Such a distribution was chosen so that variations of position within the family and natal versus marital links could be explored. The contextual approach adopted in this book requires some discussion of the social and political context of twelfth- and thirteenth-century Iceland and twelfth-century Yorkshire. These two societies were fundamentally different. The lack of a king in Iceland and the weak influence of the Church before the end of the Commonwealth period had a significant impact on the political and social development of the country, setting it apart from most of western Europe in the Middle Ages, including Yorkshire. The basis for landholding in this period was also very different between the two regions. These differences affected women in general, and widows in particular, because they influenced the customs of inheritance, marriage and property transactions. Iceland was a virtually uninhabited island colonized from about 870, mainly from western Norway. The country began life as an independent region, and it remained so until 1264, when it became subject to the overlordship of Norway. Scholars have emphasized the bilateral and egocentric nature of the kinship system.38 Commonwealth Iceland was a society without towns, castles, villages and nucleated settlements

38 Agnes Arnórsdóttir, ‘Kvinner og “krigsmenn”’, 15–17; Stephen B. Barlau, ‘Old Icelandic Kinship Terminology: An Anomaly’, Ethnology, 20, 2 (1981), 191–202, at 191–2. 16 chapter one and where life revolved around the farmstead as ‘the basic unit of residence, production and reproduction’.39 Households varied enormously in size and wealth. A man or a woman (almost invariably a widow) could be a sole householder, or headship could be shared by two or more people.40 Throughout the period, society was decentralized and there was no single executive power.41 The system of governance was mainly consensual among the upper echelons, that is, farmer and chieftain rank. Each member of society belonged to a household, and each householder was attached to a chieftain. The main basis for the relationship between chieftain and householder was a reciprocal arrangement of mutual support, a relationship which could be terminated by either side if expected assistance was not forthcoming.42 Land was an important source of wealth, but movables, especially cattle, were essential for the running of a farm. A person could be deemed very wealthy even if he or she owned little land, although land was important for prestige and power. Ownership of land appears to have been individual and generally only constrained by the interests of heirs. Farms, even main farms, were often exchanged, and the land market was fluid. As a result, the centre of power for many chieftaincies changed with each generation, and most chieftain families were not intimately linked with a particular property as they were in Normandy.43 A chieftain’s approval does not seem to have been necessary for land transactions.44 A chieftain’s powers were personal and based on land.45 As a result, ‘no chieftain had the means to ensure that his powers would pass on undiminished to his heirs’.46

39 William Ian Miller, ‘Some Aspects of Householding in the Medieval Icelandic Commonwealth’, Continuity and Change, 3, 3 (1988) 321–55, at 324. 40 Grágás. Islændernes Lovbog i Fristatens Tid, udgivet efter det kongelige Bibliotheks Haandskrift, 2 parts, ed. Vilhjálmur Finsen (Copenhagen, 1852–70; reprinted Odense, 1974), Ia, 139. (Hereafter part 1 cited as Grágás, Ia, and part 2 cited as Grágás, Ib); Miller, ‘Householding’, 324–5, 334–5. 41 Orri Vésteinsson, The Christianization of Iceland: Priests, Power and Social Change, 1000–1300 (Oxford, 2000), 12. 42 William Ian Miller, Bloodtaking and Peacemaking: Feud, Law, and Society in Saga Iceland (Chicago, 1990), 22–6. 43 Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, Chieftains and Power, 59; Sir James Holt, ‘What’s in a Name? Family Nomenclature and the Norman Conquest’, Stenton Lecture 1981 (Reading, 1982), 12–23. 44 Hastrup, Culture and History, 189–95. 45 Hastrup, Culture and History, 192. 46 Orri Vésteinsson, Christianization, 2000, 15. introduction 17

The period of settlement in Iceland, in which individuals claimed unoccupied land, was over by about the mid-tenth century. There followed an extended period characterized by a balance of power among chieftains in the various localities and, when they occurred, family feuds confined to individual districts. The next period of political development commenced around the beginning of the twelfth century and lasted until about 1220. Jón Viðar Sigurðsson has argued con- vincingly that during this period there was a gradual accumulation of power among the most influential families. It was accompanied by the expansion of the chieftains’ local power, a process which reached its final stage between 1180 and 1220 in the establishment of regional domains. However, the balance of power was still maintained so that no one man or family dominated all others nationally, and many kin groups continued to have powerful members. Conflicts continued to occur between individual families, although they occasionally drew in powerful chieftains from more distant areas, especially towards the end of the twelfth century. In these circumstances, high-ranking men, and perhaps some women, had room for manoeuvre. One could change allegiance between chieftains, at least until the domains were firmly established. As a result, a weak chieftain was in danger of losing followers and eventually his chieftaincy, which provided the opportunity for others to play one powerful man off another. The final period, known as the Age of the Sturlungs, lasted from c. 1220 to the end of the Commonwealth in 1264. This period was characterized by a desta- bilization of the political order and a move from ‘relatively peaceful political struggles to a state of civil war’, in which the number of chieftains significantly declined while their areas of influence expanded.47 The earlier political balance was upset. Few men had considerable power in this period, especially as some of the most influential families were being forced to withdraw from the power struggles. In addition, the emergence of the king of Norway as a significant political player influenced the course of events. By making the most powerful Icelanders his retainers, the king was able to gain indirect control over all the Icelandic chieftaincies by the 1250s. Once independent

47 Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, Chieftains and Power, 71. For an alternative, albeit less convincing view concerning the extent of civil disturbance in this period, see Jesse Byock, ‘The Age of the Sturlungs’, in Continuity and Change: Political Institutions and the Literary Monuments in the Middle Ages, A Symposium, ed. E. Vestergaard (Odense, 1986), 27–42. 18 chapter one chieftains now had a higher authority. As a result, there were fewer opportunities to manoeuvre in the fight for political dominance towards the end of the period.48 The influence of the Church in Iceland in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, although growing, was limited, especially over institutions like marriage and sexual relations.49 It was dominated by secular interests, and it did not have a corporate identity of its own.50 Chieftains endowed churches in this period, probably to consolidate their power and authority in an area.51 Individual churches and part or all of the land on which they stood were often privately owned and could be inherited. Whoever owned the land had the management of the church, as well as a portion of the tithes that came to it. If this land had been donated to the Church, thereby enabling the establishment to support its own household, it was known as a staður (plural staðir).52 Staðir were very wealthy, and control over them was one of the most important sources of revenue for chieftains.53 Eight small, private monastic foundations, one of which was female, were established by aristocratic men between 1133 and 1226; three of the eight, including the nunnery, ceased to function within forty years of foundation.54 They appear to have been established and used mainly as retirement homes for the secular elite, although they were probably independent of the control of particular families. There were two bishoprics. The first was established at Skálholt in the south near the end of the eleventh century, and the second was established in the north at Hólar early in the twelfth century.55 Although there are points of similarity between twelfth-century Yorkshire and Iceland, there are also real differences. Yorkshire was already populated when the conquering Norman aristocracy arrived

48 Unless otherwise stated, information in this paragraph is from Miller, Bloodtaking, 13–26; Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, Chieftains and Power, 62–83; Byock, Medieval Iceland, 1–12. 49 Jochens, ‘The Church and Sexuality in Medieval Iceland’, Journal of Medieval History, 6 (1980), 377–92, at 383–5; Auður Magnúsdóttir, ‘Ástir og völd’, 4–12; Agnes Arnórsdóttir, ‘Kvinner og “krigsmenn”’, 120–2. 50 Orri Vésteinsson, Christianization, 2000, 1–4. 51 Orri Vésteinsson, Christianization, 2000, 115. 52 Orri Vésteinsson, Christianization, 2000, 112–28. 53 Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, Chieftains and Power, 107. 54 Byock, Medieval Iceland, 153; Orri Vésteinsson, Christianization, 2000, 133–9. 55 Byock, Medieval Iceland, 145–6. introduction 19 in the latter half of the eleventh century.56 These Normans brought customs with them which might have influenced the development of social structures and institutions, such as inheritance.57 They had a king as overlord, more or less powerful at various periods during the twelfth century. A member of the aristocracy might derive his authority from the king (or lord if he did not hold directly of the king), in part because it was the king (or lord) who had given the family land to him or his ancestors. In some ways this could provide the security and continuity of power and authority across generations that was virtually absent in Commonwealth Iceland. Yet it also had implications for land ownership, because all landholders except the king were tenants holding their land of someone else.58 A lord’s participation in the alienation of land was the norm, which could impact on religious and secular benefactions.59 It might also have implications for inheritance, since, like family, the king often had a vested interest in the choice of heir. These conditions might have had a significant influence on female inheritance, particularly if a lord favoured a daughter over sons or more distant male heirs, or favoured one daughter, perhaps unmarried, over others. It could also result in tension between familial and lordly interests in these matters. The period of civil war during Stephen’s reign had important consequences for Yorkshire society. King David I of Scotland used Stephen’s insecurity on the throne to make military incursions into the north of England, taking land and gaining the support of certain magnates in the process.60 The lack of an effective central leadership provided the opportunity for some men, like William count of Aumale, to acquire more power in Yorkshire, which they then often used to their personal advantage.61 After Henry II came to throne, he had to deal with these influential subjects, while trying to keep the expansionist ambitions of the Scots in check.

56 Robert Bartlett, England under the Norman and Angevin Kings, 1075–1225 (Oxford, 2000), 1–2. 57 Holt, ‘Feudal Society, iv’, 5–14. 58 Bartlett, England under the Norman and Angevin Kings, 202–3. 59 John Hudson, Land, Law, and Lordship in Anglo-Norman England (Oxford, 1994), 211–15. 60 David Crouch, The Reign of King Stephen, 1135–1154 (Harlow, 2000), 40–1, 70, 73–4, 81–2. 61 Paul Dalton, ‘William Earl of York and Royal Authority in Yorkshire in the Reign of Stephen’, HSJ, 2 (1990), 155–65; Paul Dalton, Conquest, Anarchy and Lordship: Yorkshire, 1066–1154 (Cambridge, 1994), 152–95; Crouch, King Stephen, 160. 20 chapter one

The influence of the Church in Yorkshire was much stronger than in Iceland. Ecclesiastics advocated monogamous marital unions over short- and long-term extra-marital couplings.62 They strove to enforce the legitimacy of children born into properly sanctioned marriages to the exclusion of others.63 There was also a substantial expansion of religious foundations in Yorkshire during the twelfth century. These institutions might attract benefactions from widows, be used as places of burial, or provide an alternative for women who wished to pursue a religious life by entering them as a nun. A widow might found a religious house, or retire to one in old age.64 They therefore provided widows with potential opportunities in the exercise of control over their property and person. The book is divided into eight chapters. After introducing subject, methodology and historiography in chapter one, chapter two gives an overview of the source material for both Iceland and Yorkshire, discussing its utility for a study of widows and the difficulties it presents. Chapter three concentrates on the theoretical acquisition and control of land and marriage in each society, with specific reference to women. The main themes explored are inheritance, consent in marriage, marital assignments and land transactions. Chapters four, five and six focus on the practice. Four examines the acquisition of land. It discusses the nature of the property that a woman might hold, as a daughter, wife or widow, raising questions about the difficulties often encountered in distinguishing between types of property in the sources. It also provides an overview of what the widows in the study held, when known, thereby bringing out patterns of landholding among widows in the two societies. Several factors that are examined might impact on a woman’s acquisition of land, including the presence of brothers, of male collateral kin, of female siblings or illegitimacy. Family and lordly interests might also play a role in the settlement of property on women, with the potential for tensions between the two. Chapter five examines remarriage, analysing the various factors which influenced it. Wealth, rank, age, potential fertility, children, ecclesiastical teaching

62 James A. Brundage, Law, Sex, and Christian Society in Medieval Europe (Chicago, 1987), 203–9, 245–6. 63 Claire de Trafford, ‘The Forgotten Family in Twelfth-Century England: Illegitimacy and Illegitimates’, HSJ, 13 (1999), 52–63, at 53. 64 Janet Burton, The Monastic Order in Yorkshire, 1069–1215 (Cambridge, 1999), 141–3, 183, 195; Peter Coss, The Lady in Medieval England, 1000–1500(Stroud, 1998), 12–3. introduction 21 and politics all might have impacted on the possible range of opportunities available to widows. This chapter attempts to discover which factors were most significant, and how far a widow had any say in or control over remarriage. Other avenues were potentially available to widows, such as extra-marital liaisons and entering a nunnery. These, too, will be explored to see how often Icelandic or Yorkshire widows in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries found themselves in a position to make use of these avenues. Chapter six discusses the nature and extent of the power and authority of widows and the circumstances in which they could exercise it. The principle source of power was often land, but there were others. A widow could call upon bonds of kinship or ties of lordship to act effectively or influence others. She might also have sexual power over lovers. A widow might derive authority from her position in society as a widow, remarried wife or guardian of her husband’s heir. This chapter also examines the aims a widow had and the means she pursued to fulfil them. Chapter seven concentrates on the complex, and sometimes multiple, identity of a widow, analysing this through the evidence of personal and family names, titles, seals and administration and control over property. It brings out the fluctuating nature of identity due to roles potentially accumulated throughout a widow’s lifecycle, such as daughter, wife, mother, widow, remarried wife. Marriage or remarriage might have altered the emphasis of a woman’s identification, especially with birth kin. Yet other factors often had an impact. Land or rank might have determined how a society viewed a widow, or perhaps even how she saw herself. My findings are then concluded in chapter eight.

CHAPTER TWO

SOURCES

This chapter is concerned with the main sources to be used to assess the property, power, marriage and identity of widows, and to undertake the family reconstruction fundamental to this, in twelfth- and thirteenth-century Iceland and Yorkshire. These sources are the Icelandic and English legal statements, the contemporary sagas and charters. They vary considerably in form, content, nature and usefulness. Even where apparently similar, for example, legal statements, they differ significantly between Iceland and England. None of the sources are without problems. What the sources can and cannot tell us about widows, and how they can and cannot be used to gather this information, must be established. The various sources have the potential to provide indications of the types of property a widow could hold (e.g. her inheritance, marital assignments, her children’s paternal inheritance, etc.), and how extensive each kind was; of the composition of her natal and marital kin, and possibly her age at marriage, childbirth, death of husband, remarriage and her own death; of her remarriages in relation to pressures from kin and lord, and how remarriage affected her administration of property and identity; of her activity including religious and secular patronage, and how the extent of her patronage was affected by concerns of lordship; and of her identity throughout her lifecycle, and how it was affected by birth, marriage, childbirth, age, status and position within the family. But the sources cannot answer all questions about widows, and the information they provide does not necessarily provide a fully rounded view of the women and their lives. For example, the charters are more likely to provide information about widows’ landholding and administration than the contemporary sagas, because property transactions were at the heart of the charters, an issue of limited interest to the saga authors. Yet the sagas might provide more material about family interactions and marriage negotiations than the charters. Once such limitations are recognized, it is easier to take advantage of the full potential of each source. 24 chapter two

Legal Sources

The Icelandic legal texts in which evidence on widows, and on family and inheritance relevant to them, is contained, are those now known collectively as Grágás. The texts have a complex history. Although private documentation probably occurred earlier, the first comprehensive, and official, recording of the law dates to the early twelfth century.1 It was compiled by prominent chieftains and legal experts. This text is now lost. Although it was authoritative, it cannot have been viewed as complete and immutable.2 New laws, signified by the term nýmæli, were subsequently added to it. Copies were undoubtedly made, occasionally unofficially. A passage in Grágás suggests that, in the twelfth century, various compilations of law could be found at the two Icelandic bishoprics at Skálholt and Hólar, and in the possession of legal experts and private individuals.3 Although none of these early twelfth-century compilations have survived, this passage makes it clear that they were not identical, at times contradictory and varied in extent. The most important extant collections are found in two manuscripts (Konungsbók and Staðarhólsbók), both of which date from the third quarter of the thirteenth century.4 It is generally accepted that on the whole these two texts reflect the state of Icelandic law in the twelfth century, and it has been argued that at least some sections were still relevant in the thirteenth.5 The impetus for composing the texts was arguably an Icelandic awareness of contemporary political and constitutional problems. Norwegian intervention in the affairs of Iceland came to a climax with Iceland’s submission to Norway in 1262–4. Perhaps the Icelanders felt a need during this unstable period ‘to fortify themselves with a record of what was law in their country,

1 Ari Þorgilsson, Íslendingabók, ed. Jakob Benediktsson, Íslenzk Fornrit I (Reykjavík, 1968), chapter 10, pp. 23–4; Peter Foote, ‘Reflections on Landabrigðisþáttr and Rekaþáttr in Grágás’, in Tradition og Historieskrivning: Kilderne til Nordens ældste historie, eds K. Hastrup and P. Meulengracht Sørensen, Acta Jutlandica lxiii, 2 (Aarhus, 1987), 53–64, at 55–6. 2 Foote, ‘Reflections’, 55. 3 Grágás, Ia, 213. 4 Andrew Dennis, Peter Foote and Richard Perkins, ‘Introduction’, in Laws of Early Iceland: Grágás, trans. A. Dennis, et al., 2 vols (Winnipeg, 1980, 2000), vol. 1, pp. 1–19, at 13. 5 Dennis, et al., ‘Introduction’, vol. 1, p. 13; Foote, ‘Reflections’, 57–8; Orri Vésteins- son, Christianization, 2000, 6–7. sources 25 or of what might be regarded as law, on as comprehensive a scale as possible’.6 Grágás is the most comprehensive of all Germanic legal texts, filling ‘seven hundred densely printed pages of nonduplicated provisions’.7 It contains substantial information about Icelandic governmental and social institutions, as well as extensive details concerning issues that affected widows directly. There are meticulous explanations, with different courses of action described for various circumstances, of inheritance, financial marital arrangements, remarriage of widows, women as heads of households, wardship and transference of property. Yet despite their comprehensive nature, it is not easy to determine how often the procedures delineated were applied in practice, and recourse to the law courts might have been less common than one would expect. The laws were public and consensual in their making, but, without an executive power, private in their enforcement.8 Several scholars agree that private settlements probably played a larger part in ending disputes than law texts reveal.9 Both William Miller and Jesse Byock contend that most rules were not intended to be absolute. Miller sees them as providing ‘a default setting that would govern unless the parties to the transaction preferred to bargain out of the ambit of the rule’.10 This definition views the law as a set of socially accepted norms which acknowledges the possibility of settling matters privately. For example, an order of inheritance is proposed in Grágás as customary, but in practice there might have been significant variation in privately made provisions. A woman might thereby gain (or lose out) by acquiring (or not acquiring) a share of inheritance in opposition to that dictated by custom, as a result of internal family arrangements or less commonly the interests of her chieftain. One daughter might be given an equal share of family property alongside all her brothers, because it suited her family’s interests to have a financially attractive marriage partner among their numbers. Yet another might receive no inheritance because it was better politically for her family to see the bulk of wealth pass to one of her brothers.

6 Dennis, et al., ‘Introduction’, vol. 1, p. 14. 7 Miller, Bloodtaking, 43–4. Cf. Jochens, Women in Old Norse Society, 176. 8 Dennis, et al., ‘Introduction’, vol. 1, p. 3; Jochens, Women in Old Norse Society, 177. 9 Dennis, et al., ‘Introduction’, vol. 1, p. 8; Byock, Medieval Iceland, 20. For a discussion of an arbitrated settlement as the most likely method of concluding peace, see Miller, Bloodtaking, 273, 282. 10 Miller, Bloodtaking, 228. 26 chapter two

Although Miller is undoubtedly correct in his assessment of the law in default of private settlement, it might also have functioned as a guide to private settlements. Byock argues that individuals could use the law to their advantage or turn it to the disadvantage of others.11 He, like Miller, sees Grágás as a group of socially accepted norms, but ones that were open to differing interpretations. People could opt to negotiate outside of these norms, but might equally use custom to inform their negotiation and eventual agreement. But such interpretation could only stretch so far. A daughter might inherit alongside a son, despite being behind him in the order of inheritance. In exceptional circumstances she might even inherit instead of him. But there was very little chance that a niece or female cousin would, since these women were too distantly related in a society that emphasized the nuclear family. It is therefore best to view Grágás as a codification of standard practice which each individual could use to indicate the parameters for settlement, albeit subject to flexibility and interpretation according to circumstance. An important limitation of the Icelandic laws is that it is difficult to detect any change in legislation or norms over time. Very few nýmæli pertain to widows or issues directly relevant to them. It is not possible to determine from the body of law as a whole as found in the thirteenth-century texts how applicable individual laws were at any given time during the century and a half covered by this study. Because of the lack of precise dating, it is nearly impossible to trace developments over the course of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries from the legal material alone. The Icelandic laws form an essential constituent of the source material. Grágás is a unique source of knowledge about early Icelandic culture, society and government.12 Yet the information contained in the laws may not always be a true reflection of Icelandic societal practice throughout the period between the early twelfth and the mid-thirteenth century, and it must be remembered that the law texts of Grágás are not law codes but ‘compilations of law, legal tradition, descriptions of procedure, formulas and bits of legal history and knowledge’.13 Any

11 Byock, Medieval Iceland, 20–1. 12 Jónas Kristjánsson, Eddas and Sagas: Iceland’s Medieval Literature, trans. P. Foote (Reykjavík, 1997), 120. 13 Orri Vésteinsson, ‘The Christianisation of Iceland: Priests, Power and Social Change 1000–1300’, unpublished PhD thesis, University of London, 1996, 27. sources 27 picture of widows’ power, property and family strategies must begin from them, but must also be ready to recognize their problems and limitations. Comparison of them with practice as contained in the contemporary sagas is an essential step in assessing ‘their precise value as sources in many fields of historical enquiry’.14 By comparison, post-Conquest English legal statements about widows, family and inheritance are more precisely datable, but pose some of the same questions and problems as the Icelandic. The earliest of them are, in contrast to Iceland, royal. These include Henry I’s coronation charter, which has a parallel in II Cnut, placing it in a larger English, if not Norman, perspective.15 There are two more texts, both comprehensive—the early twelfth-century Leges Henrici Primi and the late twelfth-century Glanvill—two texts with very different relationships to twelfth-century English practice. It might also be worth considering the vernacular, undated but probably eleventh-century text Be Wifmannes Beweddung.16 This is included in twelfth-century compilations and gives some indication of practice in an area covered by no other legal statements, though it should be used with caution as a twelfth-century source.17 Cnut’s code is generally agreed to have been the work of Wulfstan, archbishop of York.18 It is extant in six versions: three Old English texts and three Latin translations, including one in the Quadripartitus, which dates to the reign of Henry I. Thirty-eight clauses of the full code stand apart, these being II Cnut, the second, secular part of a law code issued in 1020 or 1021 by the Danish king of England.19 II Cnut deals with various secular topics of relevance to widows, including royal rights, marriage, heirs and land. The legislation was primarily concerned with criminal matters, rather than with an ‘attempt to define the normal rights of kindred and lord’, although specific royal

14 Dennis, et al., ‘Introduction’, vol. 2, pp. vii–xii, at xii. 15 Marjorie Chibnall, Anglo-Norman England, 1066–1166 (Oxford, 1986), 162. 16 Patrick Wormald, The Making of English Law: King Alfred to the Twelfth Century, vol. 1: Legislation and its Limits (Oxford, 1999), 386–7. 17 Wormald, Making of English Law, 386–7. 18 For Wulfstan’s contribution to Cnut’s laws, see Dorothy Whitelock, ‘Wulfstan and the Laws of Cnut’, EHR, 63 (1948), 433–52; Dorothy Whitelock, ‘Wulfstan’s Authorship of Cnut’s Laws’, EHR, 69 (1955), 72–85; Wormald, Making of English Law, 349–365; and Pauline Stafford, ‘The Laws of Cnut and the History of Anglo-Saxon Royal Promises’, Anglo-Saxon England, 10 (1982), 173–190, especially 176–7 and 173, n. 2 for further references. 19 Wormald, Making of English Law, 349, 355–61; Stafford, ‘Laws of Cnut’, 176. 28 chapter two rights in these areas are enumerated.20 There is a notable change in the tone in this section in that ‘the emphasis was no longer on what the subject should do for authority but on what authority could do for its subjects’.21 Cnut seemed to be concerned with addressing the abuses of previous kings and lords in these final chapters, which are unified by their distinct subject matter. The chapters deal with heriots, widows, heirs, forfeitures, orphans and the passing on of land, and they are designed to protect a man’s landholding and inheritance from rapacious and arbitrary action.22 It is difficult to know whether Cnut truly believed in redressing earlier wrongs or was merely in a conciliatory mood due to his insecure political position when he promulgated these laws, although the latter seems more likely. His promises regarding widows and their rights suggest that infringements of those rights had occurred in the past, especially in relation to royal intervention in noble marriage of widows and heiresses.23 Scholars have noted parallels between Cnut’s code and later English legislation.24 Henry I’s coronation charter, like Cnut 69–83, is concerned with, among other things, the succession of heirs, marriage, dower and wardship. It exists in a large number of copies, with four main localized traditions and various chronicle summaries.25 It was issued by Henry I in 1100 at the outset of his reign, and was probably circulated to every shire.26 Stafford argues that the last section of II Cnut could have constituted a coronation charter issued by Cnut in response to the political situation current at the beginning of his reign.27 The similarities between the beginning of Cnut’s reign and of Henry I’s suggest that both men made promises, if not concessions, in the form of a coronation charter, in order to ‘buy’ support.28 II Cnut and Henry’s coronation charter might thus represent acceptable practice as agreed by both king and aristocracy on specific

20 Chibnall, Anglo-Norman England, 163. 21 Wormald, Making of English Law, 361–2. 22 Stafford, ‘Laws of Cnut’, 178. 23 Stafford, ‘Women and the Norman Conquest’, 231. 24 Stafford, ‘Laws of Cnut’, 178. Cf. Wormald, Making of English Law, 362, 400–1. 25 Wormald, Making of English Law, 400. 26 D.C. Douglas and G.W. Greenway, eds, English Historical Documents, 1042–1189 (London, 1953), vol. 2, p. 400. 27 For a detailed discussion of this point, see Stafford, ‘Laws of Cnut’, 178–83. 28 Stafford, ‘Laws of Cnut’, 187; P&M, vol. 1, p. 95. sources 29 subjects. If so, they are not far removed from the consensual law of Grágás in these areas, in that they also set some parameters and state social norms. However, they are very limited in their coverage, and are in no way comparable to the kind of general guide to practice that Grágás appears to represent. There is also a distinct difference in their promulgation. In Iceland, where there was no king, there was no royal intervention in family matters, with a lack of a corresponding need for negotiation between royalty and the chieftains. The laws were public and consensual. While those of chieftain rank generally made the law, they could not have done so without widespread approval from house- holders, since it was these men who provided the chieftains with the means of enforcing their power.29 The consensus expressed by both sets of legal statements is therefore not quite the same. The consensus reached in Iceland was between men who were more or less equal in their interdependence but in England between those of differing rank. In Iceland, there was no one single power over the aristocracy, and the legal statements on certain matters of relevance to widows, such as inheritance and marriage, emanate entirely from the point of view of the family. In England, the king was the overlord of all, even the mightiest of his barons, and II Cnut and Henry’s coronation charter are of royal origin. The emphasis on lordly intervention in family matters is stronger in these English statements, reflecting the relationship between king and aristocracy in England. Grágás may therefore be closer to generally accepted norms in Iceland than II Cnut and Henry’s coronation charter were in England. The English sources may portray an ideal aspired to by the aristocracy rather than the actual situation in the first half of the twelfth century. Henry’s coronation charter should be seen, as Maitland and Milsom have maintained, as a promise by Henry to observe laws disregarded by William Rufus rather than as an act of true legislation, since it became an important precedent for later kings and barons, but one which was unenforceable against the king; indeed, Henry himself did not observe it and could not be forced to do so.30 How accurate or useful, then, are Henry’s coronation charter and the later chapters of II Cnut in assessing the options available to widows in the twelfth century? The crucial question is one of negotiation and compromise between the king and

29 Dennis, et al., ‘Introduction’, vol. 1, p. 3. 30 P&M, vol. 1, p. 95; Milsom, ‘Inheritance by Women’, 64–5. 30 chapter two the great lords of his realm. ‘The languages of Cnut’s law code and of Henry I’s coronation charter may be different; but both sought to resolve the familiar conflict between lord and kin’, not least in relation to inheritance, marriage and marital assignments.31 The conflict might have presented widows with a wider scope for manoeuvre. The English legal statements suggest a lack of precision in the role king and family might play, and a widow might have appealed to one or other to gain her objective. For example, a widow who did not wish to remarry but was under pressure from kin to do so might turn to the king for support to remain single. But this flexibility in inheritance and marriage might also lead to a more precarious position for the widow, since either side might override the one that had her interests—although not necessarily intentionally—at heart. The tensions between royalty and aristocracy were not directly concerned with the women involved; their gains or losses, and the area available for their manoeuvre, were a by-product of the negotiations to resolve the conflict between lord and kin. Another early twelfth-century source especially relevant to widows is the Leges Henrici Primi. Like II Cnut and Henry’s coronation charter, the text contains statements about inheritance, heirs, remarriage of widows and marital assignments. Despite its name and dating to the reign of Henry I, it is not legislation introduced by Henry. Rather, it is a collection of legal statements of various kinds, mainly Anglo-Saxon, presented by its author as current and applicable, even though some were not.32 It is more comparable with Grágás and more comprehensive than the royal promulgations, although not as comprehensive as the Icelandic laws.33 Like Grágás, the compilation deals mainly with secular legal statements, and it was almost certainly written by a man with intimate knowledge of the law.34 It is concerned with, among other things, the powers and obligations of the barons, some of which

31 Pauline Stafford,Unification and Conquest: A Political and Social History of England in the Tenth and Eleventh Centuries (London, 1989), 179. 32 L.J. Downer, ‘Introduction’, in Leges Henrici Primi, edited with translation and commentary by L.J. Downer (Oxford, 1972), 1–78, at 2; Wormald, Making of English Law, 407. 33 For a direct comparison of Grágás and the Leges, see Peter Foote, ‘1117 in Iceland and England’, The Dorothea Coke Memorial Lecture in Northern Studies delivered at University College London, 14 March 2002 (London, 2003). 34 For a detailed discussion of the authorship of the Leges, see Downer, ‘Introduction’, 37–44. sources 31 were similar to those of Icelandic chieftains.35 Unlike Grágás, there is a theme of royal jurisdiction.36 Despite attempts at comprehensiveness, the Leges only touch on certain parts of the law, and then not exhaustively. This highlights a major difference between Grágás and the majority of twelfth-century English legal statements. Most Germanic, and especially Anglo- Saxon and Lombard, legislation had its origins in royal initiative, and the English law codes which inform a large portion of the Leges are only concerned with limited areas of royal interest and intervention.37 General statements about widows are often missing from, or dealt with at best cursorily in, the early twelfth-century English legal statements. Grágás thus contrasts in every way with the patchy and interstitial quality of the Anglo-Saxon and continental barbarian codes. It is distinguished both by the range of its coverage and its detail within each area covered.38 The Icelandic laws are total statements of custom in a way that the English legal codes and treatises are not. However, none are a straightforward representation of practice, and all must be viewed in conjunc- tion with other sources. The Leges might be particularly useful in helping assess the developments in inheritance and its impact on women over the course of the twelfth century. Statements in this area show clear indications of older legal theory.39 It would, however, be wise to use these statements with caution, since it has been noted that the Leges are often over- dependent on texts as opposed to practice.40 Some of the statements concerning inheritance have been lifted almost word for word from the Lex Ribuaria, dating five centuries earlier, and ‘these clauses owed their presence to something other than a wish to describe English law as it currently functioned’.41 They may be there because they parallel

35 Downer, ‘Introduction’, 3. 36 Downer, ‘Introduction’, 3. 37 Wormald, ‘Lex Scripta and Verbum Regis: Legislation and Germanic Kingship, from Euric to Cnut’, in Early Medieval Kingship, eds P.H. Sawyer and I.N. Wood (Leeds, 1977), 105–38, at 107–9. 38 Miller, Bloodtaking, 222. For a good example and discussion of Grágás’s detail within the areas covered, see Miller, Bloodtaking, 222–3. 39 L.J. Downer, ‘Commentary’, in Leges Henrici Primi, edited with translation and commentary by L.J. Downer (Oxford, 1972), 305–426, at 386. 40 Wormald, Making of English Law, 413. 41 Wormald, Making of English Law, 414. Cf. Downer, ‘Commentary’, 386. 32 chapter two unwritten Old English custom, but the relationship of any section of the Leges to twelfth-century practice must remain very debatable. Be Wifmannes Beweddung is another text of pre-Conquest origin found in the twelfth-century legal sources.42 It appears in Latin in the Quadripartitus, which was probably authored by the same person as the Leges.43 It has much in common with the betrothal laws in Grágás. Be Wifmannes Beweddung focuses on the practices of betrothal, and in this it is unlike any other extant English source from the twelfth century. Providing guidance on proper procedure and financial arrangements, it incorporates measures to ensure appropriate treatment of the prospective bride. It originates from the view of the families involved in the betrothal to the exclusion of royal interests in marriage. The main difference with Icelandic law is the ecclesiastical emphasis in Be Wifmannes Beweddung on God’s law and the role of the Church in the union, an emphasis entirely absent from the betrothal section of Grágás. After the coronation charter of Henry I, there is no surviving general ruling or statute in a king’s name in the twelfth century on issues relevant to widows. There is, however, evidence of a lost ruling on the inheritance of heiresses—the so-called statutum decretum. It was most likely promulgated between 1130 and 1135, although possibly as late as 1141.44 It is only known through the survival of one of the charters of Binham Abbey in which Roger de Valognes confirmed a grant of land made by his kinsman Walter and Walter’s daughter Agnes to Binham; there are no other extant references to it. The charter quotes the ruling ‘where there is no son, the daughters divide their father’s land by spindles, and the elder cannot take from the younger her half of the land without violence and injury’.45 It has been assumed that the decree was of royal origin, although Green has recently suggested that

42 Be Wifmannes Beweddung, in English Historical Documents, c. 500–1042, ed. and trans. D. Whitelock, 2nd edn (London, 1979), vol. 1, p. 467. (Hereafter Wifmannes). 43 For a discussion of common authorship, see Downer, ‘Introduction’, 23–8. Be Wifmannes Beweddung is also found in Old English in the Textus Roffensis and the C.C.C.C., MS. 383. 44 For the dating of the statutum decretum, see Holt, ‘Feudal Society, iv’, 9–10; Green, ‘Aristocratic Women’, 74. 45 ‘ubi filius non habetur terram patris filie per colos parciuntur nec potest maior natu iuniori medietatem hereditatis nisi vi et iniuria auferre.’ The quote is translated by Holt, ‘Feudal Society, iv’, 9–10; for the Latin reference and a copy of the Binham charter, see Sir Frank Stenton, The First Century of English Feudalism, 1066–1166, 2nd edn (Oxford, 1961, first published 1932), 260–1. sources 33 it might have been a non-royal decision specific to the particular case of the lands transferred to Binham.46 This lost ruling raises the issue of recorded, as opposed to unwritten, law in twelfth-century England. Recorded legal statements were not necessarily the same as that which was observed as law, especially as early as Henry I’s reign, a situation recognized by Green. She points out that legislation under Henry may have been more abundant than the extant records have led us to believe. The usual view that the Norman kings had a poor record of legislation in relation to the Anglo-Saxon kings assumes that legislation was formally recorded in writing at the time, a situation which Green believes was not necessarily the case during Henry’s reign.47 There could have been laws which were recorded and subsequently lost, or, as Wormald points out for an earlier period in England, ‘it may, on the other [hand], be that some laws inevitably left few or no traces, because they never proceeded beyond the spoken word’.48 The case may be the same for the twelfth century, and the statutum decretum represents a chance survival of written evidence of such law. The fullest and most general treatment of the issues concerning widows for twelfth-century England is contained in The Treatise on the Laws and Customs of the Realm of England Commonly called Glanvill. It is the first textbook of common law in England, concerned mainly with civil litigation by writ before the king’s justices.49 It contains more than seventy different writs, and the author may have worked from a collection of written legislation, but it was not an official publication.50 The treatise was probably written between 1187 and 1189.51 Scholars

46 Holt, Stafford and Chibnall have suggested that the decree was of royal origin. Holt, ‘Feudal Society, iv’, 10; Stafford, ‘Women and the Norman Conquest’, 226–7; Chibnall, Anglo-Norman England, 174. Cf. Green, ‘Aristocratic Women’, 74–5. 47 Judith A. Green, The Government of England under Henry I (Cambridge, 1986), 105–6. 48 Wormald, Making of English Laws, 127–8. 49 G.D.G. Hall, ‘Introduction’, in The Treatise on the Laws and Customs of the Realm of England Commonly called Glanvill, edited with introduction, notes and translation by G.D.G. Hall, with a guide to further reading by M.T. Clanchy (Oxford, 1993), pp. xi–lxx, at xi. (For the sake of clarity and brevity despite the doubt over authorship, I will refer to this medieval source’s writer as Glanvill and the text as Glanvill.) 50 Hall, ‘Introduction’, p. xxxv; M.T. Clanchy, ‘Guide to Further Reading’, in The Treatise on the Laws and Customs of the Realm of England Commonly called Glanvill, edited with introduction, notes and translation by G.D.G. Hall, with a guide to further reading by M.T. Clanchy (Oxford, 1993), pp. lxxi–lxxxvi, at lxxv. 51 Hall, ‘Introduction’, p. xi. 34 chapter two disagree on who the author was, but it is generally accepted that he was a practical man learned in law and with an intimate knowledge of the workings of the king’s court.52 The text survives in over thirty manuscripts, several from the early thirteenth century.53 Glanvill was a popular text still in use by lawyers seventy years after it was first composed.54 The nature of the copying and variants suggests that many copies were made and that it generated much interest.55 Glanvill differed from previous legal statements in its comprehensiveness and style. It was less a series of rules, promises or enactments than a collection of material which attempted to illustrate the workings of the law. The treatise describes customs that, while still very fluid, were in the process of becoming fixed, and it tried to establish some general rules about various legal matters, including dower, dowry, inheritance, marriage and wardship.56 It thus continued and expanded many of the themes relating to widows established in II Cnut, Henry I’s coronation charter, the Leges, Be Wifmannes Beweddung and the statutum decretum, where lordship intersected with family and inheritance. The tensions between the interests of the king or lords and those of the family were arguably still at the heart of legislation at the end of the twelfth century, and Glanvill can thus be seen as a practical attempt to reconcile the conflict that resulted from the struggle for control over widows and land, albeit one that emphasized an interpretation that favoured a lord. Glanvill is the most comparable twelfth-century English source to Grágás. It is closest in comprehensiveness; it was compiled and used by legal experts; it covers topics in detail; it provides a picture of the workings of the judicial system, rather than merely stating rules to be followed; and it is possibly the most accurate portrayal of norms and customary practice of all the legal sources in twelfth-century England. Nevertheless, Glanvill is not directly comparable. Although detailed and fairly comprehensive, Glanvill does not cover all legal issues of relevance to widows, omitting such important material as the procedures for betrothal, female consent in marriage and what made a

52 Hall, ‘Introduction’, p. xi; Clanchy, ‘Guide’, p. lxxv; P&M, vol. 1, p. 165; Chibnall, Anglo-Norman England, 175. 53 Hall, ‘Introduction’, pp. li, lv. 54 P&M, vol. 1, p. 166. 55 Hall, ‘Introduction’, p. lv. 56 Glanvill, 58–94; Chibnall, Anglo-Norman England, 175. sources 35 marriage valid. Supporting Wormald and Green’s view of the earlier twelfth century, Clanchy argues for the dominance of the spoken over the written word at the time Glanvill wrote and claims that most of Henry II’s legislation was promulgated orally.57 If Clanchy is correct, then the ‘laws’ in the treatise are almost certainly not the full extent of the rulings, customs and normative practice current in the mid- to late twelfth century, despite its detail. Thus, Glanvill, like the Icelandic laws, needs to be treated as partial theory against practice. Furthermore, Glanvill, like the majority of other twelfth-century legal statements, originates from the point of view of the lord or king in many matters of consequence to widows. On the other hand, Byock contends that ‘Grágás was compiled without concern for royal justice or preroga- tives. Its resolutions and rulings illustrate the limits and precedents of a legal system that operated without an executive authority.’58 Due to its unique evolution, Iceland developed a remarkable legal system, including courts, experts in law and rules clearly articulated as laws, in the absence of any coercive state institutions.59 Even basic matters of the legal system show an independent development.60 Such was not the case in England, where royal and seignorial courts played a large part in the development of the legal system and profession, and where a coercive power was often available to enforce judgements of the courts.61 Glanvill is perhaps law which reflects this development. Despite the emphasis in English legal sources on royal and lordly interests in issues pertaining to widows and a corresponding absence in Grágás, there are some similarities between the Icelandic and English legal statements. Many regulations, including those involving rules for marriage, display a remarkable resemblance throughout the Germanic world.62 For example, there are regulations in both Iceland and England that provide a widow with choice in remarriage and grant her certain marital assigns and property at her husband’s death. How these

57 M.T. Clanchy, From Memory to Written Record: England 1066–1307, 2nd edn (Oxford, 1993, first published 1979), 77, 272, 322. 58 Byock, Medieval Iceland, 20. 59 Miller, Bloodtaking, 224. 60 Byock, Medieval Iceland, 25. 61 For information on the importance and function of these courts, see John Hudson, The Formation of the English Common Law: Law and Society in England from the Norman Conquest to Magna Carta (London, 1996), 24–34, 40–7, 50–1; for the role of royal courts, including the visitation of itinerant royal justices, in the development of English law, see P&M, vol. 1, pp. 107–10, 153–9. 62 Jochens, Women in Old Norse Society, 178. 36 chapter two normative statements worked in practice, however, may well have varied considerably between the two countries, where the role played by family and lords in these matters shaped the manner in which legal theory operated. As will be seen, a widow in England might at times have been a pawn in the power struggles between these two groups, but she might also have been able to make use of the rights that the king claimed for himself against her family in order to secure greater room for manoeuvre. In Iceland, where there was no royal power, tensions between lords and kin may thus have been of a different nature than in England. No king was available to whom a widow could turn in an attempt at securing a degree of freedom from family control. However, it is possible that the chieftains or lovers may have filled this role to some extent. It is therefore imperative to look to other sources in order to compare theory with practice in both countries. An analysis of the two different emphases in the legal sources—on royal intervention indicating tension between king and family over widowed relations in the English sources, and from the point of view of a widow’s kin in the Icelandic—provides an insight into family structure in society. Because the statements are concerned with inheritance, marriage, marital assignments and wardship, they indicate a widow’s theoretical possibility for property acquisition and management in relation to natal and marital kin. They might also thus be sources for questions about identity. What a widow was allowed to give, to whom, and the theoretical composition and nature of that transaction might indicate her identity in the eyes of her contemporaries, and perhaps even her own. However, it is unwise to argue too much about identity from the legal sources alone, for the picture they present is at best theoretical. It is very difficult to trace developments in Icelandic law from Grágás. While the original core of the source material was committed to writing in the early twelfth century, what we have today is a compilation of law made in the later thirteenth. As stated earlier, it is generally accepted that this material represents twelfth-century Icelandic law, but it is impossible to determine from Grágás alone what was applicable at any particular point in the twelfth century, or even how much in relation to widows was applicable in the thirteenth. Apart from the new laws, only a handful of which concern women in general, the source seems to have changed little over time. In England, however, the sources date to various points in the twelfth century, making it easier to trace developments. They were authored by various men from sources 37 different perspectives, so that royal promulgation and law code stand alongside legal treatise and formulary.63 These differences give a better indication of how the legal system developed generally over the course of the twelfth century, and how widows in particular were affected by the alterations.

Contemporary Sagas

Legal statements can provide information about issues concerning widows in theory, less so in practice. A theoretical framework can be set out through the study of the legal statements, but individual cases are required to test the theory. In Iceland, the sources to be used for comparison are the contemporary sagas, mainly found in the compilation known today as Sturlunga saga. They are not only an essential source for assessing social and economic forces in twelfth- and thirteenth-century Iceland, they are perhaps the most important one, since records of court cases or legal transactions have not survived.64 They describe events related to the most prominent members of Icelandic society during the last century and a half of the Commonwealth period. These sagas are best characterized as a political history of a few powerful aristocratic families followed closely over several generations.65 It is generally accepted that most were written within ten to seventy years of the events portrayed and were composed by the end of the thirteenth century.66 The original version of Sturlunga saga is now lost, but it survives in two manuscripts composed during the mid- to late fourteenth century.67 Sturlunga saga is a compilation of short and long narratives con- taining fifteen separate elements. It includes sagas, þáttr or short stories, genealogies and a prologue, all but one of which were collected

63 For a discussion of Be Wifmannes Beweddung as a formulary, see Wormald, Making of English Law, 386. 64 Byock, Medieval Iceland, 31. 65 Jesse Byock, ‘Age of the Sturlungs’, 31. 66 Jochens, Women in Old Norse Society, 175. Þorgils saga ok Hafliða was the exception among the sagas, as it might have been composed as much as 100 years after the events depicted. 67 R. George Thomas, ‘Introduction’, in Sturlunga Saga, trans. J.H. McGrew and R.G. Thomas, 2 vols (New York, 1970), vol. 1, pp. 13–45, at 19; Jochens,Women in Old Norse Society, 175. 38 chapter two into one work about 1300.68 There are two stages of composition— the original writing and the compilation of the constituent elements. The compiler’s identity is not certain.69 Sturlunga saga is an attempt to assemble the various sagas and þáttr into one chronological unit, but it is not a rounded and well-proportioned history, since the compiler arranged, cut and edited independent works.70 The genealogies contained in the genealogical tables, the þáttr and the sagas provide invaluable information which aids family reconstruction of the most important Icelandic families of the later Commonwealth period. The material singles out the families of the Sturlungar, for whom the compilation was later named, the Oddaverjar, Ásbirningar, Haukdælir, Vatnsfirðingar, Seldælir, Svínfellingar and Hítdælir. Not only do the genealogies provide evidence of the parentage, kinship, marriages and deaths of the widows from these important kin groups, but they also provide an indication of how interlinked these families were by blood and marriage. This evidence can often be used in con- junction with the dated information in the sagas to determine the year, or a short range of years, for a widow’s birth, marriage(s) and death, the birth of her children and the death of her husband(s). Such closely dated family reconstruction opens up possibilities for the analysis of, for example, reasons for remarriage. The different elements in Sturlunga saga, including the genealogies in it, were written by various authors, most of whom are not known. The longest and by far the most useful section of the compilation for the study of widows is Íslendinga saga. It deals with topics concerning aristocratic widows ranging from marriage, inheritance and marital property, to household administration, political alliances and lordship. It is the only text that can be attributed with certainty to a writer. Sturla Þórðarson, nephew of perhaps the greatest medieval Icelandic writer, Snorri Sturluson, wrote Íslendinga saga, which deals with

68 Miller, Bloodtaking, 44. Arons saga Hjörleifssonar was composed about 1340 and thus was not included in the compilation. 69 For a discussion of the possible identity of the compiler, see Thomas, ‘Introduction’, vol. 1, p. 18; Björn Magnússon Ólsen, ‘Um Sturlungu’, in Safn til sögu Íslands III (Copenhagen, 1902), 193–510; Gudbrand Vigfusson, ‘Prolegomena’ in Sturlunga saga, Including the Islendinga saga of Lawman Sturla Thordsson and Other Works, ed. Gudbrand Vigfusson, 2 vols (Oxford, 1878), vol. 1, pp. xvii–ccxix; and Stephen N. Tranter, Sturlunga saga: The Rôle of the Creative Com piler, European University Studies, Series 1 (New York, 1987). 70 Stefán Einarsson, A History of Icelandic Literature (New York, 1957), 152. sources 39

Iceland and its chieftains on something approaching a national scale from 1183 to the end of the Commonwealth in 1262–1264.71 Sturla has often been praised for his impartiality, and there is evidence that Sturla carefully verified his evidence from oral sources.72 Íslendinga saga can be seen as a continuation of Sturlu saga, which tells of Sturla’s paternal grandfather, the chieftain Hvamm-Sturla Þórðarson, founder of the Sturlungar, and his conflicts with other chieftains between 1148 and 1183.73 Although the author of Sturlu saga is unknown, it was certainly not Sturla Þórðarson. Written between 1200 and 1225, the author of this saga was close to the events, and even though he may have been a friend of Sturla’s, he was not above depicting his shadier side.74 Sturlu saga, which provides details about dowry, inheritance and marriage, introduces some of the most prominent widows in Sturlunga saga. Some were related by blood or marriage to Hvamm-Sturla, others were related to his enemies. Many can also be found in Íslendinga saga. The other sagas in the compilation are Prestssaga Guðmundar Arasonar hins góða, Guðmundar saga dýra, Þórðar saga kakala, Svínfellinga saga, Þorgils saga ok Hafliða, Hrafns saga Sveinbjarnarson, Arons saga Hjörleifssonar and Þorgils saga skarða. The first four are the most useful when investigating Icelandic widows. The primary interest of the Sturlunga compilation ‘lies with crucial events and the main political players in their contest for power’ in Iceland.75 As men played a much larger role in politics than women, fewer women are depicted. Yet, due to the fact that they are particularly detailed in relation to their social setting, the contemporary sagas provide sufficient information about the main protagonists’ lives to allow for an analysis of family and household.76 Information pertinent to aristocratic widows was often recorded because the details were significant politically, including particulars about inheritance, marriage settlements, landholding, wardship, political alliances and lordship. The sagas as a whole provide an overall view of customary inheritance practice and the (in)flexibility of the system, while individual episodes in specific sagas indicate how a particular circumstance might

71 Jónas Kristjánsson, Eddas, 194–5. 72 Jónas Kristjánsson, Eddas, 195–6; Thomas, ‘Introduction’, 34–5. 73 Peter Hallberg, ‘Sturlunga Saga’, in Medieval Scandinavia: An Encyclopedia, ed. P. Pulsiano (London, 1993), 616–8, at 616; Jónas Kristjánsson, Eddas, 195. 74 Stefán Einarsson, History of Icelandic Literature, 153. 75 Nordal, Ethics, 12. 76 Jochens, Women in Old Norse Society, 175. 40 chapter two interact with custom. They provide information about the degree to which lineal or collateral kin, and female or male relations, inherited, the position of illegitimate offspring as inheritors, and the division of inheritance. The sagas as a group also provide information about marital property and wardship, including dowry, brideprice, commonly held marital property and custody of children. They give an indication of control of the paternal inheritance of a widow’s children and of residence after a husband’s death, and to a lesser degree, of the nature and extent of marital assignments. This information, taken together with that concerning inheritance, sketches some broad outlines of the landholding system, while also including specific references that point to possible variations within it. The sagas also suggest the extent to which women, as brides and lovers, were used as bargaining counters in their kinsmen’s political manoeuvrings, and whether they accepted this role willingly, reluctantly or actively opposed it. The focus in the sagas on individuals and their interactions with others occasionally implies what the women themselves derived from these alliances and how often they could use them to their own advantage. As such, the contemporary sagas provide evidence of the kinship system as a whole in twelfth- and thirteenth-century Icelandic society. This information also indicates how identity was shaped by kinship, both through birth and marital alliances, and how that identity developed and perhaps altered over the course of a woman’s life. The sagas suggest the tensions experienced by widows when their interests conflicted with those of their natal and/or marital kin, or their multiple identities as daughter or sister conflicted with those of wife or mother. These conflicts, and the reactions to them by the widows, society and the saga authors, imply a duty to natal kin or husband to a greater or lesser extent, and point to how a woman’s identity in general might be viewed by society. The contemporary sagas are normally ‘considered to contain reliable, if at times subjectively reported, information’, largely due to their contemporary nature and the authors’ proximity to the events described.77 The authors clearly display an intimate knowledge and experience of the events they portray, but this closeness to the events often led to partiality on the part of the author. Some writers clearly had an agenda

77 The quotation is from Byock, Medieval Iceland, 34. Jochens, Women in Old Norse Society, 175. sources 41 when composing these sagas, even if they included much that was factual. Nonetheless, the authors could not state something that was bla- tantly untrue. As Byock points out, an omission of significant details by an author or a large distortion of events in these sagas is unlikely, since the contemporary audience for whom they were written knew the families, the farms, the events and the participants described.78 The contemporary sagas retain the same rhetorical and narrative principles found in the sagas of Icelanders, and they are literary works. This raises questions about literary works as historical sources. Can they be used to formulate a reasonable picture of the society that they represent, or are they largely normative, as divorced in their own way from reality as the legal statements?79 The major actions of the stories take place amid a detailed backdrop of twelfth- and thirteenth-century Icelandic society. From the details included unconsciously by the authors, one can recreate, to some extent, a picture of that society. As Miller points out, if there might have been reason for an author to invent a particular character’s psychology, there was simply no reason for him to invent ex nihilo the social and cultural setting in which these characters moved about.80 Despite the fact that the sagas are literature, they are at the same time the indigenous social documentation of a medieval people and, as such, they contribute a wealth of information about the functioning of a tradition-bound island culture.81 Provided the contemporary sagas are used with care, ‘they are a gold- mine for thirteenth-century attitudes as well as events’.82 It is important to consider the content of the sagas when examining them as literature. While many of the authors who contributed to the Sturlunga collection attempted to write objective, factual history,

78 Byock, Medieval Iceland, 34. It would not be true to say that the authors of the contemporary sagas did not, therefore, take liberties with their material. Clearly some of them showed partiality, especially in how they portrayed certain people. However, an author could not simply change events to suit his agenda. 79 For a general discussion of the merits of using literature as a source of social history, see John Boswell, The Kindness of Strangers (London, 1988), 1–21. 80 Miller, Bloodtaking, 46. 81 Byock, Medieval Iceland, 49–50. 82 Orri Vésteinsson, ‘Christianisation of Iceland’, 1996, 20. 42 chapter two their narratives are presented in the form of sagas.83 Thus, the events they describe were recorded primarily because they were exceptional, since it is usually the exceptional that provides the matter for good literature. The authors’ ‘raw material had to bestriking events that mer- ited recording, and, to this extent . . . routine and mundane incidents of everyday existence’ are often absent from the sagas.84 Any analysis must therefore consider that the information relating to widows may not depict the status quo, but rather the exception to the rule. For example, one woman’s dowry might be described in detail because it differed from the type or amount usually given as a marriage settlement, or perhaps even differed from usual practice in that a dowry was given on that occasion. On the other hand, the precise nature of the dowry may have been supplied less because it was unusual, but rather because these details were central to a conflict in the story. It is thus likely that what is found in the sagas about widows will be a mixture of the extraordinary and the norm; the problem is to distinguish between the two. One final problem with the sagas is the difficulties they pose in reconstructing in full the property acquired and held by widows. The information in appendix 3 on this topic is almost certainly incomplete. The contemporary sagas are not primarily concerned with property or its transmission. They give relatively few details about the property of widows, and then only when the information is important for the historical narrative, significant family connections or politics. The possession by a widow of a certain farm, especially when it was the only or main one owned by her family, can be traced in the sagas. It is likely that when a large main farm was acquired by a widow, other farms were also acquired, especially if her husband had been a chieftain or very wealthy, but these lands are rarely mentioned. Dowry and brideprice are seldom indicated. When they are, they appear to have been customarily given. Movables are not often mentioned and rarely specified. No distinction is made between brideprice and communal marital property (if any), or between brideprice and the pater-

83 There was a long tradition in Iceland, beginning in the eleventh century with Ari Þorgilsson inn fróði, of attempting to write truthful accounts of the past. The methodology of this historical writing is described in the prologue to Sturlunga saga and by Snorri Sturluson in the prologue to his history of the kings of Norway. SS, i, 115; Snorri Sturluson, Heimskringla: History of the Kings of Norway, translated with introduction and notes by L.M. Hollander (Austin, TX, 1964), 3–5. 84 Thomas, ‘Introduction’, 25. sources 43 nal inheritance of a widow’s heir. Terms such as ‘inn augði’ commonly denote the wealthy, but often there is no reference to the composition of the wealth. Thus, the sagas are a poor source for a full picture of property or its nature—small farm(s), large farm(s), staður, movables. As such, they are not complete statements of the landholding system, although they do provide information on some aspects of it.

Charters

No sagas recount the history of twelfth-century England, and therefore it is necessary to use another type of source in order to reconstruct families, place widows within them and ask questions about property, marriage, power and identity. Chronicles are arguably closest in kind to sagas, but they present little information for a fruitful comparison of aristocratic widows. Charters, on the other hand, give a more complete picture of widows, their families, their property and the opportunities available to them, and thus offer better material for assessment. The evidence dealing with women and land falls into two broad categories: statements about existing or future practice such as the Charter of Liberties of Henry I and Glanvill; and contemporary charters.85 The investigation of charters can help to illuminate many topics other than diplomatic studies. For example, the charters of one woman composed over time can be analysed to hint at the scope and nature of her power and authority; a simple change in title might shed light on how that person saw herself and how that person wished to be or was seen by others.86 A charter, as ‘a public letter issued by a donor recording a title to property’, was intimately concerned with land and its conveyance.87 They may give evidence not only of landholding, but of the agency of the women themselves, of powers of disposal, patronage and identity. And charters help in family reconstruction more than any other twelfth-century source, providing details of husbands, marriages, children and dates.

85 Green, Aristocracy of Norman England, 364. 86 Chibnall, ‘The Charters of the Empress Matilda’, inLaw and Government in Medieval England and Normandy, eds G. Garnett and J. Hudson (Cambridge, 1994), 276–98, at 277. 87 Clanchy, Memory, 85. 44 chapter two

Documents coming under this broad definition of a charter will be used in this study, the majority being original notices and final con- cords. Most now survive only in cartularies. A cartulary is a collection of title deeds copied into a register and kept usually by landowners for greater security and convenience as evidence of personal or corporate rights.88 It is not a primary source, but a copy of individual documents originally written on separate pieces of parchment.89 The main actions referred to in the charters, whether original or in cartularies, are grants or confirmations of land to religious houses and to laymen, usually family members or vassals. Some appear to be sales or exchanges of land, and a few deal with land transferred as part of marital arrangements or the settlement of disputes. The charters relating to the twelfth-century Yorkshire widows in this study are primarily found in the cartularies of abbeys and priories, the most important being Fountains, Whitby, St. Mary’s York, Sallay, Bolton, St. Bees and Kirkstead.90 The cartulary of Nunkeeling is the one Yorkshire nunnery cartulary extant [BL Cotton Otho C viii]. Until the twelfth century charters were generally produced by monastic establishments, but thereafter documents drafted by or on behalf of laymen and secular clerics gradually increased as literate modes were extended to more people and to diverse activities, with forms becoming standardized in the thirteenth century.91 The Percy cartulary, a collection of charters detailing land transactions of one of the major baronial Yorkshire families [Alnwick Castle Archives, Northumbria, D.i.1a], is the only extant secular cartulary of relevant material. The nature of material and its detail are similar in the religious and secular cartularies, but their relationship to a family’s land differs. A monastic cartulary only contains information concerning land in which the religious house that produced it had an interest. It has the potential to provide information about patronage of that establishment over time. But since evidence suggests that aristocratic families were rarely benefactors of one recipient, the picture that can be reconstructed of an individual

88 G.R.C. Davis, Medieval Cartularies of Great Britain: A Short Catalogue (London, 1958), xi; Clanchy, Memory, 101. 89 Clanchy, Memory, 103. 90 The other charters come from the cartularies of Warter, Meaux, Pontefract, Bridlington, Byland, Dunstable, Thurgarton, Nostell, Malton, Rufford, St. Leonard’s York and St. Nicholas’s cartulary Exeter. 91 Clanchy, Memory, 112–113; John Hudson, ‘Diplomatic and Legal Aspects of the Charters’, Journal of the Chester Archaeological Society, 71 (1991) 153–78, at 162. sources 45 family’s land from a single cartulary is often incomplete. The Percy cartulary, however, gives a more comprehensive picture of one aristocratic family’s lands and patronage, and it has the advantage of recording bequests to secular as well as religious beneficiaries. A large minority of the original relevant documents were formerly in St. Mary’s Tower, York, and many only exist today as copies made by William Dodsworth in the seventeenth century. A handful of documents are also extant as originals. Charters have the potential to provide much valuable information concerning widows. First, they give details about land, perhaps indicating who might hold it, when and how it was held (as inheritance, dowry, dower, in custodianship). They can sometimes indicate a woman’s ability to grant land, which in turn suggests something about her powers of disposal, her patronage, and perhaps the sources of her identity as expressed through her patronage. Second, charters can provide information about relations between a widow and her natal or marital kin vis-à-vis land. A widow’s control over natal, or marital, land might affect, and be affected by, her familial relationships, not limited to but certainly including subsequent marriages and stepchildren. Third, the body of the charter and, less often, the witness list frequently gives information about the ways in which widows were described in terms of family, social position and marital state. Such information suggests a widow’s identity as seen by society, or perhaps how the drafter or beneficiary wished her to be seen. Fourth,pro anime clauses might also indicate a widow’s identity. These clauses probably originated with the widow who made the grant or confirmation, suggesting the people she identified with most at the time of the transaction. Fifth, charters might provide details useful for family reconstruction. Joint grants between husbands and wives, or those by one spouse naming the other in the pro anime clause, are useful in helping to establish a widow’s marriages. Occasionally parents and children, especially the heir presumptive or those who were grown and, less frequently, siblings are named in pro anime clauses or witness lists, or among those who consented to the transaction. A wife, too, might participate in the transaction or give her consent, possibly because she had some claim on the property involved, perhaps as inheritance or dowry, or because she acted as a counsellor or petitioner.92 Finally, charters may give

92 Hudson, ‘Diplomatic and Legal Aspects’, 169–70. 46 chapter two information on lordship. Language used in the body of the charter and in the witness list, and the nature of the transactions recorded, can be used to explore female lordship. It is also noteworthy that numerous charters were sealed, although many seals are now lost. Those that have survived provide valuable information about a widow’s identity through the text and images used on them. Despite these uses, charters, like legal sources and sagas, are not fully transparent. Charters never give the full picture and never contain all the relevant details.93 They are no more than a snapshot in time and only present one aspect of any particular dispute or transaction at any one point in its development. Bates states, rightly, that ‘charters were the product of the moment and that their testimony could as a result distort’, for example, by presenting a confirmation of an earlier grant as the grant itself.94 They might also conceal relevant aspects of a dispute or transaction, such as protracted negotiations, consents given but unrecorded, causes of a dispute or even the fact of the dispute itself. Scribes may have different motives or reasons for the information they chose to record. Emily Tabuteau raises the pertinent question, also relevant to sagas, does an interesting detail represent a scribe’s sudden fit of loquacity or does it indicate something unusual, worth mentioning in the interests either of specificity, when the detail concerns what was transferred, or of memorability, when the detail concerns how it was transferred?.95 Furthermore, it is difficult to know what stage of negotiations the charter represents, and groups of charters may represent different aspects of complicated negotiations rather than an explicit sequence of conveyances.96 Their use for family reconstruction poses real problems. Not all family members may be mentioned. Pro anime clauses give at best a partial picture of family surviving or remembered at that point in time. Consent clauses taken alone may not indicate female power or control, but dower or dowry. The latter may be impossible to determine from charters which rarely specify it explicitly. Not all are dated,

93 Emily Zack Tabuteau, Transfers of Property in Eleventh-Century Norman Law (Chapel Hill, NC, 1988), 10. 94 David Bates, ‘Re-ordering the Past and Negotiating the Present in Stenton’s First Century’, Stenton Lecture, 1999 (Reading, 2000), 3. 95 Tabuteau, Transfers of Property, 11. 96 Chibnall, ‘Charters of Empress Matilda’, 281. sources 47 and where dates can be established it can be difficult to work from these to precise datable events like marriage or the birth of children. It is not surprising that Green has argued that charters have little specific detail about women, especially in relation to marriages and children.97 Nonetheless charters can, if used with care, be a source of much valuable information, including for family reconstruction. While the Yorkshire charters may provide a more accurate reflection than the sagas of what wealth widows actually had, certainly in the case of some heiresses, they almost certainly are not a complete and fully inclusive representation. Not all lands are necessarily referred to in the charters, and very few movables are. Some widows might have alienated their property less frequently than others, thereby leaving less documentary evidence of their holdings, and charters might not have been produced for all property transactions. Dower, perhaps because widows may have had fewer opportunities to alienate it, is found less often in widows’ charters than dowry and inheritance. And while charters usually provide specifics about the land in question, they seldom provide details about the nature of the property. Dower can often be distinguished from other kinds of property by tracing its descent from marital kin. But since inheritance and dowry came from natal kin, it is often difficult to distinguish between them. Nor is it only details of land which are probably incomplete. The information concerning identity might indicate how a widow was viewed by society, but that information would be at best partial and hesitant if it came from only one or two sources. The larger the sample, and the greater the number of beneficiaries, the more accurate it is likely to be. But even when there is a good cross section of documentation, it can only represent some of the multiple identities of widows. For example, it can at best reveal a little about a widow’s role as mother, references to which are often absent from charters. And even when they do exist, the charters are only concerned with those aspects of motherhood which deal with land as well. Charters tell us nothing of a widow’s role as the nurturing individual for her very young children, the counsellor offering political advice to her adult offspring or the lady of the house instructing her daughters in household tasks, if she did indeed fill these roles.

97 Green, Aristocracy of Norman England, 364; Green, ‘Aristocratic Women’, 61. 48 chapter two

Charters must always be examined within their social and political context, as well as in their diplomatic context, bearing in mind how they were produced and how they have survived. Dates can often be unreliable, the amount of detail varies from document to document, there was usually no consistency in drafting among charters, and cartularies are sometimes incomplete or erroneous.98 Copies of charters in cartularies are often truncated, especially the witness lists.99 Such truncation further complicates the problem of interpretation of these lists. In addition, many charters were destroyed, both in medieval and modern times. Often those that survive do so due to chance and may not be representative of all those originally written. Many ecclesiastical charters survive, perhaps due to the Church’s record- keeping practices, and it is possible that they do accurately reflect the documents drafted. However, that the Church drafted more charters than laymen does not mean that they concluded more transactions, merely that they committed more to writing. Similarly, the output of charters may have increased in times of political uncertainty, or at times when powerful kings showed aggressive behaviour, probably due less to more transactions being made at those times than from an increased desire for the security writing provided in preserving those that were made.100 These problems affect the widows in the study in the same way in which they would affect any individual involved in land transactions. The material concerning the Yorkshire widows was produced overwhelmingly by and for religious establishments, and as such it documents religious bequests far more often than secular ones. This might be a misrepresentation, and more widows might have made grants to secular members of society. If so, the information available to assess the lordship of heiresses would be inaccurate, although probably no more so than that available to assess male lordship. Perhaps the most important thing to bear in mind when using charters as evidence is that they were culturally conditioned in the way they were written and were meant to fulfil contemporary expectations, not ours.101

98 Chibnall, ‘Charters of Empress Matilda’, 276; Clanchy, Memory, 85. 99 Tabuteau, Transfers of Property, 10. 100 Patrick Wormald, ‘Charters, Law and the Settlement of Disputes in Anglo-Saxon England’, in The Settlement of Disputes in Early Medieval Europe, eds W. Davies and P. Fouracre (Cambridge, 1986), 149–68, at 152. 101 Bates, ‘Re-ordering the Past’, 4. sources 49

Conclusion

All sources, then, are problematic and must be used with caution. None provides either a simple or complete picture, and even in combination there are significant gaps and difficulties which remain. The differences between the Icelandic and English material are especially significant for a comparative study. Nonetheless, all these sources have potential. The next chapter will look at the normative theory in relation to land and marriage. It will assess and compare the position of widows in theory in Iceland and Yorkshire in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries as a first stage in the attempt to determine variations, according to the legal sources, in terms of inheritance, marriage, marital assignments and scope for action in the alienation of land.

CHAPTER THREE

PROPERTY AND MARRIAGE: THE LAWS

The legal statements for twelfth- and thirteenth-century Iceland and England contain material on widows in relation to property and marriage, and this chapter will focus only on the legal theory. These sources are not always comprehensive, nor do they touch on all issues relating to these topics. There are significant omissions, and the sources can be contradictory. Inheritance is covered in greatest detail, and by the largest number of different sources, but even here the material only provides a partial picture, often from a particular perspective. The legal sources raise questions about widows’ control of property, both land and other wealth. These require discussion of the way widows might come to hold property—as heiresses of their parents, through dowry at marriage which might be a form of inheritance, and through brideprice or dower from their husband or his kin. Discussion, therefore, must cover female inheritance more generally, and the property arrangements involved in marriage.

Inheritance

An exploration of the systems of inheritance in twelfth- and thirteenth-century Iceland and England, as outlined in the legal sources, can suggest something of the nature of the social organization of each country. The legal statements are concerned with female inheritance, lineal versus collateral descent, division of inheritance and illegitimacy, all of which had an impact on widows. Although the material is not comprehensive, it provides a theoretical framework against which practice will be examined in the rest of the book. Discussion of how frequently and in what circumstances widows—and more generally women—could inherit raises questions about the importance of natal and marital kin, as well as the role of royal or lordly intervention, in inheritance. The medieval Icelandic inheritance laws were comprehensive, beginning with the order of succession of those legitimately entitled to inherit. The first fourteen categories were comprised of immediate 52 chapter three sister 14 . illegitimate 18 . aunt brother 16 . gran d mother 13 . illegitimate = 17 . uncle 19 . cousin 19 . cousin 16 . gran dd aughter 8 . sister 18 . niece 17 . nephew 2 . d aughter 10 . illegitimate d aughter 5 . mother 15 . gran d father 7 . brother 18 . niece 17 . nephew 15 . gran d son = EGO 18 . niece 17 . nephew 4 . brother 3 . father 1 . son 16 . gran dd aughter 16 . gran d mother Diagram 3.1. Inheritance order according to Grágás 6 . sister = 18 . niece 17 . nephew 17 . uncle 19 . cousin 15 . gran d son brother 11 . illegitimate 9 . illegitimate son 15 . gran d father 18 . aunt 19 . cousin sister 12 . illegitimate the laws 53 family members, in order of succession: legitimate son, legitimate daughter, father, legitimate brother born of the same father, mother, legitimate sister born of the same father, legitimate brother born of the same mother, legitimate sister born of the same mother, illegitimate son, illegitimate daughter, illegitimate brother born of the same father, illegitimate sister born of the same father, illegitimate brother born of the same mother and illegitimate sister born of the same mother.1 A single heir in any category kept out all others in succeeding groups, and Grágás states that inheritance should be divided if a category had more than one member.2 Next came more distant relatives, including grandparents, grandchildren, uncles, nephews, aunts, nieces and cousins, all of whom had to be legitimate.3 If none of these relatives existed, the inheritance was to pass to the next nearest legitimate kinsman or kinswoman. If several kinsmen or kinswomen were equally close, the inheritance was divided evenly between them, although men postponed women related in the same degree.4 No distinction is made in Grágás between land and movables, or between paternal and maternal property. All wealth was treated the same according to these rules. In general, the implication for women is that they were seen, in theory, as near equals of men in inheritance matters. They had a strong claim to a share of familial wealth, based on their close biological connection to kin rather than on their gender. And their property was inherited by their heirs in the same manner as that of their male relations. The early twelfth-century English legal statements concerning inheritance are not as comprehensive as the Icelandic. Before Glanvill, there is no full statement of inheritance custom or practice in England. The legal statements are sparse and at times appear contradictory in this period. Very few indicate who an heir was or the order in which inheritance might be expected. The Leges Henrici Primi are an exception, and in this they are most like Grágás. They state that if children did not exist, then parents inherited; if parents did not exist, then siblings inherited. Paternal and maternal aunts come next (uncles are not mentioned) and so on until the fifth ‘joint’.5 The nature of the

1 Grágás, Ia, 218–9; II, 97. 2 Grágás, Ia, 220–1. See discussion of division below. 3 Grágás, Ia, 219–20; Ib, 239; II, 64. 4 Grágás, Ia, 220. 5 ‘geniculum’. Leges Henrici Primi, edited, with translation and commentary by L.J. Downer (Oxford, 1972), p. 225, clauses 70.20, 70.20a. (Hereafter Leges). 54 chapter three inheritance is not specified here. The next statement, however, says that women were not to succeed when the male line continued and the inheritance descended from that side.6 Unless this implies that inheritance in the female line might be treated differently from that in the male line, the statements are contradictory.7 The earlier statements indicate that a daughter would inherit before a father, a mother before a brother, and a sister before a more distant male relative, yet the later one indicates that any inheritance from a man should go to his sons, father, brothers and other kinsmen before his daughters, mother or sisters. The Leges also distinguish between types of inheritance. A first-born son inherited his father’s fee, which was not to be alienated outside of the kindred by gift or sale, although acquisitions and pur- chases could be given to whomsoever a father chose.8 TheLeges do not, however, distinguish between lands and movables. They provide no further clarification on issues of inheritance, and they appear to have allowed a wide scope for interpretation. The apparently contradictory nature of the information might be due to the presence of antiquated legal inheritance theory in the Leges which was not generally or wholly applicable to early twelfth-century England (see above, pp. 31–2). A few other legal statements relating to inheritance from the first half of the twelfth century are found in Henry’s coronation charter and the statutum decretum. Both imply that daughters had some claim to paternal inheritance.9 However, neither indicates in general where women came in the order of inheritance, how strong their claim was or who inherited in the case of maternal property. Only the coronation charter distinguishes between land and movables, indicating that a woman had a claim to both. The implication for early twelfth-century women in England is that they had, in theory, at best a claim, and perhaps only a weak one, rather than a right or expectation of inheritance.

6 Leges, p. 225, clause 70.20b. 7 Pollock and Maitland argue that this clause probably intended paternal property to remain among paternal kin rather than an exclusion of women completely. P&M, vol. 2, p. 267 and n. 4. 8 Leges, p. 225, clause 70.21; p. 275, clause 88.14a. 9 Coronation Charter of Henry I, in Select Charters and Other Illustrations of English Constitutional History from the Earliest Times to the Reign of Edward the First, ed. W. Stubbs, 9th edn (Oxford, 1913), 116–9, at p. 118, clause 3. (Hereafter CC); Stenton, First Century, 260–1. the laws 55

Later in the twelfth century, the legal statements are more comprehensive. In England, Glanvill is the closest statement to Grágás on inheritance custom. The treatise specifies who qualified to be an heir and the order in which one might expect to inherit land. Sons and daughters were first, then ‘grandsons and granddaughters descending lineally from son or daughter ad infinitum’.10 If these relatives did not exist, then brothers and sisters and their descendants as collaterals inherited, followed by uncles on the father’s side and on the mother’s side, and then aunts in the same manner, and their descendants.11 According to Glanvill, a male heir was always preferred to a female heir in each category, but female heirs were preferred to more remote males; lineal descendants were always preferred to collaterals.12 By the later twelfth century, the position for women vis-à-vis inheritance appears to have changed, at least in theory. The strengthening of lineal descent meant that women, especially daughters and granddaughters, were placed on a more equal footing with men. As direct descendants they had an expectation, if not a right, to succeed to family land after men in their degree of kinship. There are significant variations here between Iceland and England. For example, female inheritance was made explicit in Grágás in a way that it was not in the earliest twelfth-century English legal statements. Grágás expresses a clear preference for collateral kin over lineal descent after immediate offspring, in order of biological closeness. This preference did not exclude females, although it postponed them in each category. Icelandic daughters are clearly stated as heirs before all relatives except sons, and sisters were to inherit before all male kin other than sons, fathers and brothers.13 Thus, the claim of a father’s brother, an uncle’s son or a grandson in the male line was weaker than that of a daughter and a sister. Even an illegitimate sister was to inherit before grandchildren, and such a sister had a stronger legal claim than a legitimate son’s son.14 However, Grágás contains laws which allowed some room for flexibility regarding postponement of women to men in each category, such as those concerning dowry (Old Icelandic

10 ‘nepotes uel neptes ex filio uel filia recta linea descendentes in infinitum’.Glanvill , 75. An English translation of Glanvill is found alongside the Latin text, and this translation has been used throughout. 11 Glanvill, 75, 79. 12 Glanvill, 77. 13 Grágás, Ia, 218–20; II, 97. 14 Grágás, Ia, 218–20; II, 97. 56 chapter three heimanfylgja, also known as a marriage portion generally in Europe), that is land and/or movables given to a woman at marriage by her family. Parents had no right to give as dowry more property than that which each son would receive if the inheritance was divided at the time of the endowment; however, provided that she gained no more than each of her brothers, a daughter could be given as much as each son received.15 A daughter with a single brother was therefore legally allowed to obtain half of her parents’ wealth as dowry. Dowries can arguably be seen as pre-mortem inheritance, especially since Grágás provides the opportunity to divide all wealth equally among all children, both male and female.16 Such a division would accord with the inheritance laws, which prescribe an equal division among offspring of the same sex. However, the laws also allowed for an adjustment of property at the moment of inheritance if one heir had already received more or less than an equal share of the inheritance.17 In such circumstances a daughter could receive further property, or even have a portion of her dowry reclaimed. Once adjusted, dowry was treated as inheritance, so the argument for dowry as pre-mortem inheritance must remain qualified. What seems to be at the heart of these clauses is not pre-mortem inheritance per se, but a theoretical desire for equality among all heirs, both male and female. Women were to be postponed as heirs to men in each category, but there was still provision for these women to obtain an equal share should a parent so choose. Consequently, the weak tendency in Grágás to favour links in the male line is not enough to suggest that the Icelandic kinship system was organized patrilineally in the twelfth or thirteenth century.18 In contrast, emphasis eventually came to be on lineal descent in the male line in England, although this paradoxically helped establish

15 Grágás. efter det Arnamagnæanske Haandskrift Nr. 334 fol., Staðarhólsbók, ed. Vilhjálmur Finsen (Copenhagen, 1879; reprinted Odense, 1974), 64, 85. (Hereafter Grágás, II). 16 Anna Sigurðardóttir, ‘Islanske kvinders stilling’, 93. Agnes Arnórsdóttir suggests that the provision of dowry was a customary right. Agnes Arnórsdóttir, Konur og vígamenn, 47. For a more general discussion of dowry as a pre-mortem inheritance, see Diane Owen Hughes, ‘From Brideprice to Dowry in Mediterranean Europe’, Journal of Family History, 3 (1978), 262–96, at 276–7; Jack Goody, ‘Inheritance, Property and Women: Some Comparative Considerations’, in Family and Inheritance: Rural Society in Western Europe, 1200–1800 (Cambridge, 1976), 10–36, at 15–8. 17 Grágás, Ia, 221. 18 Agnes Arnórsdóttir, Konur og vígamenn, 56; Hastrup, Culture and History, 75–82. the laws 57 female inheritance. Early written twelfth-century English legal statements concerning female inheritance and lineal versus collateral succession were not as clear as the Icelandic laws. The Leges and Henry I’s coronation charter are incomplete and inconsistent on these issues. The Leges contain no formal statement of preference for lineal or collateral descent. On the one hand, patrilineal tendencies can be seen in the Leges, with their advocacy of primogeniture. By its very nature, primogeniture suggests lineality and a preference for the male line. Yet it also encouraged the creation of the heiress, because it brought about the exclusion of collaterals. On the other hand, the Leges suggest the postponement of women to more remote male kin, and grandchildren are not mentioned in the order of inheritance, implying that lineal descent was not yet firmly established during Henry I’s reign. But even if the statements themselves were not contradictory, it would be unwise to read too much into them, since there are doubts about the accuracy of the Leges’ reporting of early twelfth-century inheritance practice.19 Henry I’s coronation charter is similarly imprecise. It states that if, on the death of one of my barons or one of my other men, a daughter should remain an heir, I will give her in marriage with her lands according to the counsel of my barons.20 This statement does not assert that in the absence of sons a daughter would be heir. Rather, it implies that daughters had a claim to inheritance, not that they automatically excluded male relatives. It does not state who decided who the heir would be, only what should happen if a daughter was designated as one. Various scholars have noted this ambiguity, which opens the possibility of female inheritance and the exclusion of collaterals.21 Unlike Grágás and the Leges, which see inheritance from the point of view of the family, it raises the question of a lord’s role in the choice of an heir, or at least of seeing things from this perspective. The possibility of a third party’s involvement in

19 Wormald, Making of English Law, 414. Cf. Downer, ‘Commentary’, 386. 20 ‘si mortuo barone vel alio homine meo filia haeres remanserit, illam dabo con- silio baronum meorum cum terra sua.’ CC, p. 118, clause 3. 21 For example, Milsom, ‘Inheritance by Women’, 65; Jane Martindale, ‘Succession and Politics in the Romance-Speaking World, c. 1000–1140’, in Status, Authority and Regional Power: Aquitaine and France, 9th to 12th Centuries (Aldershot, 1997), 19–41; Green, Aristocracy of Norman England, 361–83; Eleanor Searle, ‘Women and the Legitimisation of Succession at the Norman Conquest’, in ANS, 3 (1981), 159–70. 58 chapter three inheritance matters almost certainly brought with it numerous possibilities for succession dispute. It is therefore best to conclude that the early twelfth-century legal statements provided wide scope for interpretation concerning inheritance. By the early 1140s, the statutum decretum implies female inheritance and limited lineal descent. It indicates that, in the absence of sons, daughters were entitled to succeed before more remote male kin, stating ‘where there is no son, the daughters divide their father’s land by spindles’.22 It is generally agreed that the ruling went beyond Henry I’s coronation charter in establishing female inheritance since it is ‘the first recorded written acceptance of daughters’ inheritance’ which made their right to a claim in absence of sons unequivocal.23 Thus, in theory male and female offspring took precedence. In the absence of sons a daughter had the strongest legal claim to inherit, a situation by no means certain in 1100 when Henry I issued his coronation charter. The ruling does not, however, suggest what should or might occur if neither son nor daughter existed, nor does it comment on the position of a grandchild as opposed to an uncle, aunt, nephew, niece or cousin. According to the ruling, lineal descent, even among women, was clear in the first generation, but there was still scope for interpretation thereafter. However, as in the case of the Leges, it is wise to be cautious. There is debate over the nature of thestatutum decretum. There is no evidence that the ruling was royal and general and not directly related to the Binham charter in which it was set down.24 Nor is it known if it was a new ruling or a reflection of current practice. It is therefore perhaps best to continue to view the legal material as suggesting wide scope for interpretation during this period, and to look to charters as a more reliable guide to practice. The imprecision of these early statements might have allowed uncles, cousins and perhaps even more distant relatives in England to prevent women from inheriting.25 Jane Martindale notes that male kin were often better placed than daughters to build up resources and support which impacted on the control over a disputed honour, however strong

22 ‘ubi filius non habetur terram patris filie per colos parciuntur’ Stenton, First Century, 260–1. Translation is by Holt, ‘Feudal Society, iv’, 9–10. 23 The quotation is by Stafford, ‘Women and the Norman Conquest’, p. 227, n. 25. Milsom, ‘Inheritance by Women’, 78; Holt, ‘Feudal Society, iv’, 2, 8–10. Cf. Green, ‘Aristocratic Women’, 74–5 for a slightly different view. 24 Green ‘Aristocratic Women’, 64–5. 25 P&M, vol. 2, p. 267 and n. 4. the laws 59 the woman’s claim.26 However, this imprecision could have benefited certain women. Several historians have argued that a woman’s right to transmit an inheritance, if not succeed to one, was recognized by the beginning of the twelfth century.27 Eleanor Searle argues that rights of inheritance could be channelled through women, whether or not men existed with a claim as the heir, and that marriage was one of the legitimate ways in which to effect a property transfer.28 Much would have depended on circumstances, especially as the surviving legislation does not state which relative—daughter’s son, sister’s son, father’s brother—was to be preferred as heir. The power of those males who stood to gain by each claimant’s succession to the property would be crucial, as Martindale notes. A daughter might have had an advantage over male kin, perhaps even over her own brother, if she was married to a powerful man, or if she was not yet married and her father’s lord or the king preferred to have the husband he chose for her as his vassal rather than another man.29 The apparent absence of clear legal statements in early twelfth-century England might have allowed more flexibility over female inheritance than the clearly enunciated Icelandic laws. Such flexibility posed more risks for women, but it also provided more potential opportunities. By the close of the twelfth century the position is clearer. Glanvill states that in the absence of sons, daughters, as nearest heirs, were to inherit.30 If neither sons nor daughters existed, grandchildren, even granddaughters, should inherit before other relatives, making it explicit that ‘lineal descendants are always to be preferred to collaterals’.31 Glanvill is thus unequivocal; lineal descent and female inheritance, albeit postponed to males related in the same degree, were established. In this it supports the statutum decretum, perhaps indicating that inheritance practice was more inflexible by the end of the twelfth century. On the other hand, Glanvill, as the closest equivalent to

26 Martindale, ‘Succession and Politics’, 38. 27 Holt, ‘Feudal Society, iv’, 3–6. For a similar interpretation concerning France, see Martindale, ‘Succession and Politics’, 32. 28 Searle, ‘Women and Legitimisation’, 159–70. 29 Searle and Green discuss several cases where a daughter was nominated as heir instead of her brother. Searle, ‘Women and Legitimisation’, 160, 164–5; Green, ‘Aristocratic Women’, 68–71. 30 Glanvill, 75. 31 ‘illi etenim qui ex recta linea descendunt semper illis preferuntur qui ex transu- erso ueniunt.’ Glanvill, 77. 60 chapter three

Grágás, might simply give us our first clear insight. While males were preferred to females, the treatise also stipulates that a father could give all his daughters a dowry (Latin maritagium) in land, at the expense of all but his eldest son. This son was to receive the paternal inheritance, but the other sons might receive nothing because ‘[a father] can hardly give any part of the inheritance to a younger son without the heir’s consent’, even though all daughters could be provided for at marriage.32 The treatise appears to envisage this as a true pre-mortem inheritance (in contrast with Iceland), whereby the marital assignment excluded daughters who received it from future inheritance unless no brothers or unmarried sisters remained; at the very least, Glanvill allows such an interpretation.33 Although there is no indication that a daughter’s dowry should be equal to an eldest son’s portion of inheritance, there is no suggestion that it could not be. The most important point for Glanvill is that the heir should not be disinherited by his sister’s dowry as her inheritance, the size of which appears open to interpretation. This was perhaps a privileging of female inheritance, at times quite large inheritance, over some men, which indicates that practice in the twelfth century was no simple matter. Another apparent difference between the legal statements of the two countries involves division of inheritance. Grágás states that ‘it [inheritance] shall be equally divided among all the branches’, and gives specific information on how it should be divided among sons or daughters if any child benefited financially more than his or her siblings prior to the death of a parent.34 In such circumstances, primogeniture and impartibility cannot have been the legal norm, and scholars of medieval Iceland agree that it was not.35 In the absence of sons, daughters were therefore lawfully entitled to an equal share of their parents’ property. No new laws were introduced in the course of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries which changed this legislation.

32 ‘non poterit de facili preter consensum heredis sui filio suo postnato de hereditate sua quantamlibet partem donare.’ Glanvill, 70. 33 See Milsom, ‘Inheritance by Women’, 65–6, 81. 34 ‘þa scal iafnt scipta iknéruna alla.’ Grágás, Ia, 220–1. 35 Agnes Arnórsdóttir, Konur og vígamenn, 47; Jenny Jochens, ‘En Islande médiévale: A la recherche de la famille nuc léaire’, Annales: économies, sociétés, civilisations, 40, 1 (1985), 95–112, at 95–8; Guðrún Nordal does not state explicitly that primogeniture was not specified legally, but she implies that it was not when she notes the sharing of inheritance among sons and in some cases among sons and daughters. Nordal, Ethics, 34. the laws 61

In England, the position of women as co-heiresses is less secure. The Leges are explicit about the right of a first-born son to inherit his father’s fee, which could not be divided or passed through gift or sale to anyone outside of the kin. In the absence of sons (and perhaps more distant male kin), this statement might be construed as applying to the eldest daughter, although the Leges do not state this outright. It is equally possible that a younger daughter might legally take the entire patrimony or that it would be shared, equally or not, among all daughters. It is also unclear as to how the division should be effected if there were children of both sexes. The main difficulty in assessing the legal position of co-heiresses in the early twelfth century is that these early legal statements only provide a partial, sometimes contradictory and questionable, picture of the customary norms. There can be no definitive answer to the question of what the legal position of these women was. Indeed, this raises doubts about whether there was a clear legal position, or even if this is the correct terminology. It is perhaps better to think in terms of a more fluid situation of claims, with room for varied definition, as well as interpretation, of the statements. Division of inheritance among females is the issue in the statutum decretum, the intention and result of which have been debated. J.C. Holt sees the recording of the decree as ‘a sudden, deliberate change of policy’, whereby female inheritance changed from a single heiress succeeding to the whole of her relative’s property to a division among all eligible daughters or sisters.36 Claiming such a right for all daughters or sisters, despite the written reference to the statutum decretum, may be going too far, especially in light of the debate concerning its nature. Although several scholars accept the ruling as royal and general, Green argues that ‘it may have been a decision made to deal with a very particular set of circumstances, and it does not seem to have set a general precedent’.37 Glanvill gives legal claim to parental inheritance to all daughters at the end of the twelfth century, stating that ‘if [anyone] leaves several daughters, then the inheritance will clearly be divided between them. . . . saving the chief messuage to the eldest daughter’.38 There is

36 Holt, ‘Feudal Society, iv’, 2, 8–10. 37 Green, ‘Aristocratic Women’, 82. Cf. Stenton, First Century, 38–41; Holt, ‘Feudal Society, iv’, 9–10; Stafford, ‘Women and the Norman Conquest’, 226–7. 38 ‘Sin autem plures filias, tunc quidem indistincte inter ipsas diuidetur heredi- tas . . . saluo tamen primogenite filie capitali masagio.’Glanvill , 76. 62 chapter three less doubt that fifty years after the statutum decretum a division among heiresses was more a right than an expectation. Whether the nature of division had yet become so inflexible that it always occurred as the author of the treatise would have the reader believe is more debatable. In the partition of inheritance described by Glanvill, the eldest daughter’s husband alone did homage to the lord for all inherited lands and was responsible for all services of the lordship, while the husbands of the younger daughters held of the eldest without doing homage.39 This partial division benefited the lord, who had all services due from the land performed by a single tenant. After the third generation, however, the eldest daughter’s heir would finally take homage from the younger daughters’ heirs for their lands; homage transformed the division from an internal family arrangement into a durable tenure like that by which the eldest daughter’s heir held his or her inheritance, with the same rights.40 Such a partition was influenced by the Norman practice of parage, but was it the only possible option for dividing an inheritance in late twelfth-century England?41 Holt believes it to have been a novel procedure when Glanvill’s treatise was written.42 Individual circumstances and the current political situation could have an effect on how a patrimony would be divided among co-heiresses throughout the twelfth century, and the cases cited by Holt and Green testify to the various permutations.43 Glanvill emphasizes the significance of the concern of a third, external party—a lord or king—in family inheritance. Pressures within a family for a more complete division at the time of the initial inheritance by daughters might have come up against a lord’s desire for a single tenant. Or an eldest daughter’s expectation of homage being taken from her husband might have faced a lord who preferred an unmarried daughter and the husband of his choice as his immediate tenant. In such circumstances, there was perhaps considerable incentive for lords to intervene in familial succession when women were involved, and perhaps scope for women to take advantage of such intervention. One final difference between the Icelandic and English inheritance laws involves illegitimacy. Icelandic law was clear. The conditions for a lawful marriage necessary to produce legitimate children in Iceland

39 Glanvill, 76. 40 Milsom, ‘Inheritance by Women’, 70–1. 41 Green, Aristocracy of Norman England, 381. 42 Holt, ‘Feudal Society, iv’, 10. 43 Holt, ‘Feudal Society, iv’, 15–6; Green, ‘Aristocratic Women’, 73–6. the laws 63 include a formal betrothal conducted by a woman’s legal administrator, a minimum of six men at the wedding and the witnessing of the groom getting into bed with his new wife.44 A priest to preside over the ceremony was not required, nor was any involvement of the Church. Illegitimate sons, daughters, brothers and sisters had a strong legal claim to inherit, and they took precedence over all relatives other than their parents and their legitimate counterparts. Other illegitimate kin had no legal right to inherit.45 In England, most legal statements do not explicitly define what made a marriage lawful or children legitimate. As a kind of formulary Be Wifmannes Beweddung comes closest, indicating the procedures to be followed.46 The text is mainly concerned with the betrothal before marriage, but it also recommends that a priest should unite the couple and ascertain that they are not too closely related.47 Church involvement was advantageous, even desirable, but not necessarily required. The text does not, however, indicate that only children born of such a union were legitimate, nor does it mention inheritance. Glanvill is a better guide. It is the only text which mentions illegitimacy, stating, ‘no-one who is a bastard or not born of a lawful marriage may be a lawful heir’.48 The treatise implies that the conditions for lawful marriage and the production of legitimate offspring were defined by the Church, but it does not describe these conditions.49 The lack of earlier legal statements on this question in England makes it difficult to be clear whether Glanvill’s categorical statement on illegitimacy and inheritance represents earlier practice and custom, or a tightening up of it.50 Inheritance by illegitimates in Iceland suggests the downplaying of the status of formal marriage as sanctioned by the Church, which in turn might have opened avenues for less regular forms of sexual relationships recognized by society as legitimate. The lack of a clear legal position in early twelfth-century England indicates the possibility that these avenues might have been open in England during this period as well.

44 Grágás, II, 66. 45 Grágás, Ib, 239. 46 Wifmannes, 467–8; Wormald, Making of English Law, 386. 47 Wifmannes, 468. 48 ‘Heres autem legitimus nullus bastardus nec aliquis qui ex legitimo matrimonio natus non est esse potest.’ Glanvill, 87. 49 Glanvill, 88. 50 For a discussion of illegitimacy in England, both in law and in practice, see Trafford, ‘Forgotten Family’, 52–63. 64 chapter three

What lies at the core of the twelfth- and thirteenth-century Icelandic inheritance system was the importance of one’s closest blood kin, that is, children, parents and siblings. Grágás stipulated male over female inheritance, but only within the same degree of kinship. Thus, a son inherited before a daughter, but she was to inherit before a brother; a brother inherited before a sister, but she before an uncle. Yet it also allowed scope for female inheritance alongside male in the form of a dowry, so that sons and daughters could potentially succeed to property of equal value. What was important was the nearness of relationship to the person from whom inheritance was to be taken, both biologi- cally and within the generations. The inheritance could therefore be ascending as well as descending, fathers and mothers coming early in the order of preference. Legitimate brothers and sisters, and even illegitimate offspring and siblings, were legally entitled to inherit before grandsons and granddaughters. Transmission of property in a vertical pattern was thus to be sacrificed to one’s close biological kin according to Grágás. Collaterals were preferred to strict lineal descent after the first generation. No record exists of new enactments that changed these legal patterns throughout the period. Such laws suggest strong tendencies towards a bilateral, egocentric kinship system in Iceland. Unlike a patrilineal model where kinship was traced from a common male forefather, Grágás emphasizes cognatic kinship which took the individual as the starting point and worked outwards through both male and female links.51 Each person belonged to his or her own kin group; thus parents, children and grandchildren belonged to different groups, although these groups overlapped.52 For example a mother was a member of her father’s kin, her mother’s kin and her children’s kin, but not of her husband’s kin, while her sons and daughters were members of her kin and her husband’s kin, and each would establish a new family kin group to which they would also belong when they had offspring of their own (but not when they married). The shifting composition of the ego-focused kin groupings created different family and household units with each permutation (marriage, divorce, remarriage, widowing), but the result remained the same. A person’s bonds to his or her close biological family remained

51 ‘There was a term for patrilineage (langfeðgar), but it does not appear in the laws.’ Miller, Bloodtaking, 343, n. 10. 52 Agnes Arnórsdóttir, ‘Kvinner og “krigsmenn” ’, 15–7; Barlau, ‘Old Icelandic Kinship Terminology’, 191–2. the laws 65 of great consequence throughout life, and the laws reflect this connection. That is not to say that there was no link between a wife’s kin and her husband’s kin. Marriage created bonds which could be as strong as, or in some cases stronger than, those established by birth.53 Nevertheless, the laws indicate that a woman did not become a member of her husband’s kin and vice versa, since husband and wife could not inherit directly from each other. They could, however, inherit indirectly via their children, who belonged to both of their kin groups, emphasizing the importance of the nuclear family unit.54 Potentially equal inheritance between sons and daughters of both paternal and maternal property also stressed the significance of this family unit. This suggests that the entire nuclear family group was seen, in theory, as encompassing members roughly equal in importance, even though the male line had an advantage in terms of inheritance. Icelandic terms for relatives support such an egocentric, cognatic interpretation of the kinship system.55 My father would have been ‘faðir’ and my mother ‘móðir’, but their brothers were not my ‘uncles’. They were father’s brother ‘föðurbróðir’ and mother’s brother ‘móðurbróðir’, thus distinguishing to which side of my family, and thus which kin group in relation to me, they belonged. Likewise, my granddaughters were son’s daughter ‘sonardóttir’ and daughter’s daughter ‘dótturdóttir’. These terms helped to distinguish the relationships which governed order of inheritance as stated in Grágás. Unlike Iceland, the English inheritance system as found in the legal statements of the twelfth century shows more signs of patrilineal, rather than egocentric or bilateral, organization, especially as the period progressed. The Leges Henrici Primi stated the legal theory of primogeniture, in which a patrimony should pass from father to eldest son. Although this statement is thought to have been influenced by the Lex Ribuaria and must therefore be treated cautiously, there were clearly those who argued it. The statutum decretum provided a written statement for female inheritance at the expense of more distant male

53 For a discussion of affinity and the strength of bonds created through marriage, see Miller, Bloodtaking, 167–71. 54 If a parent died leaving a surviving child and a spouse, the child should inherit. If that child then died, the other parent was entitled to inherit from the child, thereby taking their former spouse’s inheritance indirectly. Grágás, Ia, 218–9. The pre-em- inence of the nuclear family is noted, but not discussed, by Barlau, ‘Old Icelandic Kinship Terminology’, 200. 55 Barlau, ‘Old Icelandic Kinship Terminology’, 195–6. 66 chapter three heirs, thus further suggesting lineal descent. By the time of Glanvill, claims through patrilineal descent were even stronger. Legally, children and then grandchildren were the first to be considered as heirs, primogeniture was firmly established and lineal descent was always to be preferred to collaterals. Such evidence implies that close biological relations in general were not at the core of the inheritance system in late twelfth-century England as in Iceland. That is not to say that the family unit was unimportant. On the contrary, only through marriage and a properly created family unit could offspring be legitimate and maintain a claim to inherit property.56 However, the nuclear family at the heart of the family unit had a different significance in terms of inheritance. If, for example, a husband and wife had two sons and a daughter, and all three children had both sons and daughters, only the eldest son and his eldest son were legally entitled, unless their line failed, to inherit the patrimony. The late twelfth-century English legal statements concerning inheritance emphasized the line, specifically the male line, at the expense of the claims of other members of the nuclear family to share in the parental property. This emphasis could, however, privilege women in the direct male line over collateral males, which appears to contradict the preference for males inherent in patrilineal descent. The issue of dowry as inheritance was another inconsistency. Although Glanvill is imprecise about the extent of a daughter’s marriage portion, the treatise implies that a daughter might obtain a substantial portion of her eldest brother’s inheritance as her dowry. This, and perhaps the use of maternal inheritance or acquisition for daughters and younger sons implied by the English legal statements, suggest a different picture, with more claims. This comparative examination raises the question of how much the Icelandic and English inheritance systems were affected or influenced by the interests of an external person, that is, a chieftain or lord. Legal statements indicate that in Iceland there was little impact on inheritance from chieftains. They do not feature in this section of Grágás, which stresses inheritance as an internal family matter above all else. Nor do they have any legal position in terms of succession disputes. This lack might result from the family-orientated nature of these Icelandic laws, although it is perhaps worth considering that they were originally recorded with significant input from chieftains. Certainly

56 Trafford, ‘Forgotten Family’, 53; Holt, ‘Feudal Society, iv’, 2. the laws 67 the absence of a royal presence in Iceland, thus eliminating the need for compromise between the aristocracy and a higher power, appears significant. In England, Henry I’s coronation charter andGlanvill discuss female inheritance from the perspective of the lord and suggest how such inheritance might affect him. Since they emanate from royal justice, these statements might provide a picture that is partial. However, they do indicate that a lord’s interest, not least that of the king, might be considerable and that some degree of negotiation was necessary between lord and family.

Marriage

The legal statements for twelfth- and thirteenth-century Iceland and twelfth-century England discuss marriage in the high Middle Ages. They cover female consent and marital assignments, including dowry, dower and joint marital property. The material is not comprehensive for either country; however, some general points about marriage in theory can be established. Discussion of consent—of women in general, and widows in particular—and of marital property raises questions about potential tensions between lord and kin in remarriage, as well as about the nature of the kinship systems in the two countries.

Consent in Marriage Marriage among elites in the high Middle Ages was contracted between two families as ‘a property settlement as well as an alliance made through the couple’.57 Its secular nature as a political and com- mercial contract has been noted by several scholars.58 Consent of the bride was not the foremost concern of her kin, and a lord’s or chieftain’s interests might have played a role in choice of partner. It was

57 Agnes S. Arnórsdóttir, ‘Property and Virginity: Change in the Contract of Marriage in the Middle Ages’, in Internationalisation in the History of Northern Europe: Report of the Nordssaga ’99 Conference, University of Tromsø, 17–21 Nov 1999, eds R. Holt, H. Lange and U. Spring (Tromsø, 2000), 79–89, at 79; Biancalana, ‘Widows at Common Law’, 262. 58 Georges Duby, Medieval Marriage: Two Models from Twelfth-Century France, trans. E. Forster (Baltimore, 1978), 1–15; Jochens, Women in Old Norse Society, 52; Ólafía Einarsdóttir, ‘Kvindens stilling’, 229; Mia Korpiola, ‘Controlling Their Children’s Choice: Strategies of Parental Control of Marriage in Medieval Europe and Scandinavia’, in Ægteskab i Norden fra Saxo til i dag, eds K Melby, et al. (Copenhagen, 1999), 71–106; Auður Magnúsdóttir, ‘Ástir og völd’, 6. 68 chapter three only through the influence of the Church in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries in Europe, and later in Iceland, that the theory of female consent (as well as male) came to be accepted.59 Yet consent, or lack of it, had many implications for a woman, both during marriage and afterwards. Her economic and social position would in part depend on the man she married. Her responsibilities and connections to her own family would be supplemented with obligations and links to her husband and his family. She also gained wealth at marriage in the form of dowry and brideprice or dower, and might acquire further property while married, all of which could come into her control if she was left a widow. If a woman did not have the choice to reject a man unsuitable to her as a husband, her future economic, social and familial position, including as a widow, was placed in the hands of those who made the decision. Grágás delineates the procedure for a betrothal: the agreement was to be made, including the recitation of the brideprice, publicly in the presence of witnesses and sealed with the legally binding formal hand- sal or handshake between the prospective groom and the man responsible for the woman’s betrothal.60 The bride’s presence or consent is not mentioned. The laws also specify certain women who, in certain circumstances, were allowed to accept or refuse an offer of betrothal. A widow could accept a third suitor if two had been previously refused by her legal administrator and each man proposed an equal match for her.61 She could also refuse any proposal, even if her legal administrator agreed, unless her legal administrator was her father; only a father could betroth a widow without her consent.62 These laws demonstrate that consent was not in theory a significant part of marriage for a woman in Commonwealth Iceland. While canon

59 For a discussion of the two main theories of the mode for establishing the marital bond (the concubitus theory and the consent theory), see Brundage, Law, Sex and Christian Society, 235–42, 256–78; Michael M. Sheehan, ‘Choice of Marriage Partner in the Middle Ages: Development and Mode of Application of a Theory of Marriage’, in Marriage, Family, and Law in Medieval Europe: Collected Studies, ed. J.K. Farge, with an introduction by J.T. Rosenthal (Cardiff, 1996), 87–117. For consent in northern Europe, see Jochens, Women in Old Norse Society, 17, 27–9, 37, 44–52; Jochens, ‘Consent in Marriage’, 142–76; Korpiola, ‘Controlling Choice’, 71–106. 60 Grágás, Ib, 35–6; II, 162. There were three women who could also act on behalf of the bride—a mother betrothing a daughter, or, a widow or a woman over twenty betrothing herself. (see below). 61 Grágás, Ib, 29; II, 156. 62 Grágás, Ib, 29. the laws 69 law asserted the doctrine of female consent in the twelfth century, and while this doctrine was known informally in Iceland by the 1180s, its first statement as a legal norm only came in an Icelandic episco- pal statute in 1269.63 Even then, it had little influence on Icelandic practice; the first evidence for its enforcement comes no earlier than 1429.64 Grágás not only fails to specify a woman’s consent as one of the required conditions for a lawful marriage, but it also clearly states a father’s right to force his daughter, even as a widow, into a union she might not want. That consent was legally required from certain women suggests that it was otherwise unnecessary. Although the laws allowed a widow some say in remarriage, her choices were still limited. She could legally reject a proposal, but only when her father did not agree to it. Or, if she wanted to accept a suitor unsuitable to her nearest kin, a widow’s wishes were even more circumscribed, since she could only do so in very specific situations. And the laws imply that it was a man who approached a woman with an offer of marriage. She could not ‘solicit a suitor actively but had to wait for one to appear’.65 So widows were limited in their legal right to give consent to their own marriages. What about their consent to the unions of other women in their care? Only one woman was allowed to arrange a marriage for another woman, that is, a mother for her daughter. If the prospective bride had no living or grown sons, married daughters, father or brothers, her mother, who by definition must have been a widow, remarried or not, became her legal administrator.66 Her mother could then give or refuse her consent for her daughter’s marriage. If such a widow had remarried, her new husband had no legal right to give or withhold consent for a marriage proposal for his stepdaughter. Similarly, the family of a widow’s deceased husband had no legal right in arranging her remarriage. It was her natal kin—and their affines—who had the right to decide. The order of those with these rights followed the order

63 Diplomatarium Íslandicum: Íslenzkt Fornbréfasafn, eds Jón Sigurðsson, et al., 16 vols (Copenhagen and Reykjavík, 1857–1972), vol. 2, p. 29; Jochens, ‘Consent in Marriage’, 143; Roberta Frank, ‘Marriage in Twelfth- and Thirteenth-Century Iceland’, Viator, 4 (1973), 473–84, at 474. 64 Diplomatarium Íslandicum, vol. 4, p. 394; Frank, ‘Marriage’, 474. 65 Jochens, ‘Consent in Marriage’, 149. 66 Grágás, Ib, 29. The only instance in which a mother might not have been a widow was if her daughter was illegitimate, but she was still legally entitled to act on behalf of her daughter. 70 chapter three of inheritance, with the exception that it was not a widow’s kinswomen who decided but their husbands.67 This law reinforces the importance of a woman’s natal kin. It demonstrates that in theory a woman did not sever links with her birth family at marriage, and it underlines the significance, already noted, of all close biological kin members. If a woman had severed links to blood kin, the husbands of her sisters, aunts, nieces and other female relatives would not have been allowed a say in her marriage; instead, her husband’s family would have been given priority. Finally, there is no indication in Grágás that a woman needed a chieftain’s consent to marry. The laws do not mention, even indirectly, that a chieftain’s wishes had to be sought or considered. According to the laws, the arrangements appear to have taken place solely between the families involved. However, influence from the Church can be detected. A man was required either to swear publicly at the following assembly that he knew of no kinship impediment to his union, or to promise to pay a fine for marrying within the fifth to seventh degrees of kinship.68 Also, he could not marry a woman who earlier had been married to his kin, nor could she be related to his former wife.69 Thus marriage for widows was limited by family membership and the affinal kinship of their blood relations. The English legal statements take a somewhat different view of consent, in which the lord (including the king) usually features prominently alongside the interests of a woman’s kin. This might in part be a function of sources largely concerned with the lord’s viewpoint, yet it is significant nonetheless. The only description of the procedure for a betrothal or wedding is found in Be Wifmannes Beweddung, the only text which does not address the concerns of a lord.70 Much in the text is similar to the betrothal section in Grágás, including the focus on the family’s interest. In contrast, however, Be Wifmannes Beweddung implies that a woman’s consent was desirable (although not necessarily required), stating, ‘[i]f a man wishes to betroth a maiden or a widow, and it so pleases her and her kinsmen, then it is right that

67 Thus, a daughter’s husband is second on the list, while a daughter is second on the inheritance list, and a sister’s husband is sixth instead of a sister, and so on. 68 Grágás, Ib, 37. The Icelandic laws allowed marriage in the more distant degrees of kinship which the Church prohibited elsewhere. 69 Grágás, Ib, 31. 70 Wifmannes, 467–8. the laws 71 the bridegroom . . . should promise and pledge. . .’.71 The reference to a woman’s consent is arguably included as a result of the ecclesiastical influence apparent in the text, but its position alongside that of her kin should make one wary of viewing it as anything more than desirable. Generally, the legal statements indicate the family’s role in marriage, but most also emphasize how the political and economic nature of the union would impact on the lord of the property involved. No statement specifies, as in Grágás, that a father or other leading male relative could, or could not, force a woman to marry, although they strongly imply that these males would make the marital arrangements. However, Henry I’s coronation charter maintains that widows were not to be forced to marry against their will.72 This suggests that widows were married against their will, especially as the statement made in Henry I’s coronation charter was repeated from II Cnut, although who coerced widows is not made clear.73 It is likely that these statements were intended more to appease aristocratic families who saw their female relations married off according to the king’s will, rather than to respect a woman’s wishes. By stating that a widow should not be married without her consent, she gained in theory the opportunity to refuse an unwanted union, but in reality she may have only gained the opportunity for her kin to refuse, through her, a marriage proposed by the king which was not advantageous to the family. Royal and lordly intervention in the marriages of nobles could occasionally give individual widows room for manoeuvre.74 When her marital choices did not accord with those of her family, a widow might have been able to exploit insecurity over female inheritance to her advantage by bringing in an outside influence. Not only should a woman not be forced into remarriage (according to Henry’s coronation charter), but II Cnut and the Leges Henrici Primi suggest greater freedom of action, stating that a widow was to choose whomever she wanted after remaining unmarried for a year.75 This was perhaps

71 Wifmannes, 467. 72 CC, p. 118, clauses 3, 4. Cf. II Cnut, in English Historical Documents, c. 500–1042, ed. and trans. D. Whitelock, 2nd edn (London, 1955), vol. 1, 455–67, at p. 466, clause 74. (Hereafter II Cnut). 73 Klinck and Green note the probability that II Cnut and Henry’s coronation charter were promises that were not kept. Anne L. Klinck, ‘Anglo-Saxon Women and the Law’, Journal of Medieval History, 8 (1982), 107–21, at 115; Green, ‘Aristocratic Women’, 78. 74 Stafford, ‘Women and the Norman Conquest’, 233–4. 75 II Cnut, p. 465, clause 73; Leges, pp. 112–3, clause 11.13. 72 chapter three initially a reforming Church statement, especially in light of Wulfstan’s influence on Cnut’s laws, which also opened alternative avenues, in theory, for a widow faced with familial pressure to remarry. The interests of both family and lord were not necessarily fulfilled by a particular choice as husband. This clause gave a widow a greater freedom—not merely the legal right to refuse an unwanted marriage, but to select the man of her choice. A widow might exploit this to gain a different man of her choosing by appealing to her lord, especially if the possibility existed that her lord could grant the family inheritance with her to that husband. Henry I’s coronation charter presents a different perspective, stating the lord’s power more clearly. A lord had the privilege of giving a widow in marriage, although not without her consent.76 There is no indication that the widow, or even her family, could choose a new husband. It was the lord’s position that the coronation charter protected. These statements, taken together, underline how far specific circumstances surrounding the making of a particular statement mattered, perhaps raising questions about their status as generally applicable statements with full authority at any given point. They might have this, but the statements do not necessarily replace each other. Rather, they appear to show alternative perspectives and emphases within an existing system. Unlike the earlier legal statements, Glanvill records no explicit statement that a widow could not legally be married without her consent, or that she should be allowed to choose, although there is an indication that she was not to be coerced. In Glanvill’s view heiresses did not revert to the wardship of their lord when widowed, ‘though they must ask their consent to marry’.77 Widows, or at least widowed heiresses, thus appear to have retained a small degree of choice in remarriage. The statement that they must actively ask for a lord’s consent to remarry (as opposed to the lord seeking their consent) implies that the proposal was made to them and/or their kin, indicating the importance of their family, and then taken for approval to the lord. Like the coronation charter, Glanvill is concerned with the rights of the lord, although it adds a sanction not found in the former. If a widow married (or her male kin married her) without her lord’s consent,

76 CC, p. 118, clauses 3, 4. 77 ‘licet teneantur assensum eorum requirere in se maritandis’. Glanvill, 86. the laws 73 she was to lose her dower and inheritance, yet her marriage stood nonetheless.78 The Icelandic laws do not seem to place any great significance on female consent in marriage. A father could force a daughter, even as a widow, into an unwanted marriage, although widows in general were accorded more leeway, mainly to reject undesirable suitors. Grágás indicates the far greater importance of natal kin over marital kin and chieftains in arranging both first marriages and remarriages, implying the continued significance of links to a woman’s birth kin, even after marriage and widowing. The Church’s influence was limited to matters relating to consanguinity. In England, consent was stated more strongly, although it varied in intensity between different legal sources, probably as a result of greater or lesser ecclesiastical influence in their drafting. A family’s role in marriage is indicated as important, but lordly intervention was also emphasized. Tension between the interests of the two might have provided widows with greater room for manoeuvre. The sources also indicate the different perspectives with which they were concerned (lord, family, Church), probably accounting for numerous differences in their nature, content and emphasis.

Dowry, Dower and Other Marital Property Although dowry has been discussed earlier in relation to its nature as a pre-mortem inheritance, it, alongside other marital property, needs further consideration as a marital assignment. Dowry and brideprice or dower could have been as important to a widow as other property, and their frequency, composition and extent must be examined. Marital assignments were meant to protect a wife from impoverish- ment should she be left a widow, and the majority of women, peasant as well as aristocratic, received this wealth at marriage. Yet recovery of this property was not always straightforward. An examination of Icelandic and English legal statements concerning marital assignments can shed some light on the development of the dotal system in each country, as well as that system’s relationship to the respective kinship system. Grágás is very specific about a woman’s legal claims to marital property, both that which was given at the time of marriage and that which

78 Glanvill, 86. 74 chapter three might accrue during marriage. Although Grágás does not stipulate that Icelandic parents should give their daughters a dowry, either in land or movables, laws suggest that they often did. The first law is the description of a lawful betrothal, in which the dowry is not only discussed, but mentioned in the particular formula to be spoken by the prospective groom.79 The second law, discussed above, states that parents had no right to give as dowry more property than that which each son would receive (see pp. 55–6). This law suggests that the size of a dowry should not be unfairly large. It also suggests that parents had some discretion regarding the extent of a dowry, implying that it might be small. An Icelandic woman’s brideprice (Old Icelandic kvánamundr) consisted of property received from her husband or his family at marriage. The law stipulated that a woman be ‘bought’ with a brideprice (‘mundi keypt’) of a mark or more for her children to be lawful heirs.80 The term mundi keypt almost certainly does not signify that Icelanders actually bought wives from their kin, especially as the brideprice was legally paid to and owned by the woman, not her family.81 In addition, the clause making the brideprice a requirement of at least a mark ensured that a woman would have financial support should she be widowed, although the condition was unlikely to have been relevant to the wealthy aristocracy.82 According to the laws, a widow owned her dowry, brideprice, inheritances if she had any, and a share in the wealth obtained jointly by the couple during marriage.83 Although her husband had effective control over the administration of this property, she was to retain it if widowed.84 As a wife, Grágás states that a woman also had a share in the ownership and running of the household if she had a ‘partnership’ ( félag) with her husband.85 This partnership pooled all of the couple’s property, and each owned a specified proportion. It entitled a woman to claim a minimum of one-third of all the marital property

79 Grágás, II, 162. 80 Grágás, Ia, 222. 81 Grágás, Ib, 150; II, 199. For a discussion of the development of brideprice, including the transition from payment to the bride’s family, to payment to the bride herself, see Hughes, ‘From Brideprice to Dowry’, 267–8. See also Buckstaff, ‘Married Women’s Property’, 34–5, 41–2. 82 For a discussion of one mark as a sufficient amount for financial security, see Gunnar Karlsson, ‘Kenningin’, 53; Agnes Arnórsdóttir, Konur og vígamenn, 155. 83 Grágás, Ia, 114, 218–20; Ib, 43, 150. 84 Grágás, Ib, 44. 85 Grágás, Ib, 44. the laws 75 at the death of her husband, or more if agreed by the terms of the partnership, but either spouse could refuse to allow one to be imposed on them for any reason, thereby retaining sole possession of his or her own property.86 The laws imply that if no partnership had been formed a husband could not alienate any of his wife’s property, land or movables, without her consent; if one had been formed, he could not alienate his wife’s inheritance, whatever its nature.87 In England, as in Iceland, the legal statements do not stipulate that parents should provide a dowry for a daughter, although the Leges, Henry I’s coronation charter and Glanvill imply that such a gift was the norm.88 However, the legal material provides little guidance in relation to the extent of the marriage portion. The Leges and Henry’s charter do not comment at all, while Glanvill states that a father was entitled to give a ‘certain part of his land’ with his daughter in marriage, even against the wishes of his heir.89 The extent of this part is not specified, but it appears that it could have been quite substantial towards the end of the twelfth century, provided he did not disinherit his heir.90 Yet it could also be small or nonexistent. Women in England did not receive a brideprice as their counterparts did in Iceland. Instead, the legal statements suggest that they were entitled to dower (Latin dos), also allocated by a husband to his wife at marriage.91 The Leges specify one-third of all jointly acquired property, plus a widow’s clothes and bed; a widow was legally entitled to permanent ownership of this property at her husband’s death, as Grágás stipulates for Icelandic widows’ brideprice, although she could lose it if she remarried within twelve months.92 These clauses suggest that granting dower was customary, and that, in theory, a widow could alienate this property freely to whomever she wished. By the time of Glanvill, a change had occurred in the written legal statements. A woman did not own her dower but only had a life interest in the

86 Grágás, Ib, 45–6. 87 Grágás, Ib, 43. 88 Leges, p. 225, clause 70.22; CC, p. 118, clauses 3, 4; Glanvill, 69–71. 89 ‘quandam partem terre’. Glanvill, 69. 90 Glanvill, 69–71. 91 Leges, p. 225, clause 70.22; CC, p. 118, clauses 3, 4; Glanvill, 58–9. 92 Leges, p. 225, clause 70.22; p. 113, clause 11.13a. II Cnut also indicates the loss of property acquired from her husband if a widow remarried too early, but it does not specify how she came to hold the property nor the nature of her ownership. II Cnut, p. 465, clause 73a. 76 chapter three property.93 But was this change earlier and unrecorded? Biancalana argues that by ‘the latter half of the eleventh century a wife’s control over her dower had been curtailed to fit a new social and political structure’.94 The interests of women and younger sons were subordi- nated to the interest of the male lineage as lords increased their control and kinship groups were redefined to focus on the male lineage. Only the charter evidence will show whether, despite Glanvill’s assertion and Biancalana’s contention, there was continuing flexibility in a widow’s control over dower. In addition, rather than just stating what portion was to be hers at his death, ecclesiastical and secular law as specified by Glanvill now bound a husband to dower his wife at marriage, either nominating which property would constitute her dower or leaving it unspecified so that she could claim as her ‘reasonable dower . . . one- third of the whole of the free tenement of which her husband was seised in demesne at the time of the marriage’.95 The one-third default seems to have continued, although Glanvill provides scope for less. An English wife was also entitled to other property besides her dowry and dower at widowhood. Her inheritances, if she had any, and one- third of her husband’s chattels could come under her control, although while married her husband administered all of his wife’s property.96 Unlike in Iceland, there is no indication in any of the twelfth-century English legal statements that a couple’s wealth would be held in common and that a widow was entitled to a share. She only had a right to a portion of her husband’s movables; nothing is mentioned about her husband’s land apart from that which constituted her dower, which if nominated could be much less than the prescribed one-third or reduced if larger.97 Therefore, Grágás allowed an Icelandic widow the opportunity to gain financially far more than her English counterpart, especially as in a partnership she could legally obtain half or more of the total wealth of the couple. Furthermore, the Icelandic laws allowed a widow complete control over all wealth in her possession, without the apparent limitations suffered by women in England. The English legal statements even failed to protect a widow’s dower from

93 Glanvill, 58–69. 94 Biancalana, ‘Widows at Common Law’, 267–8. 95 ‘rationabilis dos . . . tercia pars tocius liberi tenementi uiri sui quod habet tempore desponsationis, ita quod inde fuerit saisitus in dominico’. Glanvill, 59. 96 II Cnut, p. 465, clause 72; Leges, p. 225, clauses 70.22, 70.22a; Glanvill, 60, 80. 97 Glanvill, 59, 68–9. the laws 77 being alienated by her husband against her will, although his heir was required to reclaim it for her at her husband’s death if possible or to provide a replacement.98 English dower was probably meant as financial security for a widow, as in Iceland, but by the end of the twelfth century allowing land to remain in a widow’s hands at the expense of an heir could be damaging. Her claim to land was virtually the only one that did not benefit a man (unless she was remarried), and the attitude that ‘a woman in control of her own land was an anomaly in a system based on military tenure’ was probably prevalent.99 It is thus unsurprising that Glanvill felt it necessary to outline the procedure for the recovery of dower, demonstrating that heirs often failed in their duty to oblige widows in their claims.100 Yet it may be that English heirs had good reason to attempt to keep dower out of the hands of widows, especially as the widow may not have been a blood relation. Remarriage was common in medieval society, and one possible permutation was that the widow who claimed dower from an heir was the young second wife of the heir’s father.101 What would happen to his stepmother’s dower, possibly one-third of his inheritance, should she remarry a powerful man, quickly have several more sons, and subsequently live for another forty years? Not only would he be kept out of a large part of his inheritance and the patrimony would be divided for a long period, but his younger step- brothers might try to claim the lands as their inheritance once their mother died. Forty years is, after all, a long time to remember how their mother came to possess the land (was it dower, maritagium or inheritance?), and surviving witnesses would probably be few.102 This situation was not envisaged in the Icelandic laws. As a widow had complete control of her brideprice, an heir had less control over his father’s gift leaving his family. The widow was legally entitled to alienate it before he inherited. It was not to descend to him anyway, if the widow in question was his stepmother. Furthermore, if he had a claim to inherit, he may have only been entitled to a share in the

98 Glanvill, 60, 64. 99 Loengard, ‘Of the Gift’, 236, 253. 100 Glanvill, 60–8. 101 Loengard discusses other possible permutations which had significant economic repercussions for the heir, blood relative or not. Loengard, ‘Of the Gift’, 237–8. 102 For a discussion of the possibility that widows’ dowering could take land out of family control for as much as seventy years, if not permanently, see Loengard, ‘Of the Gift’, 238–43. 78 chapter three brideprice, since the laws decreed a division among all heirs related in the same degree. And the practice of partible inheritance, coupled with the demographic organization of Icelandic society (which lacked villages, towns, castles and nucleated settlements, having only scattered farmsteads), meant that there were no patrimonies to keep intact.103 Estates were often divided between heirs; even individual farms occasionally came under joint ownership.104 So an Icelandic heir had less to lose than an English one if he allowed a widow to claim the property given to her by his father. This difference between the legal statements of the two countries sheds some light on their kinship systems. Hughes has argued for a shift from bilateral organization to lineal descent and primogeniture in eleventh- and twelfth-century Europe, which increased trends to keep the patrimony intact, and that a corresponding shift occurred in dotal systems.105 For Hughes, the husband’s gift to the bride was most closely associated with bilateral descent, and dowry became the symbol of a patrilineal system.106 Twelfth- and thirteenth-century Iceland, as a bilaterally organized society, should thus retain the importance of the brideprice as its major marital assign, while England in the later twelfth century should see a rise in the importance of the dowry at the expense of dower. Based on the legal material, this theory is not fully vindicated. It is true that Icelandic law stipulated the brideprice, but not the dowry, for marriage, but then the same can be said of the English legal statements. In addition, Icelandic law indicates that dowries were often large, although they were large arguably because they represented a form of pre-mortem inheritance, whereas the brideprice was the main form of financial security for a widow. Seen in this manner, the brideprice as expressed in law may have been the more important assignment. In England the widow had limited rights to dower, and the legal statements indicate that she often struggled to secure that property, while there is less indication that she struggled to obtain her dowry at widowing. Nevertheless, Hughes goes too far in suggesting that, when discussing a husband’s gift to his bride, ‘it was the aris-

103 Miller, ‘Householding’, 322. 104 Miller, ‘Householding’, 335, 353, n. 99. 105 Hughes, ‘From Brideprice to Dowry’, 262–96. For discussion of the need to reconsider a shift in dotal systems as advocated by Hughes, see Jack Goody, The Development of the Family and Marriage in Europe (Cambridge, 1983), 240–61. 106 Hughes, ‘From Brideprice to Dowry’, 290–1. the laws 79 tocracy’s turning from bilateral principles that everywhere drove this assign into oblivion’.107 The legal statements do not indicate that dower was driven into oblivion in England; nor do they indicate that dowry was so much a symbol of patrilineality that it became unimportant in Iceland.108 Perhaps the problem comes from the rigid definition of societies as organized along either bilateral or patrilineal principles.109 Recognition of the existence of both—to a greater or lesser extent—in twelfth- and thirteenth-century Icelandic and English society would allow more scope for flexibility in evaluating dotal systems.

Land Transactions

Land transactions provide useful information about a widow’s opportunities for control over her property. The legal statements show that, in theory, both Icelandic and English widows had substantial room for manoeuvre, although certain limitations were imposed. Donations, and the buying and selling of land, are covered by the statements, and the protection of heirs features prominently. Grágás contains a substantial amount of information about a widow’s opportunities for landholding and land transactions. A woman could inherit at sixteen, although she did not come of age until she was twenty, when she could administer her own property and that of others.110 But a widow had a legal claim to these same rights once her husband died, even if she was younger than sixteen, if her legal administrator agreed.111 The exact nature of a widow’s administration of her property is not specified in the laws. It is not unreasonable to assume, however, that she had much the same rights as a man who had control over his property. The term for man (‘maðr’) also had the non-gender-specific meaning of ‘person’ in Old Icelandic, and in many instances the laws single out women when the clauses in

107 Hughes, ‘From Brideprice to Dowry’, 290. 108 The assignment that Hughes claims was driven into oblivion was the morgeng- abe, not dower, but her definition of the former (a gift from the husband in which the widow had limited rights of usufruct) bears little difference in reality to that of dower. 109 For an argument against a complete shift from a cognatic- to agnatic-based family structure in the high Middle Ages, see Stafford, ‘La mutation familiale’, 103–25. 110 Grágás, Ia, 226. 111 Grágás, Ia, 225; II, 69. 80 chapter three question do not apply to them or are qualified in their application.112 If ‘maðr’ has this inclusive meaning, then it may apply to women in the following cases: a woman could independently run a household; she could buy or sell land, or give gifts of friendship, provided the transaction met the same criteria stipulated for those of a man, i.e., it was fair and did not disinherit her heirs; she could relinquish ten percent of her total wealth to the Church or to the needy; she could claim the right to distribute tithes allocated to any churches on her lands; she had the right to transfer any cases involving tithes to the principal of her choice if she was the householder on the land on which a church stood; and she could give land to religious establishments, or trade her property for lifelong maintenance, with her heirs’ consent.113 The one legal disability relating to property that a woman (‘kona’) had which did not apply to men, was that she could not alienate half or more of any land with an inhabited farm on it without the consent of her legal administrator; however, the law explicitly specifies that she could alienate up to half of this land without anyone’s consent, and as much as necessary to pay debts or provide for dependants, even if the transaction was forbidden by her legal administrator, provided she received a fair price.114 The ‘fair price’ was determined by a panel of neighbours, the normal way with which such matters were dealt.115 Since a widow’s legal administrator could only in theory cancel her land transactions if it was judged that she had not received a fair price, this was perhaps the only case when he had authority over her administration of her land after she was of age. It should be noted that this limitation appears to have had more to do with the protection of women and heirs than an attempt to restrict a widow’s freedom of disposal. Many laws were concerned with fair- ness in land transactions, and any sale could be cancelled if it was proved that one party benefited at the expense of the other.116 There is no direct parallel here to third party interference, as in the case of a lord in England. Panels of neighbours, not chieftains, had the final say in these matters. Arguably, the panel might be controlled by the local

112 For example, in order of inheritance and differing years when males and females came of age. Richard Cleasby, An Icelandic-English Dictionary, revised, enlarged and completed by Gudbrandur Vigfússon, 2nd edn (Oxford, 1957), 407. 113 Grágás, Ia, 139, 246–8; Ib, 210, 218; II, 97–8. 114 Grágás, II, 419–20. 115 For a discussion of a panel of neighbours, see Dennis, et al., ‘Guide’, 387–8. 116 See Grágás, Ia, 247–8; Ib, 76–86. the laws 81 chieftain, but such was not necessarily the case before the dominance of domains and the concentration of power in the thirteenth century, events which effectively prevented men from changing their allegiance as they had been able to do in the past. A legal administrator may have had a final say in property matters in order to ensure that a widow, and her heirs, were not cheated, Grágás thereby implying that women were perhaps believed to be more vulnerable than men in such transactions. The fact that certain alienations—made by either women or men—required the consent of an heir supports this argument.117 The English legal statements provide less information concerning a widow’s landholding and transactions. II Cnut allows a widow to remain on the property she shared with her husband, and Henry’s charter requires that a widow receive her dower and marriage portion at the death of her husband.118 However, neither specifies what a widow could do with this property. The early statements provide no information about a widow’s ability, or lack of ability, to alienate land. They say nothing about her giving land to the Church or to the poor, nor about selling or buying property. Glanvill supplies more details. By the end of the twelfth century, if not before, it was lawful to give a certain part of the free tenement one had as inheritance to anyone (except apparently to a younger son) as a gift, as recompense for services or in alms to the Church, and if one had both inherited and acquired land, all acquisitions could be alienated freely.119 There is no indication that widows did not have a claim to these rights as well. A widow could also make a testament, and she had the right of free presentment to any churches on her dower land, and presumably to those on her inherited land.120 It appears as if both the Icelandic and the English legal statements allowed widows numerous opportunities to dispose of their property, often without the consent of their heirs. However, both protected an heir’s claim to lands due to be inherited, as there were restrictions on how much, what kind and under what circumstances widows could alienate property. Men were often under the same or similar restrictions,

117 An heir’s consent was required for giving land to religious establishments, for providing a tithe larger than one-tenth of one’s overall wealth, and for selling or trad- ing an heir’s inheritance. Grágás, Ia, 246–8; II, 97–8. 118 II Cnut, p. 465, clause 72; CC, p. 118, clause 3, 4. 119 Glanvill, 69–71. 120 Glanvill, 67–8, 80. 82 chapter three and in these general statements a widow’s limitations were not always a result of her sex. For example, a husband in England could not alienate any of his wife’s inheritance without the consent of her heir.121 The heirs of an Icelandic widow’s husband (who were not also her own) had no legal claim on her land, and her husband’s rights of disposal over it were thus curtailed, much as an English widow’s rights to alienate her dower, property to which her heirs had no legal claim, were curtailed. In both cases, the limitation of a specific person’s opportunity to act was the means by which the legal statements sought to protect the heir’s interests. One other significant similarity—that of the lack of any mention of a lord’s consent to an alienation—is surprising. It is perhaps not surprising that Icelandic widows did not need a chieftain’s consent, since they did not need his consent in marriage, and the organization of the kinship system demonstrated a strong focus on the family. However, royal and lordly intervention in family interests in twelfth-century England is well documented, as attested by the statements concerning inheritance and marriage. It is thus unexpected to find no mention of the need for the lord’s consent to property transactions in the English legal statements.

Conclusion

The Icelandic and English legal statements indicate that there were substantial differences in the two countries between the inheritance and dotal systems, women’s consent in marriage and the ability for widows to conduct land transactions. Icelandic widows appear to have had more protection and firmer legal rights in theory in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries than their twelfth-century English counterparts, but the wide scope for interpretation in the earlier English statements might have opened up more opportunities for a greater number of English widows earlier in the century. Martindale argues that changes in family organization and rules governing inheritance had a significant impact on land transfers and succession. Such changes ultimately saw a reluctance to endow all children and the triumph of primogeniture.122 This affected women by reducing their chances of inheritance

121 Glanvill, 76. 122 Martindale, ‘Succession and Politics’, 23. the laws 83 when they had a brother, but at the same time it aided the creation of the heiress. The English statements concerning widows support this contention. A shift to patrilineal family organization can be traced in the diverse legal material available for twelfth-century England, with indications of the significance of the interests of a third, external party in inheritance and marriage. The tensions between family and lord, most notably the king, in these matters could have had an important impact on women, perhaps providing them with a degree of room for manoeuvre. As a widow had a claim but not a right to inheritance, maritagium, dower and freedom from remarriage in the early twelfth century, her personal interests may have accorded with those of her family as a result of the insecurity of relying on royal intervention. More women might have been able to make claims, but probably only those which benefited the king would have gained his backing, suggesting the importance of an individual’s circumstances. But with the transition from a daughter’s claim to inherit early in the twelfth century, to her right in the absence of sons to inherit by the end of it, the king could probably no longer brush aside her claims unilaterally, regardless of circumstances.123 He could, however, turn this right to his advantage. The king could grant freedom from remarriage and control of inheritance, maritagium and dower, with the authority to manage this property, in exchange for cash, often at the expense of family interests, both natal and marital. Dower took control of a portion of family lands away from an heir, which would not have been looked on favourably by a widow’s marital kin; freedom from remarriage, often acceptable to marital kin to prevent dower lands from falling into hands of another kin group, was frequently at odds with a widow’s natal kin who were thus less able to use her position and wealth to create another alliance for the family. For the widow, however, this royal intrusion often served to create or enhance her own freedom by providing her with an alternative to choices offered to her by her kin. The payments might have been a high price, but in some cases they could secure an important prize. However, while a daughter’s rights to inheritance and marital assignments were now more secure, the opportunities which made a daughter’s claims more tenuous earlier

123 Milsom, ‘Inheritance by Women’, 65, 69–71; Green, Aristocracy of Norman England, 364. 84 chapter three in the century were increasingly denied to her distant kinswoman, at least according to the legal statements. It is more difficult to determine from Grágás alone if the same changes applied to Commonwealth Iceland. The Icelandic laws show very little development over the course of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. There is no indication of a change in the kinship system from a bilateral, egocentric organization where female inheritance and equality of division were maintained throughout the period. The importance of natal kin and the nuclear family in matters of inheritance and marriage is clear in Grágás, which indicates that these relations had a far greater impact on women than marital kin and chieftains. The tensions in England between kin and lord do not seem to have applied in Iceland. In theory, widows had more secure rights to inheritance and marital assignments, with more control over them than their English counterparts. But while this security made a daughter or sister’s position less risky and claims of more distant kinswomen, and kinsmen, less likely to succeed, the lack of tensions indicated by the laws implies that these women had fewer options when they were at odds with their families. What this also makes clear is the lack of uniformity within the social category ‘widow’. Perhaps all widows may be affected by the general nature of marital assignments, although here there might be great variety in practice. But widows may also be differently placed as heiresses to their parents’ lands, or even to that of more distant kinsmen, depending on various factors at the point of inheritance, such as current marital status or political alliances among their kinsmen. This introduces considerable differences—which may be compounded if, for example, the bargaining position in marriage of a sole heiress differs from that of a daughter with brothers. So the circumstances of individual widows were crucial to the possibility of availing oneself of the opportunities that the legal statements indicate were open to women generally at any given time. This also demonstrates the need for cases with which to compare these general statements. The contemporary sagas and charters, when used to test the legal material, should provide a more rounded picture of the importance of natal and marital kin and the nuclear family, in inheritance, marriage and administration of property, as well as the significance of influence from chieftains or lords in these matters. CHAPTER FOUR

PROPERTY

This chapter seeks to answer the question ‘What property—that is, what land and movables—did widows hold, and how did they acquire it?’ The legal statements suggest that the three main avenues for acquisition by both Icelandic and Yorkshire women were inheritance, dowry and brideprice / dower. They also suggest that inheritance from natal kin was no simple matter. Could a woman inherit in twelfth- and thirteenth-century Iceland or twelfth-century Yorkshire? If so, under what circumstances, and what practice governed that inheritance? Marital assignments, too, were not always straightforward. How often did women acquire dowry or brideprice / dower, and how extensive was it? An overview of the chosen group of widows indicates the ways in which they acquired or held property, always remembering the constraints the surviving sources place on the completeness of our knowledge. Of the fifty Icelandic and twenty-five Yorkshire widows, information exists about some portion of the property of all but twelve of the Icelandic.1 Only five Icelandic widows are known to have obtained inheritance, and six to have received dowry. The property is specified, that is, land is named or an amount is given for movables, in four cases of inheritance and four cases of dowry. Eleven Icelandic widows acquired lands and movables of uncertain origin. In nine of the eleven cases the property is specified or partly specified. Land is named most often and details of movables are rarely given. Four of these eleven were the only surviving child of at least one parent, making it likely that their wealth was inheritance, although they might have received part of it originally as dowry.2 Property from natal kin was thus acquired by at least eleven widows, probably by at least fifteen, and possibly by as many as twenty-two.

1 See appendix 3. 2 These women were Úlfheiðr Gunnarsdóttir, Ósk Þorvarðsdóttir, Jórunn Kálfsdóttir and Steinunn Brandsdóttir. 86 chapter four

Brideprice is more difficult to establish in Iceland. Only two widows are documented as receiving a brideprice; in one case it was specified. However, it is known that seventeen widows continued to live with their children at their husband’s main farm, only four of whom had grown sons in a position to take over the farm. One childless widow also continued to live in her marital home.3 At least fifteen of the seventeen widows with young children, plus one with a grown son (Guðný Böðvarsdóttir), had custody of their children’s paternal inheritance.4 Thus, property held by a married couple, including that which would eventually descend to their children as inheritance, was held by at least eighteen widows, and possibly as many as twenty-five (taking into consideration all the widows who had children and who might have gained control over marital property, whether its origins are known or uncertain), with widows often acting as custodians of a minor heir’s inheritance. In Yorkshire, inheritance is specified in the case of five of the twenty- five widows. The dowries of eight are also specified or part specified (three of whom received an inheritance as well), while one dowry is unspecified. A further nine widows received either inheritance or dowry, its exact nature being undetermined. And one other widow, Rohaise de Clare, received property of uncertain origin, possibly from natal kin.5 Thus, inheritance and/or dowry are known for twenty, perhaps twenty-one, of the twenty five widows, and in only one case is the property unspecified. All specified property was land, appurtenances, churches or advowsons. Dower is known to have been given to at least sixteen of the Yorkshire widows, although in half of the cases it is not mentioned for all marriages made by a widow. It was specified or part specified in all but three cases, and it always consisted of land. In contrast with Iceland,

3 The widows with at least one grown son were Kolfinna Hallsdóttir, Guðný Böðvarsdóttir, Þóra Guðmundardóttir and Álfheiðr Njálsdóttir. Halldóra Tumadóttir also had a grown son when she was widowed, but he was abroad and could not take over the family farm. Helga Sæmundardóttir had no children but remained in her home. 4 One other widow, Þorlaug Pálsdóttir, had a young child. However, Þorlaug is not included in the numbers here because she was abroad with her very young son when her husband died, and both she and her child died within several months of her husband. SS, i, 105–9. 5 Two further widows, Avice Meschin and Juetta de Arches, also received property of uncertain origin, but since they were already counted among those who received inheritance or dowry, they are not added to the total here. property 87 only one widow held property in custody for a minor heir (Gundreda de Warenne). Thus, property acquired from a widow’s marital kin seems to have been acquired by sixteen Yorkshire widows, and held far more often in the form of dower than custodianship. There were ways for widows to acquire or hold property other than as inheritance, dowry or brideprice / dower. These appear to have been limited and were often dependent on family preferences or politics. Two Icelandic widows, both of whom held their husband’s property as custodians after his death, gained the management of other farms. Guðný Böðvarsdóttir was appointed by her grown sons as administrator of their farms while away, while Þuríðr Gizurardóttir was chosen to co-administer the ecclesiastical see at Hólar with the bishop.6 In Yorkshire, two widows received family lands as gifts. Agnes de Flamville and Isabel de Brus were both given land by Juetta de Arches, their mother and grandmother, respectively.7 Gifts will be dealt with in chapter six. This chapter will explore female inheritance and the question of its division; the influence of illegitimacy on inheritance; and marital assignments, that is, dowry, insofar as it can be separated from female inheritance, and dower.

Inheritance

Could women inherit? Was a lineal daughter to be preferred to more remote male relatives, and when? Did she inherit alongside, at the expense of, or only in the absence of brothers? If she inherited alongside brothers, did she receive an equal or smaller share? And if there were only female heiresses, how was inheritance divided among them? Did illegitimacy influence the descent of property? How do lords or chieftains affect inheritance practice, if at all? Were family, lordly or political concerns uppermost, or a combination of all three depending on individual circumstances? The legal statements offered more or less partial answers to these questions. And historians, especially in England, have supplemented these with arguments about custom and its evolution. Detailed studies of individual women should provide more insight.

6 SS, i, 271, 155–6, 239. 7 EYC, i, p. 416; Fines, Yorkshire, lxvii, no. 892, p. 72; EYC, i, nos. 548–9, pp. 428–9. 88 chapter four

Lineal versus Collateral Descent Did women inherit at the expense of more distant collateral males? As far as Icelandic women are concerned, lineal versus collateral descent is addressed by Grágás. It states unequivocally that children were to be preferred to collateral siblings, even when women were to inherit, although siblings of both sexes were to be preferred to grandchildren. According to Guðrún Nordal, the saga evidence concurs. ‘The overriding consensus in the sagas is that family property was to be kept within the close economic unit of the family’, and kin members more distant than siblings very rarely inherited.8 This study supports her statement and its applicability to women as well as men. There is no evidence that a single widow was disinherited by a collateral male relative. Certainly, seven of the ten widows who did not have brothers inherited. Too little evidence exists about the property of three broth- erless widows to establish conclusively that they did indeed inherit. It can be argued that these women, Hallbera Snorradóttir, Kolfinna Hallsdóttir and Guðrún Þorsteinsdóttir, did not inherit, because had they done so the sagas would have recorded it. But there was no reason to mention the widows’ property in any of the cases. Hallbera’s non- chieftain family and wealth was of less interest to the saga author than her wealthy husband’s property.9 Kolfinna, too, was not closely related to a chieftain, but she had married one, and her grown son inherited his father’s property at his father’s death.10 Kolfinna’s wealth was not necessarily of interest, since the most important family property had passed directly from father to son. Finally, so little information is known about Guðrún that it is impossible to say much about her with certainty. Thus, in the absence of sons, Icelandic widows, as daughters, seem to have inherited. The early English legal statements concerning the inheritance of collateral males over lineal females lack clarity and are somewhat contradictory. By the end of the twelfth century, however, Glanvill is clear—lineal descent was always to be preferred to collateral. Yet scholars have cast doubt on such definitiveness and have argued that flexibility in inheritance practice allowed some collaterals or their descendants to benefit. Milsom and Wilkinson contend that as late

8 Nordal, Ethics, 41. 9 SS, i, 20, 27. 10 SS, i, 68. property 89 as the early thirteenth century, a younger son could and sometimes did inherit instead of his dead elder brother’s daughter.11 They claim that ‘the lord’s need of a man merged into a general preference for the male line’.12 The evidence from the Yorkshire widows does not, however, fully support this, even for the earlier twelfth century. Not one of the broth- erless Yorkshire widows was disinherited by a collateral kinsman, and no extant evidence indicates that these women had difficulty in obtaining their inheritance. The sources have possibly obscured any resistance or problems encountered by the women, providing a picture of the outcome rather than the process taken to reach that conclusion. Evidence of later disputes might indicate that there were earlier disagreements. Alice de Rumilly I’s lands certainly produced later dispute. However, the claims over her lands were made by her lineal descendants, not collateral relations, and they arose between the grandchildren of two daughters when the third daughter died childless in 1215.13 In this case, the dispute resulted from a failure of one branch of Alice’s descendants and not from a claim that went back to an original inheritance. Milsom has argued that a lord’s ‘need of a man’ could lead to the disinheritance of lineal females. But if the woman in question was married, the lord had a man in her husband, as in the case of Avice Meschin in c. 1138, Juetta de Arches in c. 1150 and Agnes de Percy in c. 1175. If she was single, it might make even more sense for the lord to support a woman to succeed instead of her collateral kinsmen. Women given in marriage with their inheritance, such as Alice Paynel in 1145–7 and Hawise countess of Aumale in 1179, provided a lord with the opportunity of gaining the man of his choice, or at least a wider choice than selecting from collateral male relatives. What of the woman’s family’s interest? If a woman was of marriageable age, it might have benefited her family to allow the family lands to descend with her in marriage. Her kin might have preferred lineal descent. But inheritance by an

11 Milsom, ‘Inheritance by Women’, 64–8; Wilkinson, ‘Pawn and Political Player’, 107–9. 12 Milsom, ‘Inheritance by Women’, 68. 13 For a discussion of the dispute, see, EYC, vii, p. 19. There was a possible dispute in 1200 between Alice’s youngest daughter and two grandchildren. However, the evidence is not conclusive. The royal fine that might suggest a dispute could instead signify a confirmation of inheritance when property was transferred between generations. See below, pp. 113–4, for discussion of this case. 90 chapter four

Table 4.1. Lineal female succession widow date of succession married at point of inheritance Cecily de Rumilly I1 end 11th / early 12th unknown century Avice Meschin2 c. 1138 Matilda Meschin3 c. 1138 Alice de Rumilly I4 c. 1138 X Alice Paynel5 1145–7 X Juetta de Arches6 c. 1150 Cecily de Rumilly II7 1160s X Alice de Rumilly II8 1160s X Rohaise daughter of between 1167 and 1175 1st inheritance unknown; Robert9 from father, then 1184 2nd married from sister Matilda de Percy10 c. 1175 Agnes de Percy11 c. 1175 Hawise countess of 1179 X Aumale12 Alice de Curcy13 c. 1195 widow, uncertain if remarried Agnes de Flamville14 between 1199 and 1214

Sources (from EYC unless otherwise stated) 1 iii, no. 1861, p. 467; vii, pp. 1–7, 38–49, nos. 2–11, pp. 53–60. 2 iii, nos. 1862–4, pp. 467–73; vi, nos. 46–8, pp. 129–31; vii, pp. 7, 38–49. 3 vii, pp. 8–9, 38–49. 4 vii, pp. 9–14, 38–49, nos. 12–19, 21–30, pp. 60–77. 5 vi, pp. 31–4, nos. 45–7, 49–52, pp. 128–34. 6 i, nos. 535–8, 548–55, pp. 413–17, 428–34. 7 vii, pp. 19–20, 38–49, no. 31, p. 77. 8 vii, pp. 16–19, 38–49, no. 32, p. 78. 9 xi, pp. 89–98, nos. 92, 95, pp. 100, 102–104. 10 xi, pp. 1–5, nos. 38–67, 88–9, pp. 45–66, 83–9. 11 xi, pp. 1–7, nos. 68–89, pp. 66–89. 12 vii, pp. 20–1, 38–49, nos. 33–5, pp. 78–80. 13 iii, p. 471; Rotuli Curiae Regis, ii, 222; Fines, Richard, no. 80, pp. 55–6. 14 i, p. 503; ii, p. 91; Rot. de Fin., 537. underage female could be problematic. As Wilkinson has pointed out, she would be a ward and family lands would come into royal or lordly control, perhaps to their detriment; a collateral who had attained his majority was more likely to be free from external interference.14 Apart

14 Wilkinson, ‘Pawn and Political Player’, 109. property 91 from the exceptional case of Alice Paynel (pp. 97–9), there is no indication that the Yorkshire heiresses were too young to marry at the time of inheritance, although some were still in their teens. Perhaps this helps account for the lack of collaterals succeeding. The Icelandic evidence suggests that Grágás closely reflected practice. Collaterals generally did not inherit instead of lineal females, and the interests of close family were the highest priority. The English evidence indicates the importance of circumstances and of lordship. The inconsistency of the early twelfth-century legal statements concerning lineal versus collateral inheritance is not reflected in the practice which governed the inheritance of the Yorkshire widows. And Glanvill was not correct when he stated that lineal descendants always postponed collaterals, as Milsom and Wilkinson have shown. The cases they cite owed much to circumstances surrounding the descent of inheritance, and they demonstrate that flexibility in inheritance practice still existed in the early thirteenth century. Such flexibility might be utilized to pass over daughters in favour of more distantly related kinsmen. But the Yorkshire widows’ inheritance suggests that the cases cited by Milsom and Wilkinson may have been exceptional. These cases involved either minors or non-payment of proffers to the king, as well as baronies and royal intervention. The Yorkshire evidence indicates that widows, as daughters, normally succeeded in the absence of lineal male heirs and at the expense of collateral males, even at the beginning of the twelfth century. Lineal descent, even when inheritance passed to females, appears already established.

Female Inheritance Did women inherit equally with or even to the exclusion of brothers? This question is complicated by whether dowry is considered inheritance. Few historians have discussed female inheritance practice in Commonwealth Iceland. Two who have, Agnes Arnórsdóttir and Guðrún Nordal, differ on this subject. Agnes Arnórsdóttir contends that while sons often inherited, custom was so diverse that daughters frequently shared a significant portion of their brothers’ inheritance (sometimes as dowry).15 Nordal, however, argues that the inheritance order in Grágás of sons, followed in their absence by daughters,

15 Agnes Arnórsdóttir, Konur og vígamenn, 85–98. 92 chapter four generally reflected practice, but recognizes that there were exceptions.16 While Agnes Arnórsdóttir presents various cases of inheritance involving females, in only two cases do daughters actually inherit to the detriment of sons, both of which will be discussed below.17 All the other women either did not inherit, or inherited in the absence of brothers, and Nordal’s argument thus appears the stronger. The historiography is more extensive for England. The key studies, by S.F.C. Milsom, Sir James Holt and Judith Green, concur that in the early twelfth century, and for a period afterwards, inheritance practice was flexible enough to allow for significant variations, ‘[suggesting] that there was some choice about a woman inheriting’, even in the absence of brothers.18 Women could, and did, inherit, but that inheritance was by no means guaranteed or even expected. Green argues that this flexibility could benefit daughters at the expense of sons; she provides several examples in which women, rather than their brothers, inherited, and she points out that dowries need not have been small.19 By the beginning of the thirteenth century, however, it was usual for a son to inherit, whereas daughters normally gained significant portions of family lands only in the absence of brothers.20 The evidence concerning female inheritance practice examined in this book generally corroborates the legal statements from both countries. It supports the findings of Nordal and, to some extent, of the historians of twelfth-century England. If both sons and daughters existed, one or more of the sons would normally inherit the majority of family lands, while daughters had to be content with a much smaller share, as limited dowry, inheritance or a combination of the two. In the absence of sons, daughters then inherited. As table 4.2 shows, few of the women who became widows are known to have put brothers at a disadvantage vis-à-vis the family lands. Only four of the thirty-nine Icelandic women in the study about whom we have information inherited (in two cases in the form of a large dowry) a substantial portion of the family property when they had brothers, while seven were heiresses

16 Nordal, Ethics, 33–41. 17 Agnes Arnórsdóttir, Konur og vígamenn, 90–8. The cases were those of Hallveig Ormsdóttir and Solveig Sæmundardóttir. 18 Milsom, ‘Inheritance by Women’, 62–9, at 65. Cf. Holt, ‘Feudal Society, iv’, 4–8; Green, ‘Aristocratic Women’, 61–72. 19 Green, ‘Aristocratic Women’, 68–72; idem, Aristocracy of Norman England, 273–6. 20 Milsom, ‘Inheritance by Women’, 62–6. property 93

Table 4.2. Descent of lands # widows # widows, # heiresses # widows # widows about with whose whose whom brothers, brother(s) sister(s) sufficient who received inherited inherited info exists substantial majority of majority of lands property property total 61 5 20 34 2 Icelandic 39 4 7 27 1 Yorkshire 22 1 13 71 Compiled from information in appendix 4. when no brothers existed. Twenty-seven had at least one brother who received the largest share, and one woman’s half-sister inherited most of the family wealth.21 In England, the numbers out of twenty-two are, respectively, one, thirteen, seven and one.22 These figures suggest that it was uncommon in Iceland and rare in Yorkshire for a woman with brothers to acquire important and substantial family property, either as inheritance or as dowry. That so few brothers inherited among the Yorkshire widows was due more to the lack of surviving sons than to daughters inheriting before their brothers. There are, however, some exceptions to this normal practice. Some Icelandic cases suggest a degree of flexibility in arranging inheritance which accords with the implication of Grágás’s statements on daughters’ dowry in relation to brothers’ inheritance (see above, pp. 55–6). Some women obtained a larger share of family property than might be expected. At her marriage to the eldest son of Gizurr Þorvaldsson in 1253, Ingibjörg Sturludóttir received a substantial dowry, amounting to one hundred hundreds in both movables and land.23 The marriage was meant to ally her father to one of the most powerful men in Iceland at the time, so her dowry needed to be sufficiently large

21 In the case of Þuríðr Ormsdóttir, the greater part of the family property went to her half-sister Hallveig Ormsdóttir. 22 There is some debate concerning the inheritance of Alice Paynel, the one Yorkshire widow with brothers. (see below, pp. 97–8, and appendix 11, pp. 402–8) 23 SS, i, 477. This sum was roughly equivalent to five medium-sized farms, or to the average value of a staður, (a farm which doubled as a local ecclesiastical institution), such as the main farm at Staðarhóll at which Ingibjörg’s father lived when his daughter married. Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, Chieftains and Power, 106, 115. It would thus have represented a significant proportion of her parent’s property at the time. 94 chapter four to reflect the importance of the husband’s family. The alliance could bring good marriage prospects for her father’s three other children and honour from dealings with the Norwegian king (with whom Gizurr was on good terms).24 It was also intended to secure peace and end the ongoing, bitter feud between the most powerful families in mid-thirteenth-century Iceland, a feud in which Ingibjörg’s family had played a prominent role.25 Guðný Brandsdóttir also received important family land when she married Einarr Helgason in the mid-1160s. Her dowry consisted of the farm at Króksfjarðarnes and the islands of Króksfjarðareyjar with their important pasture land.26 Guðný was not of chieftain rank, but Hvamm-Sturla, Einarr’s stepfather, and Þorgeirr Hallason, Einarr’s maternal grandfather, were both powerful and important chieftains. Her marriage secured an important alliance for her family, and her brother Jón married Hvamm-Sturla’s daughter Steinunn, Einarr’s half-sister.

Þorgeirr Hallason

Helgi (1) Ingibjörg (2) Hvamm-Sturla Eiríksson = =

Brandr Bergþórsson

Einarr ==Guðný Jón Steinunn

Source: SS, i, 52, 66, 76–7, 117, 129, 319; ii, 18., 28. and 40. ættskrár. Diagram 4.1. Guðný’s kin

24 Unfortunately for Ingibjörg and her father, the alliance was short-lived. Gizurr’s enemies burned his farm down within days of the wedding celebrations, resulting in the death of all of his sons and of his wife, although he and Ingibjörg both survived. SS, i, 481–94. 25 Nordal, Ethics, 86, 131. 26 SS, i, 76. property 95

Guðný’s important dowry made her an attractive bride for a man of higher rank, which probably secured a good marriage for her brother. Her brother Jón’s sons retained the link to the powerful Sturlungar family into which their father had married, supporting two of Sturla’s successors and benefiting from their protection.27 Statements in Grágás, as in many other early European legal texts, point to a general desire to prevent daughters inheriting (in the form of a dowry) an amount sufficiently large to effectively disinherit sons, and much practice, as noted above, confirms this.28 In both Ingibjörg’s and Guðný’s cases, their kin allowed these women a large proportion of the family wealth to secure an alliance that could confer advantages on the remaining children, including their brothers. However, there is no evidence that their portion disinherited their brothers, albeit reducing their share. These examples demonstrate how crucial circumstances could be. Had Ingibjörg’s and Guðný’s relations not been able to use their kinswomen’s marriages to forge alliances potentially advantageous to the other family members, their dowries might not have been so large. Two other women gained at the expense of male siblings, Solveig Sæmundardóttir and Hallveig Ormsdóttir. Again, circumstances were vital. Solveig’s case was influenced by family politics and the person- alities involved, and it will be dealt with later in the discussion of division of inheritance (see below, p. 103). It is enough to state here that the division in 1222 which favoured Solveig over several of her brothers was, like Ingibjörg’s and Guðný’s cases, due to Solveig’s individual circumstances and linked to marriage. Hallveig’s inheritance in 1218–9 was also a result of her personal situation, althought her case was somewhat different from the other three.29 Hallveig’s father Ormr never married, and Þóra, her mother, was one of his concubines. Þóra was heir to her brother Kolskeggr’s vast wealth, both land and movables. Sometime after Hallveig’s birth, Kolskeggr allowed Ormr access to much of this wealth, since Hallveig was his eventual heir, as daughter of his sister Þóra. When Ormr died in 1218, Hallveig inherited most of the property that had been in her father’s possession, a large portion

27 SS, i, 294–8, 309–10. 28 Hughes, ‘From Brideprice to Dowry’, 278–81. 29 For the following information, see SS, i, 242–3, 270–1. 96 chapter four

Eiríkr Jón

Kolskeggr Þóra – Ormr – concubines Sæmundr Solveig

sons and Jóra Þorvaldr Þóra daughters = =

Hallveig = Björn

Source: SS, i, 242–3; ii, 3. and 4. ættskrár. Diagram 4.2. Hallveig’s kin of which was her maternal inheritance. Her non-uterine half-brothers and her half-sisters received a much smaller share. Her paternal inheritance also included her father’s main estate at Breiðabólstaður. Hallveig’s half-brothers (her father’s sons) had no legal claim to her mother’s property, but they did to Ormr’s other wealth, including Breiðabólstaður. Yet there is no indication that they tried to lay claim to any of the paternal property Hallveig inherited. Nor did their father’s brother Sæmundr, who was still alive and very powerful, attempt to deprive his niece of this wealth. In fact, Íslendinga saga reports that ‘Sæmundr acted honourably, that he gave the illegitimate children the whole of the inheritance from Ormr’.30 The wording of this sentence suggests that while Sæmundr was to be praised for his actions, they were noteworthy if not unusual. The fact that Hallveig, her siblings and her uncle Sæmundr’s children were all illegitimate may help explain her uncle’s lack of opposition. If Sæmundr had attempted to deprive his brother’s children of their wealth, claiming that their illegitimacy gave him, as a legitimate brother, a stronger claim, he might have endangered his own children’s inheritance, since they were all illegitimate. Furthermore, Hallveig was already married to the son of the powerful chieftain Þorvaldr Gizurarson, head of the neighbouring

30 ‘Fór Sæmundi þat drengiliga, at hann gaf allan arf börnum Orms eftir hann óskilgetnum.’ SS, i, 270. The translation is from Nordal, Ethics, 38. property 97

Haukdælir family, and Þorvaldr’s wife was the daughter of Sæmundr’s sister. To oppose Hallveig’s inheritance would have been politically unwise, as she was the daughter-in-law of an influential chieftain who was already Sæmundr’s ally through marriage. Sæmundr’s later actions demonstrate that he understood this point.31 The surviving English legal statements advocate female inheritance only in the absence of males related in the same degree, and in eight cases out of nine, males did in fact inherit before females. Scholars have, however, argued for a degree of flexibility in inheritance practice, as noted above, asserting that this flexibility occasionally enabled women to succeed to familial lands at the expense of their brothers, in effect disinheriting them.32 The incompleteness of the English legal statements, especially before Glanvill, makes it difficult to know whether earlier custom opened the way for such flexibility, as Grágás appears to have done in a few instances. Yet there is only one Yorkshire widow among the group who probably had brothers and who received a large share of wealth. If flexibility was, as has been argued, possible, it looks as if it was very difficult for women (or more often men on their behalf) to take advantage of it. The exceptional case was that of Alice Paynel. Her family history is complex. Her mother was Avice Meschin, one of the three daughters and eventually co-heiresses of Cecily de Rumilly I and William Meschin, younger brother of Ranulf earl of Chester. Avice appears to have married William de Curcy II in about 1125, and the couple had at least three sons, William de Curcy III, Robert and Jordan. Avice’s first husband was alive in 113533 but apparently died shortly thereafter, and Avice seems to have quickly remarried William Paynel. William Paynel had previously been married, probably to a daughter of William fitz Wimund, and by her we know that he had four sons, Hugh, Fulk, Thomas and John, and possibly a daughter, Gertrude. William and Avice had one daughter, Alice Paynel, who was the younger half-sister of her father’s children from his first marrriage. So Alice had four

31 For a discussion of Sæmundr’s later neutrality in a conflict between Hallveig’s husband and the son of another of Sæmundr’s brothers, see Nordal, Ethics, 88–9 and Agnes Arnórsdóttir, ‘Kvinner og “krigsmenn”’, 73–5. 32 Green, ‘Aristocratic Women’, 68–71; Searle, ‘Women and Legitimisation’, 160, 164–5. 33 Red Book, i, 224–5. 98 chapter four older half-brothers and seems to have had at least one older half-sister when she inherited the Paynel family lands in England between 1145 and 1147 at her father’s death.34 There is evidence that Alice’s father William Paynel intended his barony to be divided between his two eldest sons, Hugh and Fulk, but that they only acquired the Norman lands at their father’s death.35 It has been suggested that King Stephen gave the English lands in marriage with Alice to Richard de Curcy, a loyal supporter of the king and possibly one of his leading agents in Yorkshire and Lincolnshire, as a result of Hugh and Fulk’s support for the Empress.36 Charter evidence demonstrates that a large portion of the Paynel lands were in Richard and Alice’s hands, and that the English lands were not held by Alice’s brothers Hugh and Fulk before Henry II redistributed them shortly after he became king in 1154.37 Although it is unwise to draw conclusions on the basis of one example from a relatively small group of widows from one region in England, Alice’s case appears to corroborate the findings of Green and Searle. However, while there are enough examples given by various scholars to demonstrate that inheritance practice was indeed flexible in the twelfth century, that flexibility did not necessarily work to the benefit of female inheritance. Agnes de Arches did not succeed to her father’s lands in the 1110s when he died, despite the forfeiture of her brother William’s claim to inherit them, probably due to his rebellion against Henry I.38 She did not even receive a large dowry.39 Agnes was unmarried at the time of her father’s death, and Henry I could have used her to make a marital alliance of his choice, thereby gaining the tenant of his choice on the Arches lands. Instead, Henry redistributed

34 See appendix 11, pp. 402–8, for a discussion of the potential difficulties with this version of Alice Paynel’s family history. 35 EYC, vi, nos. 15, 19; pp. 92–4, 96–8. 36 That Richard was a loyal supporter of King Stephen is demonstrated by his attestation of at least six of the king’s charters and two more charters of the king’s ally William earl of York. In addition, Richard probably fought for Stephen at the battles of the Standard and Lincoln, and appears to have been captured with the king in Lincoln. See Dalton, Conquest, 181. Flanders, De Courcy, 107. 37 Richard confirmed earlier donations, and made a grant at his wife’s request, in the few years that they were married (the limits of those dates being 1145–1148 to 1153). EYC, vi, nos. 45, 51, 61; pp. 128–9, 133, 151–2. For the descent of the Paynel lands, including the redistribution, see EYC, vi, 56–65. 38 Dalton, Conquest, 87. 39 While the extent of her dowry is not known for certain, the Arches lands which her descendants had in their possession appear to have been in Appleton only. EYC, i, nos. 541, 543–6; 419–26; xi, 94–5. property 99 them to various Yorkshire tenants-in-chief (mainly Nigel d’Aubigny), while returning the lands to William as a demoted undertenant.40 In this manner, the king was able to reward one of his ‘new men’, Nigel d’Aubigny (whose marriage in 1107 prevented him from marrying Agnes), with a compact lordship, and strengthen those of two other loyal tenants-in-chief, the Percys and the Rumillys, at little cost to himself.41 The combination of personal, political, social and economic circumstances, as Agnes’ and Alice’s situations show, was crucial to the succession of property when women were involved. The civil war between King Stephen and the Empress provided the backdrop to the king’s exploitation of the flexibility in inheritance practice in the Paynel case. Had Alice not had brothers who were loyal to the Empress, or had her father lived for another decade, she almost certainly would never have gained control of the English Paynel lands. Politics and alliances were at the heart of this inheritance dispute, which was affected by the insecurity of Stephen’s position as king. It is perhaps telling that of all the Yorkshire widows, the only one to disinherit her brothers was one who succeeded during the civil war, and the decision was partially reversed under Henry II (although Alice still retained more English lands than her brothers Hugh and Fulk combined). The statistics and examples indicate that in both Iceland and Yorkshire males generally succeeded before females, as the legal statements suggest. The comprehensive Icelandic laws implied some flexibility which is reflected in practice. In England, the legal statements before Glanvill suggested less flexibililty, though their partial nature makes them an unreliable guide to custom. Historians have suggested room for flexibility in England, especially earlier in the century, and the Yorkshire evidence confirms this, but only to a limited degree. In both countries, circumstances were crucial when female inheritance was concerned, and exceptions to the norm were heavily dependent on politics. In Iceland, where family politics were often the same as local and national politics, daughters inherited to the economic disadvantage of sons mainly through the influence of natal kin. The two atypical dowry decisions, almost certainly made by the woman’s father or brother, provided important family property as marriage portions and reduced a brother’s share. But in return they attempted to bring

40 Dalton, Conquest, 90–1. 41 Mowbray Charters, p. xxv. 100 chapter four important political alliances or to secure peace at a national level. Family was also at the centre of the inheritances of the two daughters who benefited at the expense of brothers. One woman, Solveig, received her inheritance with the agreement of her brothers and possibly at her father’s request, and the other, Hallveig, with the tacit approval of the most powerful man in the family. Both women, as wealthy and attractive representatives of the family, were later involved by their kin in securing further political alliances and support for their relations. Family played a large role in determining female inheritance, but its members were operating in political circumstances. In England, however, family was less significant than royal lordship, at least according to the evidence from the Yorkshire widows. The one woman who probably disinherited her brothers, Alice Paynel, was not given her inheritance by a family member. Rather, her succession, arranged by her lord King Stephen, appears to have contravened the wishes of her father. The political uncertainty of Stephen’s reign provided the opportunity for Alice’s financial gain.

Division of Inheritance Icelandic law states that, in the absence of males, division of inheritance among daughters or other women related in the same degree was to be equal, factoring in amounts received as dowry. Unfortunately, there is insufficient information concerning the widows in the study to compare this law with practice. Only two widows (Randalín Filippussdóttir and Ragnheiðr Aronsdóttir) had a sister but no surviving brothers, and too little information exists about their inheritance to determine how, or even if, it had been divided. Nor is it possible to determine, when brothers existed, exactly how property had been divided between widows and their female siblings, since the sagas rarely give specifics. Scholars have noted, however, that what characterized inheritance claims and divisions, whether between men, between women, or between men and women, was their variety.42 The often-cited case of Þórðr Sturluson and his children shows one such variation, suggesting that Grágás is not a simple guide to practice. According to Grágás, Böðvarr, as the only legitimate son, should have inherited all of his father’s property, since Halla, the only legitimate

42 Agnes Arnórsdóttir, Konur og vígamenn, 85–98; Nordal, Ethics, 33–41. property 101 daughter, was already married and had presumably received her dowry. But according to Þórðr’s wishes, his eldest son Böðvarr only acquired about half of his father’s wealth in 1237, while the other half was divided between all of his children—legitimate and illegitimate, sons and daughters—and the division included his widow. Böðvarr’s portion was 500 hundreds, and he had already received one of the main family farms, Staður. Þórðr’s daughters received forty hundreds each. Two illegitimate sons received eighty hundreds each. The other two illegitimate sons and Þórðr’s widow received 100 hundreds each. One son also received the substantial farm Eyrr at which his father was living when he died. This case demonstrates the possibility of flexibility in how an inheritance was divided, and that daughters could share an inheritance. It also indicates, however, that division might be far from equal between sons and daughters. It will be discussed again in relation to legitimacy (see below, pp. 117–8). A few instances pertaining to future widows who had brothers provide further information. Although Halldóra Tumadóttir’s brothers inherited the majority of family property, Halldóra herself almost certainly received a substantial inheritance vis-à-vis her sister Álfheiðr in the form of dowry when she wed in 1198. Halldóra married an up-and-coming chieftain from the influential Sturlungar family who became a key figure in thirteenth-century Icelandic history, indicating the sort of circumstances which determined the size of dowry and

Table 4.3. Inheritance of Þórðr Sturluson’s property at his death person relationship amount Böðvarr legitimate son 500 hundreds, already in possession of farm at Staður Sturla illegitimate son 100 hundreds, farm at Eyrr Ólafr illegitimate son 100 hundreds Valgerðr* widow 100 hundreds Þórðr illegitimate son 80 hundreds Guttormr illegitimate son 80 hundreds Halla legitimate daughter 40 hundreds, already in possession of dowry Valgerðr illegitimate daughter 40 hundreds Guðrún illegitimate daughter 40 hundreds * Þórðr’s wife Valgerðr was entitled to her brideprice at widowing, which was probably represented by her share of the inheritance. There is no indication whether the inheritance was in the form of land or movables, with the exception of the mention of Eyrr. Source: SS, i, 401. 102 chapter four thus division of inheritance. Such a match necessitated a large dowry.43 Her sister married a lower-ranking man, mentioned only twice in the sagas, once as Álfheiðr’s husband and once as a messenger. The sagas often refer to marriages made between men and women of equal rank, such as that of Halldóra and her chieftain husband, and equality of marital assignments is implied in these cases. But they also contain references to marriages between those of unequal social status, like that of Álfheiðr and her husband, in which the higher-ranking spouse brought less property to the union. One such example is the marriage between the high-ranking Þorlaug Pálsdóttir and Þórir Þorsteinsson inn augði (the wealthy). When Þórir proposed the marriage, Þorlaug’s father Páll replied ‘because the differences in social status between us are considered great, I will make all the decisions concerning the marriage contract’.44 The result was that Þorlaug’s dowry of thirty hundreds was ‘reimbursed’ by a gift from Þórir of the same amount to Páll, and her brideprice was agreed as 200 hundreds, comprising half of Þórir’s vast wealth.45 Þorlaug thus acquired a strong claim to far greater wealth than she brought to the union. Seen in this light, the favouritism shown to Halldóra by her mother during marriage negotiations (her father was already dead) suggests that she obtained a larger share of family property than her sister. Þuríðr Gizurardóttir answered thus—that she loved Halldóra, her daughter, so much more than Álfheiðr, that she would only marry her to a man who seemed to her kinsmen an equal match. But she would marry off Álfheiðr if she thought she would not be cared for dishonourably.46 Her words imply that Þuríðr valued her daughter Halldóra highly and that only someone of equal social status was good enough—high stan- dards indeed, since she descended through both parents from powerful families. They also imply that any man who treated Álfheiðr properly and offered a reasonable brideprice would be acceptable. That the latter sentence is phrased in the negative implies that Þuríðr was comment- ing about the lesser provision she was prepared to make for Álfheiðr.

43 Agnes Arnórsdóttir, ‘Kvinner og “krigsmenn”’, 141. 44 ‘En því at mannamunr mun þykkja mikill, þá vil ek ráða fyrir máldaga’. SS, i, 106. 45 SS, i, 105–6. 46 ‘Þuríðr Gizurardóttir svarar svá, at hon unni Halldóru, dóttur sinni, því hæra en Álfheiði, at hon myndi hana þeim einum manni gefa, er þat þætti frændum jafnaðr. En Álfheiði lézt hon gefa mundu, ef eigi þætti ósæmiliga fyrir henni sét.’ SS, i, 235. property 103

If the dowries the sisters received were roughly equal in value, there seems little reason to include Þuríðr’s comment in the saga. Solveig Sæmundardóttir certainly received a larger share of her father’s property than her sisters, and probably more than some of her brothers. The role of marriage in politics and thus in division of inheritance is again key. Her father Sæmundr made it known ‘that Solveig, his daughter, should take in inheritance an equal amount as each of his sons’, but he did not mention his other daughters.47 This comment was perhaps a retrospective justification by the author of the division of Sæmundr’s property that occurred in 1222; nevertheless, it indicates that Solveig received a large, albeit unspecified, share, making her one of the richest women in the country at the time.48 It is implied that her part was at least as great as her brothers’, who also received unspecified portions, with one brother receiving more than all the others. Solveig received such a large share because the man chosen to make the division probably intended to marry Solveig in order to gain control of her wealth.49 The man was Snorri Sturluson, foster-brother to Solveig’s father, and one of the most powerful men in Iceland at the time.50 Solveig’s brothers were unlikely to want to alienate such an important man with close ties to their family, and there is no indication that they opposed the division. In fact, they had earlier invited him to their home to divide the inheritance.51 Hallveig Ormsdóttir, whose case has been examined earlier (see above, pp. 95–7), also received a significantly greater portion of wealth than her sisters and brothers. Thus, the evidence from the contemporary sagas supports Agnes Arnórsdóttir’s contentions that partition of inheritance did not always follow the law, nor was it necessarily equal.52 Division was not necessarily most favourable to the males inheriting, and personal circumstances—in these four cases personal favouritism of parents, in the context of marriage, and the ambitions of powerful men—could play a large part in determining which children inherited and what they received.

47 ‘At Solveig, dóttir hans, skyldi taka jafnmikinn arf sem einn hverr sona hans’. SS, i, 299. 48 SS, i, 299. 49 Nordal, Ethics, 90. 50 Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, Chieftains and Power, 71. 51 SS, i, 299. 52 Agnes Arnórsdóttir, Konur og vígamenn, 85–90. 104 chapter four

More evidence exists among the Yorkshire widows for a division of inheritance between daughters or sisters, probably because the charter evidence, more specifically concerned with property, is a better source here than the sagas. Division among daughters or sisters was not always equal, and the elder daughter was not necessarily favoured. There were ten co-heiresses among the twenty-five Yorkshire widows, as well as one heiress who had a non-inheriting sister.53 The widowed co-heiresses were: Cecily de Rumilly I (whose sister and co-heiress Lucy did not become a widow); Cecily’s three daughters, Avice Meschin, Matilda Meschin and Alice de Rumilly I; Rohaise, daughter of Robert steward of the Percys (whose sister and co-heiress Margaret did not become a widow); Alice de Rumilly I’s daughters, Cecily de Rumilly II and Alice de Rumilly II (the third sister and co-heiress Amabel did not become a widow); Matilda and Agnes de Percy; and Juetta de Arches’s daughter Agnes de Flamville (whose sister and co-heiress Matilda did not become a widow).54 The future widow who inherited to the exclusion of her sister was Juetta de Arches. Between them the cases raise the questions of change over time, and of the role played by political circumstances and family control, in the practice of female inheritance. Yet they also demonstrate the difficulty of establishing practice given the evidence we have. Scholars generally agree that while inheritance custom was not completely inflexible by the end of the twelfth century, it had become more stable. Milsom has argued that by the thirteenth century all daughters or sisters could expect a share of an inheritance, reflected in the divisions, albeit often uneven, cited by Holt and Green.55 The Yorkshire evidence clearly supports this argument. Only Juetta de Arches did not share her inheritance with her sister. Juetta’s parents founded the nunnery of Nun Monkton by the mid-twelfth century, where her sister Matilda was the prioress.56 As a nun, Matilda could not inherit, and

53 The other heiresses, Hawise countess of Aumale and Alice de Curcy, had no sisters with whom to divide their inheritance. 54 See table 4.1 on lineal female succession for dates of inheritance. The heiresses who were not widows are not included in the table or the appendices. 55 Milsom, ‘Inheritance by Women’, 66; Holt, ‘Feudal Society, iv’, 8–15; Green, ‘Aristocratic Women’, 74–5. 56 EYC, i, no. 535, pp. 414–5; Durham Cathedral Muniments, 4.11.Spec.55, printed in Feodarium Prioratus Dunelmensis: A Survey of the Estates of the Prior and Convent of Durham, compiled in the Fifteenth Century, ed. W. Greenwell, Surtees Society, lviii (Durham, 1872), 163. property 105 thus Juetta alone was her father’s heir.57 However, scholars disagree over when division began to occur regularly. Thestatutum decretum suggests that, by Stephen’s reign, partition was envisaged among daughters or sisters, rather than inheritance by a single heiress. Holt contends that the statutum signified ‘a sudden, deliberate change of policy’ from a single heiress to division.58 Green, however, cites cases of a division among co-heiresses before 1135, and points out that the number of divisions among co-heiresses did not increase significantly until about the mid- to late twelfth century, rather than immediately after the ruling.59 The one example of a Yorkshire heiress before 1135 among the group does not support Holt’s assertion. This woman was Cecily de Rumilly I, who inherited part of her father’s lands near the end of the eleventh or beginning of the twelfth century. Her sister Lucy appears to have received their father’s Norman patrimony and a few manors in England, while Cecily inherited the vast proportion of the remainder of the English estates.60 Such a division conforms to a general pattern for male heirs during the Anglo-Norman period, albeit with the slight difference that Lucy received a small number of English lands.61 However, Green, like Holt, has noted that there was some latitude available to fathers in the disposition of lands among sons in the early twelfth century, and the slight difference in this case is not without precedent.62 It seems as though custom was flexible at this point, for daughters as well as sons, and that inheritance by a single heiress rather than division, as Holt maintains, was not the only option before the statutum decretum. It is therefore unwise to argue for a sudden change in female inheritance from a single woman inheriting to a division among women. If division among daughters or sisters was a possibility throughout the period, how was it accomplished? Was it more or less even, or was one heiress favoured? Which one? Who decided who succeeded? And

57 It might, however, be argued that Matilda did share her parents’ inheritance. The use of the Church to make an endowment—one which was probably well protected— can arguably be seen as the making of provision for a child who entered a religious establishment. The use of Arches lands to found Nun Monkton can thus be seen as a division of the Arches inheritance, albeit unequal and with a corporate establishment rather than kin as Matilda’s ultimate heir. 58 Holt, ‘Feudal Society, iv’, 2, 8–10. 59 Green, ‘Aristocratic Women’, 73–6. 60 EYC, vii, pp. 1–6, 31–5. 61 Holt, ‘Politics and Property in Early Medieval England’, Past and Present 57, 3 (1972), 3–52, at 14–5. 62 Green, Aristocracy of Norman England, 338; Holt, ‘Politics and Property’, 15. 106 chapter four did custom change over time? The latest cases are the most straightforward, perhaps not surprisingly given the contention that inheritance practice was hardening as the period progressed. They are arguably the best place to begin. The division of the Percy barony occurred in 1175 between Matilda and Agnes, the daughters of William de Percy II. Twenty knights’ fees were assigned to the share of Matilda’s husband, the earl of Warwick, and twenty-three went to the share of Agnes’ husband, Joscelin de Louvain.63 The division appears to have occurred as a matter of course, although it is possible that the documents record only the final settlement, obscuring any prior disputes. It is unlikely that any evidence of such disputes will be discovered, since the elder Percy sister had no offspring to put forward a later claim which might have brought them into the record. Nonetheless, the end result was a roughly equal division of the Percy fee between the two daughters. The partition of the inheritance of Matilda and Agnes de Flamville, who inherited between 1199 and 1214 when their brother died childless, was also roughly equal. The sisters each received a moiety, and Agnes’ son by her first husband was later heir to half of the Flamville fee, which had belonged to his maternal grandfather.64 A generation earlier partitions appear to have been more flexible and less balanced, as suggested by Holt and Green.65 The division of the inheritances of William Meschin and his wife Cecily de Rumilly I between their daughters supports this argument. The three women were Avice Meschin, Matilda Meschin and Alice de Rumilly I, and the lands involved in the partition are outlined in table 4.4. William held the honour of Copeland, including its caput at Egremont, and he also had extensive lands in Lincolnshire and Northamptonshire, with smaller interests elsewhere, amounting to about eighteen knights’ fees. Cecily held the honour of Skipton, including land in Yorkshire of about 210 carucates (about two and a half knights’ fees) and the castle at Skipton, as well as Harewood and its members at about seventy carucates (about three knights’ fees).66 She also held of this honour a

63 EYC, xi, no. 89, pp. 85–9. 64 EYC, i, p. 503; ii, p. 91; Rot. de Fin., 537; Fines, Yorkshire, lxvii, no. 892, p. 72. 65 Holt, ‘Feudal Society, iv’, 8–15; Green, ‘Aristocratic Women’, 74–5. 66 Carucage per knight’s fee varied widely in Yorkshire. For example, twelve carucates made a knight’s fee in Coniston Cold, Cravenshire, while forty-eight carucates made one knight’s fee in Holme, Holderness. EYC, xi, no. 90, p. 99; EYC, iii, no. 1311, p. 41. property 107

Table 4.4. Lands inherited by the daughters of William Meschin and Cecily de Rumilly father’s Meschin lands mother’s Rumilly lands inherited by 14 knights’ fees Avice Meschin in Lincolnshire, Northamptonshire, Bedfordshire and Flintshire land in Cheshire, Matilda Meschin 1 knight’s fee in Northamptonshire honour of Copeland Alice de Rumilly I with caput at Egremont about 2 knights’ fees Alice de Rumilly I in Lincolnshire, ½ knight’s fee in Radstone, Northamptonshire Harewood and its Avice Meschin members, Yorkshire (about 70 carucates making 3 knights’ fees) Spitchwick and Warkleigh, Avice Meschin Devon; Stert, Somerset Mappowder, Devon; Matilda Meschin Molland, Dorset; possibly Kimbolton, Huntingdonshire 210 carucates of land in Alice de Rumilly I Yorkshire of the honour of Skipton (about 2 and ½ knights’ fees) with caput at Skipton about 10 and ½ Alice de Rumilly I knights’ fees of the honour of Skipton in Bedfordshire, Berkshire, Cambridgeshire, Hertfordshire, Lincolnshire and probably Leicestershire Source: EYC, vii, pp. 1–12, 38–49; iii, pp. 468–74; Red Book, i, pp. 224–5, 430–2; Book of Fees, pp. 97, 425. 108 chapter four further ten and half knights’ fees of land in seven, or probably eight, other counties. William died in about 1135, and his son Ranulf inherited his Meschin lands. Cecily lived until about 1151 to 1155; thus her lands did not pass to her daughters or son at her husband’s death. William and Cecily’s son Ranulf died childless sometime between 1135 and about 1140, probably in about 1138, and his three sisters inherited. Avice had married William de Curcy II in about 1125, who died in about 1135, and Avice then married William Paynel in about 1135 or shortly thereafter.67 Matilda married Philip de Belmeis between 1117 and 1130.68 Both sisters were still married in 1138 when their brother died. Alice, however, was probably still unwed in 1138. Dalton has argued that Alice, the youngest of the Rumilly sisters, was married in 1138 to William fitz Duncan, son of one Scottish king and nephew of the current one, King David, after William had taken a leading part in the Scottish military campaign in Yorkshire and Lancashire earlier that year and won the battle of Clitheroe in June 1138.69 Flanders, on the other hand, has argued that Alice, as the eldest and thus first married of the Rumilly sisters, was wed to William fitz Duncan by 1124. He also places the marriage of their daughter Cecily de Rumilly II to William count of Aumale between 1130 and 1139.70 There is reason to believe that Dalton may be correct. First, there is documentary evidence which states that Avice, not her sister Alice, was the eldest. One of their mother’s charters in favour of her foundation of Embsay priory cites Avice in the witness list as ‘Amicia filia mea seniore’.71 Second, Cecily cannot have married William count of Aumale before 1157. After her brother died, Cecily and her sisters

67 See appendix 11, pp. 402–8, for two conflicting arguments concerning Avice’s marriages. 68 EYC, vii, pp. 7–8; Rev. R.W. Eyton, Antiquities of Shropshire, 2 vols (London, 1855), vol. 2, pp. 202–3. 69 Dalton, Conquest, 211–28. 70 Flanders, De Courcy, 117–22. 71 ‘Avice my eldest daughter’. EYC, iii, no. 1861, p. 467. ‘Amicia’ must be Avice and not her sister Alice. The lands in question were in Harewood, known to have been part of the Meschin barony that Avice inherited, and the grant was later confirmed by Avice for the soul of her son William de Curcy III. EYC, iii, no. 1862, pp. 467–8. Furthermore, some of the lands (specifically, East Keswick, Wike, Rawdon and possibly Weeton) can be traced to William de Curcy III’s possession in 1166 (Red Book, i, 225, and see EYC, iii, pp. 474–5, for further details on the landholding), and it has been established that Avice, and not her sister Alice, was the wife of William de Curcy II. See appendix 11 for further details (below, pp. 402–8). property 109 inherited from him their father’s barony of Allerdale; evidence demonstrates that at this point she was still unmarried and became a ward of King Henry II, who gave her in marriage.72 The death of Cecily’s brother is not precisely dated, but he witnessed a charter of his stepfather, dating between 1155 and 1164, and another dating no earlier than 1157; thus, Cecily must have been unmarried in 1157, and perhaps still in 1164.73 Furthermore, Cecily and William’s daughter and sole heiress Hawise had a child no earlier than 1196, and thus her birth cannot have been before 1154. It is possible, but unlikely, that Cecily and William count of Aumale married between 1130 and 1139 and did not produce a child until 1154. Third, if Cecily’s mother Alice married in 1124, Alice’s birth must have been about 1112 or earlier. She would therefore have been at least forty-five at her son’s death in 1157 or later, when he himself was still in the king’s wardship. With her son a ward in 1157, if not later, and then three daughters unmarried and in wardship the same year, none of Alice’s children could have been born in the first decade of her marriage. Furthermore, some if not all would have been born late in her marriage and towards the end of her childbearing years. Again, this is not impossible, but unlikely. Assuming, therefore, that Dalton is correct—and Flanders has not presented any substantial evidence to refute his argument—William’s actions and King Stephen’s inability to prevent David’s incursions into northern England had a profound impact not only on William’s marriage to Alice, but also on her entire family.74 William fitz Duncan gained control of the honour of Skipton through his marriage to Alice, securing the bulk of her mother’s Rumilly lands for her at the expense of her two elder sisters, Avice and Matilda. Alice thus inherited all of the Skipton lands with the caput, except Harewood, Spitchwick, Warkleigh and Stert, which went to Avice, and Mappowder, Molland and possibly Kimbolton, which went to Matilda. She also inherited an important portion of her father’s Meschin lands, arguably as a result of her marriage, comprised of the barony of Copeland with its caput and lands in Lincolnshire and Northamptonshire. Her eldest sister Avice

72 Joseph Bain, ed., Calendar of Documents Relating to Scotland Preserved in Her Majesty’s Public Record Office, London, Scottish Record Publications, 4 vols (Edinburgh 1881–8), vol. 1: 1108–1272, pp. 153–4, no. 864. 73 EYC, vii, pp. 13–4, and no. 24, p. 71. 74 For more on Stephen’s relationship with David, see Crouch, King Stephen, 35, 40–1, 70, 73–4, 81–2, 89–90. 110 chapter four received fourteen knights’ fees of the Meschin lands, while Matilda received a small proportion of land in Cheshire and Northamptonshire. Documentary evidence places Ranulf’s death between 1135 and 1140, but Alice’s marriage and the division of the Meschin lands suggest a date no later than 1138 and probably not much earlier.75 Alice would not have been as attractive a bride to a lord such as William fitz Duncan, son of one Scottish king and nephew of the reigning one, had her brother not already been dead when William married her in 1138.76 With Ranulf living and already in possession of the Meschin lands, William would have been in a weak position to secure his mother-in- law’s Rumilly lands. But Ranulf’s death left Alice, along with her sisters, potential heiresses to vast property, including the castles at Egremont and Skipton. This land was strategically important to King David’s ambitions for power in northern England. The accident of Ranulf’s death and the political union through William fitz Duncan’s marriage to Alice probably provided William with the opportunity to acquire these two important honours in his wife’s name.77 Significantly, Alice received the caput of both of her parents’ lordships, as well as the majority of the lands in the north of England. Milsom has argued that, where women were left as heirs, it made sense to leave married daughters in possession of their maritagia and allow their unmarried sister to inherit the caput of the fee with the remaining lands.78 The Meschin and Rumilly inheritance supports this contention. Although it is not possible to determine conclusively which lands comprised the dowries of Avice and Matilda, they were definitely neither the most central nor the most important. Alice certainly received the bulk of her mother’s lands, which had not yet been allocated to any heir since her mother was still alive at the time of her youngest daughter’s marriage. She also received the caput of both the Meschin barony and the honour of Skipton, and arguably the most important portion of both lordships.79 But Alice’s case may not entirely support Milsom’s argument. Milsom maintained that this kind of arrangement gave the lord the

75 EYC, vii, p. 7, and no. 7, p. 57; Mon. Angl. v, pp. 250, 349. 76 This point is also made by Dalton, Conquest, 213. Furthermore, he notes that William’s devastation of his mother-in-law’s lands in Cravenshire does not make sense if he had already married Alice before his campaign of 1138 in the area. 77 Dalton, Conquest, 214. 78 Milsom, ‘Inheritance by Women’, 65. 79 Dalton, Conquest, 213–4. property 111 homage of the man of his choice, in that he would give the unmarried daughter with the inheritance as he pleased.80 But in this instance, King Stephen, as lord of Alice’s tenant-in-chief mother, did not bestow Alice, with the Rumilly and Meschin lands, on William fitz Duncan, nephew of his rival David of Scotland.81 Who did arrange Alice’s marriage is not known. It could have been the Empress Matilda, niece of King David and first cousin of Alice’s husband William. Matilda would have approved of such a marriage, especially as it brought two important lordships under the control of a loyal kinsman. But Cecily’s influence in the making of the marriage cannot be ruled out. It has been argued that Alice’s marriage and its consequences for her inheritance were detrimental to Cecily. Dalton sees Cecily’s relin- quishing of the administration of her lands to William and Alice as proof of force exerted on her.82 But might Cecily not have seen her own interests served by the union? She gained a king’s son as her son-in-law, and her grandchildren would have royal blood. Another daughter, Avice, and Avice’s husband, one of the Empress’s castellans, secured an important ally.83 Cecily also gained a strong lord who could keep her honour of Skipton largely intact and who might continue as patron of her religious foundation, Embsay priory. Certainly William fitz Duncan joined his mother-in-law Cecily in a gift to Embsay through the very public and symbolic act of placing a knife on the altar.84 There are numerous instances of Icelandic chieftains who relinquished their authority to sons, cousins, sons-in-law and other relatives; Cecily might have wished to do the same.85 It thus appears that in the case of the Meschin and Rumilly inheritance partition was not equal. The barony of the co-heiresses’ father was divided between all three sisters, with Alice and Avice obtaining portions that were probably comparable, while Matilda’s portion was very small. The ambitions of the Scottish king in northern England, and the resulting marital alliance between David’s nephew and Alice, almost certainly influenced the partition. That Alice’s husband was

80 Milsom, ‘Inheritance by Women’, 65, 81. 81 Green, Aristocracy of Norman England, 366–7. 82 Dalton, Conquest, 214. 83 Crouch, King Stephen, 200. 84 EYC, vii, no. 9, pp. 58–9. 85 A few examples include Ingimundr Einarsson, who gave his chieftaincy to his cousin Þorgils Oddason, and Ari Þorgilsson inn sterki, who gave his chieftaincy to his son-in-law Þórðr Sturluson. SS, i, 13, 23, 231. 112 chapter four allied to the Empress, as was Avice’s, whereas Matilda’s husband was an ally of Stephen, also probably influenced this division.86 The partition of their mother’s lands was even less equitable, with Alice acquiring the lion’s share. And the possibility exists that it was not further divided after Avice and Matilda had received their portions as dowry. The Skipton and Copeland arrangements suggest that there were still no hard and fast rules governing partition among female heirs in the 1130s. Much was dictated by the politics—familial as well as lordly— and circumstances of the individual case. While partition was accepted as one option, it was not necessarily equal, nor was it the only one. As several scholars have noted, the question of the sharing of inheritance by female heirs, and how that division would occur, was not yet settled at this point in English history.87 If division of inheritance between co-heiresses was still quite flexible in the early twelfth century, but was stabilizing towards the end of the century when each woman could expect a roughly equal share, what was occurring in between? The division of inheritance between Alice de Rumilly I’s daughters Cecily II, Amabel and Alice II in the 1160s was perhaps not as equal as that of the Percy barony or the Flamville fee, but it was not as disproportionate as the earlier Meschin and Rumilly partition.88 The inheritance involved the baronies of Skipton, of Copeland with its caput at Egremont, and of Allerdale. Skipton had been the inheritance of the sisters’ maternal grandmother Cecily I; Copeland had belonged to their maternal grandfather William Meschin; and Allerdale had been held by their father William fitz Duncan. Cecily II received the honour of Skipton. Amabel was assigned Egremont, most of Copeland and a small portion of the barony of Allerdale, although there is evidence that Cecily II and her husband William count of Aumale administered the barony of Copeland during their lifetime. However, Amabel’s husband held land in Copeland by 1189 (about the time of Cecily II’s death), and the barony passed to Amabel’s son, not Cecily II’s daughter, by 1203.89 Finally, Alice II received the major-

86 Eyton, Antiquities of Shropshire, 202; Mon. Angl., v, p. 356. 87 Milsom, ‘Inheritance by Women’, 69–83; Green, ‘Aristocratic Women’ 61–3, 68, 72–8; Holt, ‘Feudal Society, iv’, 1–28. 88 The following information, unless specified, comes fromEYC , vii, pp. 14–20, 38–49; St. Bees, 491–6. 89 Great Roll of the Pipe for the First Year of the Reign of King Richard the First, A.D. 1188–89, now first printed from the original in the custody of the Right Honourable the Master of the Rolls, ed. J. Hunter (London, 1844), 88–9; CRR, ii, 273–4. property 113

Table 4.5. Inheritance of Alice de Rumilly I’s daughters daughter inheritance origin of lands Cecily de Rumilly II honour of Skipton maternal great- grandfather, then grandmother Amabel Copeland with caput at maternal grandfather; Egremont; portion of father Allerdale Alice de Rumilly II most of Allerdale; part of father; maternal Copeland; Radstone in grandfather; maternal Northamptonshire; possibly grandfather; maternal small interest in honour of grandmother Skipton Source: EYC, vii, pp. 14–20, 38–49. ity of the barony of Allerdale, as well as part of Copeland, Radstone in Northamptonshire and possibly a small interest in the honour of Skipton. This partition might have led to a dispute in 1200. Amabel’s son Richard fined with the king in 1200 for his ‘reasonable share’, claiming against Cecily II’s daughter and her husband and against Alice II and her husband.90 The dispute may have arisen because one party felt that the division had been inequitable. The idea of a ‘reasonable share’ suggests that there was some such notion, perhaps involving equality. Richard may, however, simply have sought to confirm his possession of his mother’s share of Copeland and other lands. It might even have been an opportunistic claim. Whatever the motivation, the fact that all three daughters received one lordship each suggests that some attempt was made to divide the lands evenly. Cecily II married an earl, and her daughter was a countess in her own right and also married to an earl, yet neither woman inherited an obviously disproportionate amount of Alice I’s property, suggesting some consideration for equality between the three sisters. Cecily II might have administered Copeland with her husband during their lifetime, perhaps because he was higher ranking than her sisters’ husbands, but the fact that the barony descended to Amabel’s heirs might indicate that equality of division between co- heiresses was beginning to be expected by the late twelfth century,

90 ‘rationabili parte’. Rot. de Fin., 45. 114 chapter four as Glanvill sets out. It may also have been that this particular inheritance was affected by the marital state of the co-heiresses, since all were probably given in marriage with their part of the inheritance— presumably also as their dowry—by the king (see above, pp. 108–9).91 It was perhaps part of the terms that William could administer Copeland with his wife during their lifetime, but that the barony would pass to Amabel’s heirs, thereby acknowledging both the claims of all sisters and William’s higher social status. Yet not all inheritances were equal at this date. Robert, steward of the Percys, died between 1167 and 1175, and his daughters Rohaise and Margaret inherited. Clay suggested that Margaret received her father’s paternal lands in Yorkshire and Lincolnshire of about three and a half knights’ fees, while Rohaise inherited her father’s maternal property, which probably amounted to no more than one and a half knights’ fees.92 It is possible that in this case one motivation for the division was to keep the steward’s fee together. However, it is uncertain why that fee went to Margaret rather than Rohaise. It might be that Margaret was the elder sister and custom by this time dictated that she received the larger share, but there is no evidence to support this conclusion. Another possibility is that family politics were involved. Margaret and Rohaise’s parents married between 1157 and 1163, placing their births no earlier than 1157 and 1158.93 If their father had died as early as 1167, they would have been minors when they inherited; even if he had died as late as 1175, the eldest would have been no more than 18. Their mother’s date of death is unknown but she was alive in 1167. There is no indication that they had been wards, but their marriages suggest that they were. The sisters married the sons of Philip de Kyme, a tenant holding directly of the king, as well as of other lords, in Lincolnshire.94 William was Philip’s younger son and married Margaret, while Simon, the elder, married Rohaise. Simon inherited his father’s lands in due course, so it is possible that Philip used the heiresses to benefit both of his sons financially, providing his younger son with a sizeable fee without diminishing his

91 Chronicon Cumbrie, in the Register of the Priory of St. Bees, for this detail. St. Bees, 494. 92 EYC, xi, pp. 89–91, 94–8; DB, Yorkshire, 324c, 329a. 93 PR 9 Hen II, p. 68. 94 HKF, vol. 2, pp. 118–25; EYC, xi, pp. 96–7. property 115 elder son’s inheritance.95 Based on the evidence from the Yorkshire widows, it appears that by the 1160s and 1170s inheritance rules were beginning to stabilize, although the possibility of flexibility in certain circumstances, albeit perhaps more limited than earlier, still existed. Glanvill may have accurately described the changes occurring in partition of inheritance among females near the end of the twelfth century, but he was less accurate about the nature of that division. As Holt and Green have pointed out, the portrayal of partition in Glanvill did not always conform to practice, as it was only one of the possibilities.96 Younger sisters performing service by the hand of the eldest, while the eldest alone did homage, was not how the Rumilly or Percy lands were divided. Rather, the lands were fully partitioned. The complete division of the Meschin and Rumilly estates in the 1130s between Avice, Matilda and Alice I is demonstrated by the return of 1166, in which the husband or son of each co-heiress accounted for her lands separately.97 A charter recording the division of the Percy barony in 1175 also shows a complete division, while charter and other evidence also support a full partition between Cecily II, Amabel and Alice II in the 1160s.98 Because of the scarcity of information concerning division of inheritance among Icelandic women, it is difficult to determine what generally occurred, although it does seem as if circumstances were important. Partition could, and did, occur, but the frequency and nature of division are uncertain. Parental choice of heir, the favouritism of one child over others, or families operating in political circumstances may have played a role in how property was allocated. Dowries were not always equal among daughters or sisters, contrary to the laws. In England partition also appears to have been influenced as much by parental as by political concerns. However, unlike in Iceland, it is possible to see change over time in division of inheritance. In the earlier twelfth century in Yorkshire there was more room for manoeuvre when

95 Other examples exist in which a guardian or his kin benefited by the marriage of his ward(s). Thomas de Moulton gained the wardship of Amabel de Rumilly’s two granddaughters Amabel and Alice. Thomas married the girls’ mother himself, and married the girls to his sons Lambert and Alan. EYC, vii, pp. 15–6. Another case involves Hugh de Neville, who gained the wardship of Joan, daughter and ultimately heir of her father Henry de Cornhill. Hugh married Joan himself. EYC, iii, p. 471. 96 Holt, ‘Feudal Society, iv’, 9–10; Green, ‘Aristocratic Women’, 76. 97 Red Book, i, pp. 224–5, 430–2; Book of Fees, i, pp. 97, 425. 98 EYC, xi, no. 89, pp. 85–9; vii, pp. 14–20. 116 chapter four dividing an inheritance or allocating dowry among co-heiresses, as in the case of Cecily de Rumilly I’s three daughters, and equality was not necessarily the norm until late in the twelfth century. Such flexibility may have allowed some women to benefit at the expense of others. For example, Matilda Meschin received a far smaller share of her parents’ property than either of her sisters in 1138, and Margaret gained more than twice the number of knights’ fees than her sister Rohaise between 1167 and 1175. This transition is not found in the Icelandic sagas, possibly because they are less interested in land transactions than the English charters, but more likely because it did not occur. The flexibility in partition of inheritance suggested by the Icelandic evidence was arguably the norm for the entire Commonwealth period, especially as such divisions among men inheriting appear to continue to be common.

Illegitimacy Could illegitimate daughters inherit? Did the illegitimacy of sons work in favour of inheritance by legitimate daughters or sisters? There is debate over the status of illegitimate children in Iceland and about their position in relation to inheritance during the Commonwealth. Some scholars view illegitimacy as ‘a permanent disability’ or an insur- mountable impediment to inheritance.99 Others have argued that being born out of wedlock was a disadvantage but not one that excluded the illegitimate child from inheriting.100 Grágás appears to support the latter argument, since it states that illegitimate children had a right to inherit. They were postponed by some relatives, but only those who were the immediate legitimate kin of their parents, i.e. children, siblings and parents. All other kin came after illegitimate children in the inheritance order. The evidence from the contemporary sagas supports the view that illegitimacy was not a bar to inheritance in all circumstances. It has been persuasively argued that the Church’s failure in promoting monogamous marital unions over all other extra-marital cou-

99 Frank, ‘Marriage’, 476; Nordal, Ethics, 33–7, 40–1. 100 Nic Percivall, ‘Affection Tempered by Pragmatism? The Favouritism Practiced by Icelandic Chieftains in the Selection of Heirs in the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries up to the End of the Commonwealth’, unpublished MPhil dissertation, University of Oslo, Norway, 2000, 84–6; Jochens, ‘Church and Sexuality’, 384; Agnes Arnórsdóttir, ‘Kvinner og “krigsmenn”’, 137–42, 186. property 117 plings in Commonwealth Iceland meant that illegitimacy was not viewed as a social stigma.101 Information about the illegitimate Solveig Sæmundardóttir supports this. Solveig, together with all of her illegitimate siblings, are described as ‘handsome and well bred’, not what one would expect for those socially stigmatized.102 Furthermore, the date of her death is noted, which is highly unusual for women, and even uncommon for men.103 Nordal argues that such a comment ‘is a testimony to the great esteem she was held in’.104 Her death may have been noted merely because the saga author was her husband’s cousin, but the author does not note the death of his sisters, sisters-in-law, other powerful cousins’ wives or the wives of many of the most influential chieftains. Clearly Solveig’s illegitimacy was not a social stigma for her, nor did it prevent her from inheriting, as noted earlier (see p. 103). Both she and her illegitimate cousin Hallveig Ormsdóttir inherited, despite the existence of their fathers’ legitimate sister and her legitimate chieftain son, neither of whom attempted to deprive Solveig or Hallveig of their inheritance. Illegitimate daughters could and did succeed to family lands. Þórðr Sturluson’s children, also noted earlier, are a further example of the numerous illegitimate offspring in the contemporary sagas who succeeded to family property, both sons and daughters, with and without legitimate siblings (see above, pp. 100–1). In the case of Þórðr’s daughters, all three inherited, one legitimate and two illegitimate. All three, however, inherited far less than their legitimate and even their illegitimate brothers. In this case gender appears more important than legitimacy for women, and the illegitimacy of sons did not favour legitimate daughters. Even in the case of the men, legitimacy may not have been the key issue in determining inheritance. It was common in Iceland for a man to designate an heir from among all his sons, setting that son up in his own household in his early twenties, and there are cases of illegitimate sons prevailing over legitimate.105 Böðvarr’s

101 Jochens, ‘Church and Sexuality’, 383–5; Auður Magnúsdóttir, ‘Ástir og völd’, 4–12; Agnes Arnórsdóttir, ‘Kvinner og “krigsmenn” ’, 120–2. Thyra Nors’s findings for Denmark support this theory. Thyra Nors, ‘Illegitimate Children and Their Highborn Mothers’, Scandinavian Journal of Medieval History, 21, 1 (1996), 17–37. 102 ‘fríð ok vel mennt’. SS, i, 242. 103 SS, i, 505. 104 Nordal, Ethics, 121. 105 Jochens, ‘En islande médiévale’, 98; Percivall, ‘Affection’, 55–7; Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, Chieftains and Power, 95. 118 chapter four preferential treatment in Þórðr’s division, as his father’s only legitimate son, should not be seen merely as a triumph of legitimacy, although it may have been that. Þórðr was at least fifty-one when he established Böðvarr in his own household between 1216 and 1218, when his other, illegitimate, sons were no more than eight.106 Age may be the crucial factor here. Þórðr was arguably reaching an age when he believed himself too old to wait much longer to choose an heir, and Böðvarr’s later actions certainly proved him capable of assuming the role his father had chosen for him. Had the ages of Böðvarr and the illegitimate son whom Þórðr favoured in 1237 been reversed in 1216–1218, the inheritance could have been very different. Of the nine widows who are known to have been illegitimate, two, Hallveig Ormsdóttir and Solveig Sæmundardóttir, inherited a substantial proportion of family lands.107 Of the remaining seven, five married a chieftain or a chieftain’s son, and it is probable that at least two of these women, Ingibjörg Guðmundardóttir and Helga Sæmundardóttir, received a substantial dowry.108 Clearly being born outside of marriage did not prevent women from inheriting. Illegitimacy might, however, have been a disadvantage. The two illegitimate women who succeeded to substantial family property had no legitimate siblings. The five non-inheriting women who married chieftains or their sons were all daughters of chieftains, which probably enabled them to make such advantageous marriages. The other two were also daughters of chieftains, but their husbands were of a much lesser rank, probably allowing these women to be married with very little wealth from their father.109 Their illegitimacy might not necessarily have been the major factor in their marriage and the extent of dowry, though. Legitimate daughters of chieftains, such as Álfheiðr Tumadóttir and Steinunn Sturludóttir, also married down and probably received a small dowry (see above, pp. 94–5, 101–3). Illegitimacy might have indicated which daughter was best placed for a particular alliance, but marriage generally also depended on other factors, such as a father’s social status and his political ambitions and opportunities.110

106 SS, i, 268, 271. 107 SS, i, 270–1, 299, 302–4. 108 SS, i, 60, 178, 302, 345, 447. 109 SS, i, 60, 88, 161. 110 Gunnar Karlsson, ‘Kenningin’, 54; Nordal, Ethics, 107. property 119

Table 4.6. Illegitimacy and inheritance illegitimate widow year of heiress married chieftain daughter of marriage / or chieftain’s son chieftain inheritance Þuríðr Sturludóttir1 by 1170 Halldóra Gizurardóttir2 by 1173 Vilborg Gizurardóttir3 by 1185 Ingibjörg 1192 Guðmundardóttir4 Hallveig Ormsdóttir5 mid-1210s Solveig Sæmundardóttir6 1223 Þórdís Snorradóttir7 1224 Helga Sæmundardóttir8 1231 Þuríðr Ormsdóttir9 1241 Source: SS, i—1 p. 88;2 p. 60;3 p. 161;4 pp. 175–8;5 pp. 242–3, 270–1, 302–4;6 pp. 242, 299;7 p. 302;8 p. 345;9 p. 447.

Illegitimacy in England was a different matter. David Bates contends that in the eleventh century young aristocratic men took on long-term partners outside of marriage, who were later either supplanted by a wife or kept alongside of one: ‘the sons of both unions might be considered as potential heirs’.111 Yet the Christian reforming ideal of the binding nature of marriage was having an effect by the eleventh century.112 Trafford has argued that from the twelfth century a transition was occurring in attitudes to illegitimacy and succession, in which the final outcome was that ‘only children born of a properly created family unit could have a claim to inherit property’.113 By the end of the twelfth century, Glanvill implies that the law did not allow bastards to inherit.114 This change did not, however, occur overnight, and it would be unwise to assume that children, especially sons, who did not succeed early in the twelfth century were therefore illegitimate.115 Evidence concerning the Yorkshire widows supports Trafford’s findings that by the mid-twelfth century illegitimate birth prevented

111 David Bates, ‘The Conqueror’s Adolescence’, ANS, 25 (2002), 1–18, at 5. 112 Pauline Stafford,Queen Emma and Queen Edith: Queenship and Women’s Power in Eleventh-Century England (Oxford, 1997), 66–75. 113 Trafford, ‘Forgotten Family’, 53. 114 Glanvill, 88. 115 Green, ‘Aristocratic Women’, 72. 120 chapter four inheritance. William de Percy II had at least two sons (Walter and Henry) and two daughters (Adeliza and Emma) who are believed to have been illegitimate, but the evidence for their illegitimacy was that their sisters Matilda and Agnes alone succeeded to Percy lands.116 Succession took place in 1175, and the fact that there were two brothers whose claims would have been passed over had they been legitimate, and two sisters who did not share in the partition of the Percy inheritance, does suggest that they were illegitimate. One brother losing out at this date might have occurred, but two, especially when there is no indication that either was involved in any political disturbances, would have been exceptional. We have already seen that inheritance practice, while by no means inflexible at this point, was becoming more stable. Assuming illegitimacy in this case is probably not imprudent. Other information suggests some disapproval of liaisons and illegitimacy by the mid-twelfth century, as well as the inability of bastards to inherit. Only one of the twenty-five Yorkshire women can be shown to have engaged in a documented extra-marital liaison, suggesting that perhaps the Church reforms concerning marriage and thus illegitimacy were taking hold in twelfth-century England. That none of the English widows entered an extra-marital relationship as widows, in sharp contrast to Iceland, perhaps suggests that this option was not widely available, whether because of Church opposition or political and/or family pressure to remarry.117 It may not have been an attractive option to the majority of aristocratic women. It may be significant that the one woman who had a relationship outside of marriage, Adeliza de Percy, daughter of William de Percy II, was herself probably illegitimate. On the other hand, Adeliza, who had a son before 1166 by Hugh de Puiset, bishop of Durham, went on to marry Richard de Moreville. Her marriage was not at the level of those of her half-sisters Matilda and Agnes, but Richard was a Mowbray tenant who in 1166 held a significant quantity of land amounting to five knights’ fees.118 And although Adeliza did not inherit any of the Percy barony, she received both dowry and dower at marriage.119 Moreover, her illegitimate son

116 EYC, xi, pp. 4–5; CP, x, pp. 442–3. 117 For a discussion of Icelandic extra-marital relationships, see below, pp. 163–6. 118 EYC, xi, p. 323; Red Book, i, p. 419. 119 That Adeliza received a dowry is indicated by her husband’s gift of Stockdale (land that belonged to the Percy fee) to the Percy foundation of Sallay abbey, and by William de Percy II’s confirmation of the gift. EYC, xi, nos. 253, 27, pp. 323, 37–8. That she received dower is indicated by a charter in which she confirmed a gift to St. property 121

Henry de Puiset, although he too did not inherit from his parents, did acquire family lands as gifts.120 Henry was given land by his father sufficient to allow him to found Finchale priory; he was given land by his aunt Matilda in Settle and Giggleswick of the Percy fee; he held Percy land in Normandy; and he married a rich widow.121 Illegitimacy may have prevented Adeliza from inheriting jointly with her sisters, but it did not put her, or her son, at a complete disadvantage. The social status of Adeliza’s father, and of Henry’s father and maternal grandfather, was some compensation and probably allowed them to marry reasonably well. Illegitimacy does appear to have been a bar to inheritance by the end of the twelfth century, as Glanvill states, but children born outside of marriage may not have been so stigmatized that they were prevented from marrying or acquiring family property through the generosity of kin. The possession of property by illegitimate children of both sexes and the giving of dowry to illegitimate daughters indicates that being born out of wedlock did not put one at a complete disadvantage in Iceland and England during the high Middle Ages. However, illegitimacy could be problematic, especially in England, where it appears to have prevented inheritance by the end of the twelfth century. While the Church’s influence probably played a role in the change of attiti- udes towards inheritance by bastards during the course of the twelfth century in England, it may have been political or familial, more often than ecclesiastical, issues which influenced the position of those born outside of marriage in Commonwealth Iceland.

Marital Assignments

So far discussion has centred on the inheritance a widow might have acquired from her natal family, at times including dowry as a significant

Peter’s hospital made by her husband of lands in which he, rather than the Percys, had an interest. EYC, xi, no. 297, pp. 364–5. The charter is dated 1167 to c. 1175. Her husband Richard, who was alive in 1166, was dead before the division of the Percy barony in 1175. Clay reasonably suggests that the confirmation was probably made by Adeliza shortly after she was widowed. William de Percy II also gave land (which he held in chief) with his other illegitimate daughter, Emma, in frank-marriage to William Malebisse. Book of Fees, i, p. 171. 120 For further information on this subject, see Trafford, ‘Forgotten Family’, 59–63. 121 EYC, xi, pp. 306–7; viii, pp. 141–7. 122 chapter four proportion of the overall family property. A daughter might, however, have obtained instead a small share of her family’s lands as dowry at marriage, and as a wife, she might have been given a brideprice or dower by her husband and his family. Dowry and brideprice / dower are the marital assignments discussed in this section. The Icelandic and English legal statements indicate that both marital assignments were customarily given, as has been suggested by several scholars. The information relating to widows in this study supports this. As noted earlier, six Icelandic widows are recorded as having received a dowry and two a brideprice. Although the contemporary sagas rarely mention dowry or brideprice explicitly, when they do the tone is matter-of-fact. For example, when Otkatla Þórólfsdóttir’s husband was feared dead, it was decided that ‘she was to have her brideprice and dowry, and it was pronounced what she should have in land or in movables’ if their fear was confirmed.122 In the case of Ingibjörg Guðmundardóttir’s betrothal, the end result was that the date of the wedding was set ‘and such wealth that [the groom] should have with her’, as if these two things were customary for all weddings.123 Details are given of the dowries of four further widows, and there is evidence that other women also received dowries.124 When Jón Snorrason murtr intended to make an offer of marriage for Helga Sæmundardóttir, he did not request a brideprice from his father. Rather he asked for ‘his kvánamundr’ (my italics), even specifying the property he wanted.125 Although his father refused Jón’s specific request, he did offer other lands instead, suggesting that Jón and his father both believed he was due a brideprice, even if its exact composition was open to negotiation. In addition to these specific cases of dowry and brideprice, eleven widows held land of unknown origin, some of whom probably held the property as a marital assignment. Nineteen widows held marital property after the death of their husband, arguably dower, although this property might have been either an heir’s inheritance held in custody by a widow rather than her brideprice, or a combination of an heir’s inheritance and a widow’s brideprice.

122 ‘hon átti at hafa mund sinn ok heimanfylgju, ok var á kveðit, hvat hon skyldi hafa í löndum eða lausum aurum.’ SS, i, 162. 123 ‘ok svá á fé, hvat hann skyldi hafa með henni’. SS, i, 178. 124 SS, i, 76 (Guðný Brandsdóttir), 105–6 (Þorlaug Pálsdóttir), 264 (Herdís Hrafnsdóttir), 480 (Ingibjörg Sturludóttir), 271 (Guðrún Ormsdóttir), 455 (Gyða Sölmundardóttir). 125 ‘kvánamundar honum’. SS, i, 335. property 123

The situation seems to have been similar in England. Very few documents specifically mention the words ‘dowry’ or ‘dower’. Gundreda de Warenne received the church of Little Fakenham as maritagium according to charter evidence, which she later gave to the priory of St. Denis.126 The Feet of Fines for Warwickshire relating to Matilda de Percy, and charters concerning Alice de St. Quintin and Sibyl de Valognes, name their dower lands.127 Dowry is known to have been given in nine instances, and a further nine were either dowry or inheritance. Dower was given to sixteen widows, and in one case land of unknown origin was held.128 In many of these instances dowry and dower is not explicitly named but can be deduced. For example, Agnes de Arches arguably received Appleton as dowry from her brother; it had been one of her father’s Domesday holdings and it descended to her heirs.129 She appears to have received Nunkeeling and Bewholme from her first husband as dower; Agnes held these lands, but her husband’s family had possession at the Domesday survey and they descended to his son from an earlier marriage.130 Another case is that of Emma de Port. Hambledon, Snailwell and Isleham were arguably her dowry. They formed part of the Port fee at the time of Domesday, and her husband’s family later held these lands as undertenants of her natal kin’s descendants.131 These are but a few of the many cases which indicate that both dowry and dower were common and customary. The evidence from both countries indicates the difficulty in determining which properties were marital assignments and which were acquired in another manner, such as through inheritance. Much wealth was acquired by Icelandic widows, the origins of which cannot be traced; some may have been dowry or dower. Among the Yorkshire widows very few lands which they held are of completely unknown origin, but in nine cases the property could have been either dowry or inheritance. The difficulty of tracing the origin of property is demonstrated, for example, by the lands of the daughters of William Meschin and Cecily de Rumilly I. It is not possible to determine definitively which lands they received as marriage portions and which as inheritance,

126 Mon. Angl, vi, p. 214. 127 Fines, Warwickshire, i, p. 14; EYC, i, no. 546, p. 426; xi, no. 89, p. 87. 128 See appendix 3. 129 DB, Yorkshire, 329a; EYC, i, nos. 541, 543, 545, pp. 419–26. 130 EYC, iii, nos. 1331–4, pp. 53–5; DB, Yorkshire, 324c; CP, xi, p. 368. 131 DB, Cambridgeshire, 199b–c; Hampshire, 46b–c; Red Book, i, pp. 207–8; Whitby cart., i, p. 3; EYC, ii, no. 860, p. 205; xi, no. 89, pp. 86–8. 124 chapter four which also underlines the problem of defining dowry in terms of pre- mortem inheritance.132 Alice probably received her mother’s Rumilly lands and her father’s Meschin lands at marriage or shortly thereafter, as noted earlier. These lands might have been seen as inheritance acquired at marriage, or a portion might have been designated as dowry while the rest was considered inheritance. They included the caput of the lordship each parent held, but it should be noted that if these lands did form part of her dowry, they were included only after her father and brother had died. Alice was then one of three co- heiresses who had the strongest claim on this property, and including them in her dowry at this point did not deprive a male heir of these lands as his share. Since Avice and Matilda were already married when their brother died and their mother’s lands were divided, they had presumably already received their dowries. The composition of these marriage portions is not known, but they did not include lands that were central to either their father’s barony of Copeland or their mother’s honour of Skipton, although the Meschin lands Avice received were extensive. One possibility is that they comprised the small number of lands in Devon, Dorset, Somerset and Huntingdonshire, far removed from the heart of the Rumilly holdings.133 Another is that their portions consisted of the lands of the Meschin fee, either instead of, or perhaps in addition to, their lands in Devon and Dorset. Avice may also have acquired Harewood as her maritagium. A compelling argument has been made for the passing of peripheral lands through the female line as dowry to avoid depleting the main patrimony.134 If the lands that formed the dowries of Avice and Matilda were arguably those in Devon, Dorset, Somerset, Huntingdonshire and/or Harewood, rather than the Meschin lands, this would be so in the case of William and Cecily’s daughters. The Rumilly lands could have been considered more suitable as dowry for Avice and Matilda, in order to keep their father’s Meschin lands together for their brother Ranulf. The fact that Ranulf succeeded his father in the barony of

132 See table 4.4 (above, p. 107) for details of the natal property acquired by the three sisters. 133 Green argues that dowries often comprised one or two manors remote from the centre, although they need not be small, especially if the king wished it otherwise. Green, ‘Aristocratic Women’, 64, 72. 134 Hughes, ‘From Brideprice to Dowry’, 281–2; Kathleen Hapgood Thompson, ‘Dowry and Inheritance Patterns: Some Examples from the Descendants of King Henry I of England’, Medieval Prosopography, 17, 2 (1996), 45–61. property 125

Copeland suggests that he was the heir apparent rather than his sisters. As such his father probably would have wished to maintain his own lordship intact for his son. The Rumilly lands that were given to the elder daughters were arguably peripheral even to the honour of Skipton. Those in Harewood and Huntingdonshire may not have been held by Avice and Matilda’s maternal grandfather Robert de Rumilly, since they cannot be traced to his possession, and there is no indication that they had ever formed part of the honour of Skipton.135 It may be that they were the lands of their maternal grandmother instead, perhaps brought as her dowry or inheritance to her marriage with Robert.136 The lands in Devon and Dorset were in the possession of Robert de Rumilly before the end of the eleventh century, having been acquired, with all of his English lands, after the compilation of the Domesday survey.137 He had given several churches and lands from his interests in these counties to Troarn abbey.138 His Devon and Dorset acquisitions, far removed from his caput in Yorkshire, might thus have been suitable to alienate as dowry for his granddaughters, since Robert had earlier alienated other land in his possession there. English dower appears to have been more straightforward as a marital assignment. However, it is often difficult to distinguish Icelandic brideprice from a widow’s custodianship of the paternal inheritance of her minor heir. This difficulty may be due to the differing nature of the source material, but it is more likely that little or no distinction was made between brideprice and a widow’s custody. At least sixteen widows continued to live at the main family farm and controlled the marital property, often later inherited by her and her husband’s heirs.139 It cannot be said that all of the wealth held by a widow was her brideprice, since it seems clear in several cases that she was holding the inheritance of her husband’s minor heirs in custody. One example is that of Guðný Böðvarsdóttir. Her husband Hvamm-Sturla Þórðarson died in 1183, leaving her a widow with five children between the

135 EYC, vii, pp. 4, 8–9, 38. 136 The land in Harewood was held, at the time ofDomesday , of the king by three men with names of Scandinavian origin (Thorr, Sprottr and Grimr).DB , Yorkshire, 301b. It cannot be determined whether Robert de Rumilly’s wife, whose name and parentage is unknown, received Harewood from one of these men. It is possible that the king confiscated the land after Domesday and then granted it to Robert. 137 EYC, vii, pp. 1–3, 42–4. 138 EYC, vii, pp. 1–2. 139 See appendix 3 for details. 126 chapter four ages of one and eighteen. She remained at her husband’s main farm Hvammur for many years, even after the children had all grown and married, although this farm almost certainly was not her brideprice. When Guðný married, Hvamm-Sturla was an established chieftain who had already lived at Hvammur for thirteen years, having made it the centre of his estates.140 It is very unlikely that he would have used such an important and central property to endow his young bride. There is further evidence that Guðný controlled the movable inheritance of at least one son, Snorri. Íslendinga saga states that at the time of his marriage, ‘Snorri was then penniless, because his mother had used up forty hundreds, which was his paternal inheritance’.141 Considerable wealth might have been left in the hands of a widowed mother with young children, and in such cases her brideprice might have been irrelevant. Widows, like Guðný, might have managed their husband’s estate as if the entire portion was their brideprice, which according to Grágás, they owned outright. In such circumstances, it is impossible to distinguish between the brideprice and custodianship, and such a distinction might not be appropriate. The extent of marital assignments seems to have varied. In the three of the four specified Icelandic dowries, and in all of the English ones, women received land, but some received movables as well.142 Evidence of land as opposed to movables is more likely to have survived. Ingibjörg Sturludóttir’s dowry was substantial and included the important farm at Sælingsdalstunga, while Herdís Hrafnsdóttir received the marginal farm of Stakkar, which her father had only acquired about a decade earlier.143 Both women had brothers, and both were daughters of a chieftain, so the discrepancy between dowries could not have been due to social status or a position as heiress. Among the Yorkshire widows dowries also varied. Gundreda de Warenne and Isabel de Brus received land in one vill as dowry, Agnes de Arches in two, Emma de Port in three, and Emma de Gant and possibly Alice de St. Quintin in four.144

140 SS, i, 68. 141 ‘Snorri var þá félauss, því at móðir hans hafði eytt fjórum tigum hundraða, þeim er hann tók eftir föður sinn.’ SS, i, 237. 142 The fourth Icelandic woman, Þorlaug Pálsdóttir, received thirty hundreds in movable wealth but no land. SS, i, 106. 143 SS, i, 480, 216, 264. 144 Mon. Angl, vi, p. 214; Book of Fees, i, p. 282 (Gundreda de Warenne). EYC, ii, no. 668, p. 24–5 (Isabel de Brus). DB, Yorkshire, 329a; EYC, i, nos. 541, 543, 545, pp. 419–26; EYC, ii, nos. 856, p. 201 (Agnes de Arches). Whitby cart., i, p. 3; Red property 127

Other widows received much larger dowries, especially if they were heiresses. For example, Hawise countess of Aumale received the county of Aumale.145 Alice de Rumilly I seems to have received the honour of Skipton in marriage, although there are no extant sources recording which portion was classified as inheritance and which as dowry, if contemporaries would even have considered them separate entities in her case during the 1130s. Alice Paynel’s case is an unusual example (see above, pp. 97–8). Crouch views as her dowry the large portion of the Paynel fee which Henry II allowed her and her husband to retain in England after he restored to her brothers some English lands of the fee in the 1150s.146 But it is not certain that what she retained, rather than the entire estate, was intended as dowry at marriage, especially as it was just more than twice the amount of the English lands she was later forced to relinquish to her two eldest brothers.147 It may be that the portion she kept came to be seen as her dowry by contemporaries precisely because she retained it, perhaps thereby better fitting later twelfth-century definitions and expectations. So the extent of dowry seems to have varied in both Iceland and Yorkshire. The extent of Icelandic brideprice is, however, difficult to judge. The brideprice sought by Jón Snorrason was very large, and the one offered instead by his father was a reasonable size as well, consisting of both land and movables.148 The one specified brideprice was also very large, consisting of 100 hundreds.149 It is entirely possible that these assignments were recorded because they were exceptional, and that many women received only movables in Iceland. In England dower seems to have been less extensive, and the general view that dower consisted of a third of a husband’s land is not borne out by the Yorkshire evidence.150 For example, Sibyl de Valognes’s dower from her second

Book, i, pp. 207–8; EYC, ii, nos. 1201, 1203, pp. 481–3; EYC, xi, nos. 284–5, pp. 351–3 (Emma de Port). EYC, xi, pp. 18, 355, nos. 3, 89, 286–7, pp. 21, 86–8, 356–7 (Emma de Gant). EYC, i, nos. 541, 543, 545, pp. 419–216; EYC, iii, no. 1337, pp. 58–9 (Alice de St. Quintin). 145 Historical Works of Master Ralph de Diceto, Dean of London, edited from the original manuscripts by William Stubbs, RS lxviii, HMSO (London, 1876), ii, p. 3. 146 Crouch, King Stephen, 287. There is no evidence that Alice acquired any of her father’s Norman lands. EYC, vi, pp. 7–8, 18–21. 147 Red Book, i, p. 433; EYC, vi, pp. 7–11, 18–24, 33–4. 148 SS, i, 335. 149 SS, i, 401. 150 Green recognizes that assigned dower could be far less than the one-third taken as customary. Green, ‘Aristocratic Women’, 62. 128 chapter four husband included lands in two vills and the presentation to a church.151 Agnes de Arches also had dower in two places and the churches there from her first marriage; that of her subsequent marriages is unknown.152 Even dower given to heiresses does not appear to have been great. Matilda de Percy and Alice de Rumilly II (from her first marriage) are only recorded as having dower in one vill, while Alice II’s dower from her second marriage is unspecified land.153 Avice Meschin’s dower from her second marriage, which is arguably the largest of all the Yorkshire widows in the study, included two knights’ fees held of her daughter and son-in-law in 1166, plus Bingham held of her stepson; it thus accounted for only a small portion of the property her husband had held, assessed at approximately twenty-four knights’ fees.154 It is possible that known dower was less than what a widow held in total. As land apparently held in usufruct, which widows had little power to alienate, it is probably under-represented in the source material. It cannot therefore be stated with confidence that widows did not receive a third. However, based on the available information from Yorkshire, it appears that the contention that aristocratic widows generally held dower of one-third of their husband’s property merits further investigation and possibly reconsideration. The available information for both countries indicates that aristocratic women regularly received dowry and brideprice / dower. That even illegitimate women received these marital assignments suggests that they were customarily given. Grágás and the English statements allow some flexibility in the extent and composition of dowry and dower, which is reflected in the practice in both countries. Unfortunately, the sources do not always reveal what comprised marital assignments, and it is often difficult to distinguish between dowry and inheritance, especially in the case of heiresses. It is also difficult to distinguish between brideprice and custodianship of a minor’s inheritance, although this distinction may be a false one.

151 EYC, xi, nos. 79, 89, pp. 75, 87. 152 EYC, iii, nos. 1331–4, pp. 53–5; DB, Yorkshire, 324c; CP, xi, 368. 153 Fines, Warwickshire, i, 14; Fines, PRO, nos. 89, 93, pp. 73, 75; PR 11 John, pp. 94–5. 154 Red Book, i, p. 433; EYC, vi, no. 33, pp. 114–5. In order for Avice to have held one-third of her husband’s English property in dower, she would have needed to have held a further six knights’ fees of Paynel land in England, in addition to the two knights’ fees held of her son-in-law. property 129

Conclusion

This chapter asked what property widows held and how they acquired it. The question could not be confined to widowhood, because the circumstances and events of a widow’s life prior to and during marriage very often impacted on her position and situation after her husband’s death. Widows, it was argued, generally held dowry and brideprice/ dower; as heiresses, they occasionally held inheritance, and earlier property assignments played a major role in what they might possibly retain in widowhood. There were other types of wealth they could acquire, not least through management or custodianship of another’s property, and to a lesser extent as property given to them as gifts.155 The widows had mainly obtained their wealth in two ways—through inheritance or marriage, although the circumstances under which the acquisition took place varied not only from country to country, but also often from woman to woman. Family desires often played an important role in how family property devolved, but politics played its part as well, and family wishes were not always separate from or in conflict with politics or lordly interference. Inheritance was perhaps the manner in which a widow could acquire the most wealth, and this wealth came from her natal family. If a woman was designated as an heiress, she could potentially gain a vast fortune, especially if her father had been wealthy or a chieftain in Iceland, or a tenant-in-chief in England. Daughters and sisters generally inherited before more distant male relations in both countries, which, based on the Icelandic and Yorkshire evidence at least, seems to have put the close family unit before extended kin groups. This conclusion is in keeping with the historiography for Iceland. But it suggests that the argument that flexibility in inheritance practice in England allowed collateral males to inherit before lineal females as a result of the lord’s need of a man might be reconsidered. However, not all women inherited. The majority of women who became widows did not inherit when they had brothers, especially in England. There was more room for manoeuvre in Iceland, where widows not only inherited alongside brothers, but in a few cases acquired an equal or greater share. In these cases family had a significant role in deciding the inheritance, but family operating in political circumstances and

155 The issue of gifts will be dealt with in chapter six (see below, pp. 219, 236–7). 130 chapter four making decisions with a view to potential political alliances and gains. In the one atypical case in Yorkshire where a widow succeeded when she had brothers, the overriding concern was that of national politics and the decision of the king during a time of civil war. As far as division of inheritance among women is concerned, there is some difference between Iceland and Yorkshire. Variation and flexibility seem to characterize Commonwealth Iceland. Much was dependent on one’s family acting within political circumstances, as in the case of inheritance generally. However, in Yorkshire the evidence points to a gradual change over the course of the twelfth century. Earlier there was considerable flexibility in how division might occur between co- heiresses, depending on a combination of family influences and political circumstances affecting the inheritance. But as the century progressed it is possible to see the stabilization of custom. By the end of the century it appears as if all daughters or sisters could expect an equal share, although there were still exceptions to the norm. Such expectation left less room for manoeuvre for both families and lords, thereby perhaps restricting the opportunities of some women and some men. But it made for the security of all co-heiresses in acquiring a fair share of an inheritance. Illegitimacy had an impact on inheritance, and there is a notice- able difference between Iceland and Yorkshire. The focus on the close family in Iceland, coupled with the failure of the Church’s curtailment of extra-marital relationships and of their stigmatization of bastards, meant that illegitimacy was not a bar to inheritance throughout the Commonwealth period. Lineal females were preferred to collateral males, whatever their birth status might have been, and extra-marital liaisons were common. Yet illegitimacy could be a disadvantage, and it might have led to loss of natal property in the form of a lesser dowry. In Yorkshire, however, the evidence suggests that the Church’s teachings had begun to take effect. Only one widow was illegitimate, and she did not inherit. But illegitimacy did not deprive a person of all opportunities, and bastards could still do well with the support and generosity of their family. The second major way in which widows acquired property was through marriage. The marital assignments dowry and brideprice / dower appear to have been common and customary in both countries, though their size varied. Natal property in the form of dowry in both Iceland and Yorkshire ranged from small to very large. The few examples in the sagas of brideprice from a husband’s kin, how- property 131 ever, were large, but they might have been recorded because they were unusual, rather than because brideprices were generally quite extensive. English dower, also from a woman’s marital kin, is more easily recognizable in the charters and was usually relatively small, even for heiresses, although there may be questions about whether our sources reveal it in its entirety. The difficulty in distinguishing in the sources between dowry and inheritance in both countries, and between brideprice and custodianship of a minor heir’s lands in Iceland, makes it hard to establish just how important this manner of acquisition was. However, such distinctions may be artificial, since contemporaries might not have thought in these terms. A large dowry consisting of all of an heiress’s lands may not have been thought of as one or the other, but one and the same. And in Iceland brideprice and custodianship of an heir’s inheritance which had earlier formed part of the marital property might not have been distinguished until the heir came of age. So what does this information tell us? First, it suggests there was much flexibility in Iceland over property acquisition, for women as well as for men. Sharing of inheritance among all children had implications for marriage. If more daughters acquired a larger share of parental property, it would provide more attractive marriage partners for aristocratic sons. In a society where one son was established by his father when he was still relatively young, and a further son might be established some years later if his father had the wealth to do so, the likelihood of marriage for several sons at a young age increased. Consequently, the need for suitable daughters to marry also increased. This, coupled with the use of marriage as one of the most important means of establishing political alliances in Commonwealth Iceland, could have fostered flexibility in inheritance practices and the potential for sharing of inheritance by all children. Furthermore, if illegitimacy did not necessarily exclude one from inheritance, more widows might have been willing to have extra-marital relations, since their children could still be considered as their father’s heirs. Widows might thus have had an option which gave them a degree of freedom from their natal kin, if they wished to make use of it. In Yorkshire there was some flexibility in inheritance practice and providing marital assignments, but it seems that as the twelfth century progressed, and customs became more stable, less leeway existed in how one’s family or lord could bestow property. In one way such a transition could work to the advantage of women. All daughters or 132 chapter four sisters could expect roughly equal treatment. Female inheritance was established in the absence of sons as lineal descent was preferred to collateral male kin. Such changes probably opened up more opportunities for marriage, as in Iceland, since more women inherited, and they gained an equal share. But the changes were not always beneficial, since some women might not have wanted to marry, or remarry, but their greater acquisitions made them attractive brides. More wealth for women often meant they were subject to more control. In addition, the bar to illegitimates inheriting would have given many Yorkshire women reason to think twice before entering an extra-marital relationship, thus closing one of the possibilities still available to their contemporaries in Iceland, and tightening the control their kin had over them. These questions of marriage, remarriage and sexual relationships will be pursued further in the next chapter. This chapter has established that a widow’s property might be of diverse origin, perhaps more from her natal kin than her marital. In societies where land was so significant, this question of property and its origin may have implications for the self-identity and perceived identity of these women, questions which will be examined in chapter seven. Land was also the source of prestige, and the ability to control and use it a source of power. Property as land could clearly come into the hands of women. What they might and did do with it, and the implications of that for their power and authority, will be discussed in chapter six. CHAPTER FIVE

REMARRIAGE

This chapter examines a critical question for widows, a question which has interested historians. Was remarriage the normal fate of a widow? There are many questions relevant here, and a number of factors to be examined. Did widows remarry more than once? Did all widows have the opportunity to remarry? What impact did wealth, age, rank, fertility and children have on remarriage? Was there one overwhelmingly significant factor? How far did a widow have any say in or control over remarriage, and what affected her ability to refuse an unwanted union? Her natal or marital kin might have had significant influence over remarriage. But the tensions between family interests and lordship, evident in the legal sources, might have subjected a widow to pressure from a third party. On the other hand, such tensions might have provided a widow with more options, perhaps making this an area where a widow gained some room for manoeuvre. Were there other options for widows, such as extra-marital relationships or entering a nunnery? Liaisons might be seen as another example of freedom of action, although the influence of the Church or resistance from family might have prevented this from being an acceptable alternative. Answers to these questions should further illuminate the lives of widows, as well as indicate what options and opportunities widows had in twelfth- and thirteenth-century Iceland and twelfth-century Yorkshire.

Marriage Patterns and Age at First Marriage

Before considering remarriage, its significance for the Icelandic and Yorkshire widows and the factors that impacted on it, an overview of marital demographics would be beneficial. Several scholars have looked at the demographics of medieval marriage in Europe. J. Hajnal’s pio- neering study of European marriage patterns from the late medieval period onward is a crucial starting point for any discussion on this 134 chapter five topic.1 He recognized a marriage pattern which has been accepted as distinctly ‘European’. It is characterized by late first marriage for both women and men (in the mid-twenties), and by a high percentage of the population who never marry, unlike most societies elsewhere in the world. Hajnal has argued for such a pattern in all of Europe, with the exception of eastern and south-eastern regions, from the 1800s. This pattern is also discernable in northwest Europe from the sixteenth century. However, based on evidence from the 1377 Poll Tax returns and Hollingsworth’s study of the English peerage, Hajnal claims, albeit tentatively, that medieval England was characterized by a different pattern. He argues for an earlier age at first marriage, especially for women (on average at about twenty years), and for a low percentage of the population who never marry. This pattern is more closely akin to the non-European marriage pattern found elsewhere, or at least to those countries, like Greece and Hungary, which fell between the European and non-European areas. Georges Duby and David Herlihy agree with Hajnal’s interpretation of the data regarding medieval marriage in Europe.2 Duby asserted that patrilineage emerged in the twelfth century as the dominant model of family organization, and Herlihy agreed. According to this model, families, and especially high-ranking families, sought to marry off all daughters but, as heir to the family patrimony, only the eldest surviving son. Any son wishing to marry had to be able to support his new wife financially, which the heir was well placed to do, whereas his non-inheriting brothers were not. This, in turn, would have lead to increased competition in the marriage market because there were more marriageable women than men. Competition for a husband among women is likely to have led women (or their parents on their behalf) to seek marriage at a younger age. Many men, on the other hand, probably had to wait longer to marry, if they married at all. Such circumstances would have led to a young age at marriage for women, a large gap in age between husband and wife, and the likelihood that many women and men remained unmarried. Herlihy has cited evi-

1 J. Hajnal, ‘European Marriage Patterns in Perspective’, in Population and History: Essays in Historical Demography, eds D.V. Glass and D.E.C. Eversley (London, 1965), 101–43. 2 Georges Duby, Medieval Marriage: Two Models from Twelfth-Century France, trans. by E. Forster (Baltimore, 1978), 8–12; David Herlihy, Medieval Households (London, 1985), 82–103. remarriage 135 dence for a young age at first marriage for women in Europe during the high and later Middle Ages. He suggested that the common age for first marriage fell between the ages of sixteen and eighteen, with an average for late twelfth-century England calculated from information in the Rotuli de dominabus et pueris et puellis being 18.4 years of age.3 However, it must be noted that this evidence comes exclusively from the aristocracy, the urban patriciate and Saints’ Lives; it is entirely possible, as Herlihy himself noted, that lower-ranking women were older when they first married. Men, on the other hand, appear to have been older than women, although it is more difficult to give an average age. The ages of marriage for males seem also to have been more subject to change than those of females, and were more sensitive to conditions favoring or obstructing the formation of new households.4 Herlihy has suggested that German noblemen and city patricians were in their early to mid-twenties when they first married, often to girls six to eight years younger.5 There is no doubt that Hajnal, Duby and Herlihy have done some excellent and important work, but the argument for a universal non- European marriage pattern in medieval England has been challenged. Hajnal’s interpretation of the 1377 Poll Tax returns has been called into question by scholars, including Richard M. Smith.6 Smith points out that Hajnal was probably unaware of doubts over the reliability of the returns. The probable under-recording of females has been accepted generally, and it is likely that most of the women who do not feature in the returns were unmarried. Therefore, until the reasons for the existence of far fewer females than males in the Poll Tax returns can be explained, Smith asserts that ‘it would be erroneous to proceed as if the English Poll Taxes indicate the existence of a non- European marriage pattern in the late fourteenth century’.7 His own work on the poll tax evidence for Rutland, Oxfordshire, Nottinghamshire and Leicestershire indicates a much higher age at first marriage for

3 Herlihy, Medieval Households, 103–7. 4 Herlihy, Medieval Households, 107. 5 Herlihy, Medieval Households, 109. 6 Richard M. Smith, ‘Some Reflections on the Evidence for the Origins of the “European Marriage Pattern” in England’, in The Sociology of the Family: New Directions for Britain, ed. C. Harris (Keele, 1979), 74–112. 7 Smith, ‘Some Reflections’, 84. 136 chapter five men and a higher proportion of the population who never married.8 Furthermore, other evidence, from medieval manorial court rolls and York matrimonial litigation, seems to indicate relatively late first marriage for women, especially in towns, the lack of almost universal marriage and a lifecycle period of service before marriage for many men and women during their teens and early twenties.9 This evidence, however, focuses mainly on the non-aristocratic classes in both town and countryside in England, and it is possible that those of higher rank followed a non-European marriage pattern. Hollingsworth’s research has indicated that both males and females of the British peerage married at a younger age than their social inferi- ors in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. His calculations put the average age for first marriage at 17.1 for aristocratic women and 22.4 for aristocratic men, which is similar to the non-European marriage pattern.10 It is likely that the families of these young people would wish to keep the patrimony out of the hands of a lord, should an untimely death cause a young heir to come into his or her fortune before coming of age. Since untimely deaths were far from uncommon in the Middle Ages, it would be sensible for an heir’s kin to marry off the heir at a young age. This would act as insurance against the heir becoming

8 Smith, ‘Some Reflections’, 83. 9 Richard M. Smith, ‘Geographical Diversity in the Resort to Marriage in Late Medieval Europe: Work, Reputation, and Unmarried Females in the Household Formation Systems of Northern and Southern Europe’, in Woman is a Worthy Wight: Women in English Society c. 1200–1500, ed. P.J.P. Goldberg (Stroud, 1992), 16–59; idem, ‘Hypothèses sur la nuptialité en Angleterre aux XIIIe–XIVe siècle’, Annales: Economies, Sociétés, Civilisations, 38 (1983), 107–36; P.J.P. Goldberg, ‘“For Better, For Worse”: Marriage and Economic Opportunity for Women in Town and Country’, in Woman is a Worthy Wight, 108–25; Cecily Howell, Land, Family and Inheritance in Transition: Kibworth Harcourt, 1280–1700 (Cambridge, 1983), 222–35; H.E. Hallam, ‘Age at First Marriage and Age at Death in the Lincolnshire Fenland, 1252–1478’, Population Studies, 39 (1985), 55–69; P.J.P. Goldberg, ‘Marriage, Migration, and Servanthood: The York Cause Paper Evidence’, in Woman is a Worthy Wight, 1–15; Peter Fleming, Family and Household in Medieval England (Berkshire, 2001), 20. It should be noted that Zvi Razi’s interpretation of the evidence from the manorial court records of Halesowen, Worcestershire contradicts this view of late marriage, arguing for relatively early marriage in the late teens or very early twenties for men and women alike in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. Zvi Razi, Life, Marriage and Death in a Medieval Parish: Economy, Society and Demography in Halesowen, 1270–1400 (Cambridge, 1980). But for a critique of Razi’s analysis, see P.J.P. Goldberg, Women, Work and Life-Cycle in a Medieval Economy: Women in York and Yorkshire, c. 1300–1520 (Oxford, 1992), 204–11. 10 T.H. Hollingsworth, ‘A Demographic Study of the British Ducal Families’, Population Studies, 11, 1 (July 1957), 4–26, at 13–4. remarriage 137 a ward and having control over his or her lands and marriage placed in the hands of a guardian. The evidence from the Rotuli de dominabus, stated above, certainly seems to corroborate this argument. Yet not all scholars agree with this interpretation. Although Peter Fleming recognizes the allure of this strategy for high-ranking families, he argues that other factors must have been at play in England. He presents evidence from various sources that age at first marriage among medieval elites was on the borderline between the European and non-European marriage patterns described by Hajnal, and that very early marriages were the exception rather than the norm. His calculations place the average age at first marriage among the aristocracy and gentry between seventeen and twenty-four for females, at about twenty-one for male heirs apparent, and between twenty- one and twenty-six for younger sons.11 In his detailed and extensive study of the British medieval population, J.C. Russell also argued for a late age at first marriage based on evidence from theInquisitions post mortem.12 Furthermore, this evidence appears to indicate that the age at which those women who were married began to outnumber those women who were not married gradually decreased from twenty-four in the late thirteenth century, to twenty in the mid-fourteenth century, and finally to fifteen in the late fifteenth century. If this trend is correct, then it is possible that for the elite in the high Middle Ages, a different marriage pattern—perhaps falling between the European and non-European pattern—was in play, and it gradually shifted to resemble the non-European pattern towards the end of the medieval and the beginning of the early modern period. Moving from England to another part of northern Europe, the only research relating to marital demographics in Iceland concerns a small group of men from the chieftain class. Nic Percivall has studied the age at first marriage for seventeen men in twelfth- and thirteenth-century Iceland, placing the average age at twenty-four.13 This age is close to that which would be expected in the European marriage pattern. At first glance, this seems slightly unexpected. The Icelandic men were of

11 Fleming, Family and Household, 21–2. 12 Josiah Cox Russell, British Medieval Population (Albuquerque, NM, 1948), 156–8. 13 Nic Percivall, ‘Teenage Angst: The Structures and Boundaries of Adolescence in Twelfth- and Thirteenth-Century Iceland’, in Youth and Age in the Medieval North, ed. S. Lewis-Simpson, The Northern World, vol. 42 (Leiden, 2008), 127–49, at 145–6. 138 chapter five the highest rank, and only one was neither a chieftain nor heir to a chieftain, yet they appear to have married somewhat later than their aristocratic counterparts in late medieval England. One contributing factor might be that, while early marriage appears uncommon among the male Icelandic elite, stable, monogamous liaisons were not.14 It would be useful to have an average age at first marriage for Icelandic women from the chieftain class to compare with the English data, to better evaluate where medieval Iceland falls in relation to the European and non-European marriage patterns. Taken as a whole, the evidence for age at first marriage in medieval Europe, and especially medieval England, suggests that late, compan- ionate marriage was common among the urban population, with a high percentage of people never marrying. Age at first marriage might have been slightly lower among the rural peasantry. The evidence relating to the aristocracy and gentry is, on the other hand, less clear cut. It does not appear as if a European marriage pattern applied. Whether the average age at first marriage was in the mid- or late teens, or indeed even in the early twenties, for women, and in the late teens or early to mid-twenties for men, is uncertain. It is also difficult to determine how many high-ranking men and women remained unmarried. The limited available evidence for twelfth-century England suggests an average age at first marriage for women of the landholding elite in the late teens and for their male counterparts in the early twenties. For Iceland, a very tentative average age of twenty-four has been suggested for men of the chieftain class; as yet, no investigation has been made for high-ranking women. At this point, it is worth recalling that Smith has questioned the notion of treating the circumstances of unmarried women in late medieval Europe as regionally undifferentiated. It becomes increasingly apparent that Europe lacked homogeneity with regard to its kinship patterns and family norms, which to a very considerable extent, determined whether there were large numbers of unmarried women in the age group 15–30.15 He argues for far greater diversity within Europe, and an acknowl- edgement that specific trends, such as the number of females in the role of servant, might mean different things within the same type of

14 Percivall, ‘Teenage Angst’, 144. 15 Smith, ‘Geographical Diversity’, 44. remarriage 139 household formation system in different regions. If he is correct, then it would be wise to treat any generalizations that can be made about average age at marriage in England and Iceland in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries as a reference point which might be adapted to individuals in specific situations or depending on personal circumstances. But it would also be useful to compare age at first marriage in the two regions, to attempt to further an understanding of marital patterns in medieval Europe.

Marital Demographics

Apart from age at first marriage, marital demographics (such as length of marriage, number of children, incidence of widowhood, duration of widowhood, likelihood of remarriage, etc.) for England and Iceland in the high Middle Ages have not been studied or discussed extensively, in part due to the limitations presented by the sources. For the twelfth and thirteenth centuries in these regions, detailed, labour-intensive work is necessary to reconstruct families in order to calculate dates of birth, marriage and death, so vital for a study of marital demographics. A few scholars have attempted this kind of reconstruction for England, albeit almost exclusively for the later medieval period, when sources are more plentiful and more likely to record age and marital status.16 There is no comparable work for Iceland. Length of marriage in medieval England appears to have been variable in the extreme. RaGena DeAragon has studied fifty-eight dowager countesses under the Norman and Angevin kings, who made a total of ninety-nine marriages. Enough information exists about fifty of these

16 For demographics relating to widows, see RaGena C. DeAragon, ‘Dowager Countesses, 1069–1230’, Anglo-Norman Studies: Proceedings of the Battle Conference, 17 (1994), 87–100; Joel T. Rosenthal, ‘Aristocratic Widows in Fifteenth-Century England’, in Women and the Structure of Society, eds B.T. Harris and J.K. McNamara (Durham, NC, 1984), 36–47. For an examination of the number of children per family, including those of the medieval English monarchs, see Russell, British Medieval Population, 164–9. For a similar examination, as well as more general demographics among the upper classes, such as life expectancy, child mortality and reproduction rates, see Hollingsworth, ‘Demographic Study’, 4–26. For length of marriage and reproduction rates among peasants, see Barbara Hanawalt, The Ties That Bound: Peasant Families in Medieval England (Oxford, 1986), 90–5; Howell, Land, Family and Inheritance, 222–35; Razi, Life, Marriage and Death, 32, 75, 85–8, 93, 139–44. For a survey of relevant literature pertaining to marital demographics in the later Middle Ages, see Fleming, Family and Household, 65–70. 140 chapter five marriages to determine their length. The two shortest unions were only a few months long and just over two years, while of the longest, two lasted for over forty years and a third lasted for forty-seven years. The average length of marriage among the aristocratic widows was seventeen years.17 Poll Tax returns from 1379 for the village of Kibworth Harcourt indicate that, when marriage length can be determined, over half of the peasant couples recorded were married for at least sixteen years, while over one-quarter were still together twenty-five years after their wedding.18 Several scholars have commented on the average number of children per family in medieval Europe, although this estimate is difficult to determine. A major problem, especially for the high Middle Ages, is the incomplete and inconsistent recording of births. It is likely that births among the highest ranks were recorded more frequently, although even here there are substantial gaps. The under-reporting of females was common in medieval Europe, and sometimes younger sons were also overlooked.19 Another problem is that household size fluctuated according to the lifecycle of the family; any recording of family members in a medieval document would only indicate the size of that family at a specific point in time, not allowing for its growth or reduction over time. For example, the household of young, recently established newlyweds would be very small; that same couple might have numerous children living at home fifteen or twenty years later; in middle age, some or all of their children might have left home or died; finally, in old age only one spouse might be left as a single head of household, or perhaps be absorbed into a child’s household. Recording household size at different stages in the family’s lifecycle would indicate a different number of children at each stage. Furthermore, household size was often influenced by wealth. It is likely that higher-ranking families tended to have more children, because they had better living conditions and nutrition, better access to medical aid, and higher fertility since they could afford wet nurses.20 These issues are less problematic for late Commonwealth Iceland. The contemporary sagas

17 DeAragon, ‘Dowager Countesses’, 89–91. 18 Howell, Land, Family and Inheritance, 222–9. 19 DeAragon, ‘Dowager Countesses’, 91; Georges Duby, ‘Structures de parenté et noblesse dans la France du Nord aux XIe et XIIe siécles’, in Hommes et structures du moyen âge (Paris, 1973), 273, 279. 20 Fleming, Family and Household, 63, 66, 69. Extended breastfeeding tends to depress fertility, and it often acts as a kind of natural contraceptive by preventing remarriage 141 include numerous sections devoted to the genealogies of prominent Icelandic families. These genealogies are generally more complete than those which can be reconstructed for high-ranking families in twelfth- century England. However, no one has yet attempted to analyse the number of children per family in Commonwealth Iceland. Despite the problem of incomplete data, attempts at estimating number of children per mother or per marriage have been undertaken for medieval England. Russell examined the legitimate offspring of the eighteen post-Conquest English kings, from William I to Henry VII. Twenty-two marriages produced ninety-four children, an average of 4.3 per couple. If the six marriages that produced no children are discounted, then there are ninety-four children between sixteen marriages, an average of 5.9 per couple.21 However, Russell rightly notes that this sample is small and that the number of children per marriage varied widely. Six marriages were barren; three marriages produced one child; two marriages produced four children, two produced five and two produced ten; and the remaining seven marriages produced two, three, seven, eight, nine, eleven and thirteen children.22 The average number of children per widow (not per marriage) among DeAragon’s fifty-eight dowager countesses was 3.1. If only the forty-seven women who bore children are counted, then the average per woman was 3.9. However, the total number of boys was 111, as opposed to only 72 females, possibly indicating an under-reporting of daughters. If so, then the average per woman would have been slightly higher. Like the English kings, DeAragon’s group also appears to have been characterized by variety. Eleven women did not bear children; forty-seven did. Several women had one, two, three, four or five children; one dowager had as many as ten.23

ovulation. Thus, women who feed their own infants and toddlers usually have fewer children than women who employ wet nurses. 21 Russell did not present his calculations exactly as these are presented. Russell combined Henry I’s two marriages into one, as he did for King John, and he did not count Henry V’s marriage at all; he therefore counted twenty-two marriages as nineteen. He also counted ninety-four children as ninety-five, including an illegitimate child of Henry I’s among his two legitimate children. I have adjusted the statistics accordingly. 22 Russell, British Medieval Population, 164–5. 23 DeAragon, ‘Dowager Countesses,’ 91. 142 chapter five

In most cases, marriage was ended by the death of a spouse.24 Although many women died in childbirth and left widowers, widowhood also appears to have been common in the medieval period. Rowena E. Archer has examined 151 noble holdings for the fifteenth century and discovered that 375 of the 495 holders of these titles were widows.25 Even if many of these women had married men who had previously lost a wife, 76% is still a very high percentage of women who outlived a husband. Hollingsworth’s research supports this. The percentage of fourteenth- and fifteenth-century ducal family members who survived the age-period 20 to 54 for men and 15 to 49 for women was 18% and 50%, respectively.26 If women were roughly the same age as or younger than their husbands when they married, then there would have been a far higher number of women who lost a spouse. Widows may have been common, but it does not automatically follow that their experience of widowhood was the same. In his study of fifteenth-century aristocratic widows in England, Joel T. Rosenthal has noted variety in the women who became widows, as well as variety in their period of widowhood. Some women had already been widowed, possibly more than once, when their subsequent husbands died, and others were widowed for the first time. The marriages of the various women were of short, medium and long duration, followed by both short and long widowhoods. Some widows remarried; others did not. Some women were widows of non-aristocratic men when they remarried aristocrats. Some were widows of aristocrats and subsequently

24 Divorce was also a legal possibility in Iceland. Although not unknown in the Commonwealth period, it does not appear to have been common. Sturlunga saga records only six instances; the most cited reason for divorce is incompatibility, often due to or resulting in a lack of children. See SS, i, 53, 54, 124, 138; i, 102; i, 186; i, 231; i, 271, 304; i, 346. In addition, Snorri Sturluson and Herdís Bersadóttir apparently separated, but they might not have formally divorced since Snorri seemed unable to remarry. SS, i, 52, 237, 304. See Nordal, Ethics, 121–2, 124–8, for a discussion of this separation and divorce in general. (Nordal argues that one of the six couples, Ingimundr Þorgeirsson prestr and Sigríðr Tumadóttir, do not divorce in 1174 when they separated, despite incompatibility, because Ingimundr’s death ended their marriage first. This, however, is incorrect. Ingimundr did not die until 1189, yet his wife Sigríðr had remarried Sigurðr Ormsson and subsequently died before Sigurðr’s remarriage in 1187. SS, i, 53, 54, 124, 138.) 25 Rowena E. Archer, ‘“How ladies . . . who live on their manors ought to manage their households and estates”: Women as Landholders and Administrators in the Later Middle Ages’, in Woman is a Worthy Wight: Women in English Society, c. 1200–1500, ed. P.J.P. Goldberg (Stroud, 1992), 149–81, at 162. 26 Hollingsworth, ‘British Ducal Families’, 17. remarriage 143 married a lower-ranking husband, while others married another aristocrat.27 DeAragon has also noticed this variety among mid-eleventh- to early thirteenth-century dowager countesses. Thirty-three of these fifty-eight (57%) widows remarried, while twenty-five (43%) did not.28 The figures are fairly similar for fifteenth-century widows of peers: seventy-three of 162 (45%) widows remarried, while eighty-nine (55%) did not.29 Of those who remarried in both periods, it was more common to marry down, albeit not the only option. Seven of the thirty- three dowager countesses married another earl, and twenty-eight of the seventy-three widows of fifteenth-century peers married another aristocrat.30 The duration of the period between marriages and the duration of widowhood also varied. Most widows in both DeAragon’s and Rosenthal’s research remarried within one to two years of a husband’s death. The shortest widowhoods could be very short. One widow remarried within days of being widowed, while others remarried after about two months, three to four months, eight to nine months and nine to ten months. However, some women waited five, or even ten or more years to enter another union. The average was about three years.31 Length of widowhood was similarly diverse. Of the widows who outlived their final husband, 15% of the dowagers, and 33% of the peers’ widows, died within five years of losing their spouse. But twenty of eighty (25%) fifteenth-century widows also survived their husbands by twenty years or more, while one thirteenth-century countess outlived her husband by sixty-one years.32 Clearly, this supports Rosenthal’s assertion that widowhood was a common condition, as measured by its statistical incidence, but it was not a common lot in the sense of embracing any essential set of attendant characteristics. In its multifold variety widowhood was but another facet of the role allotted to women in the social structure.33

27 Joel T. Rosenthal, ‘Aristocratic Widows’, 37–8. 28 DeAragon, ‘Dowager Countesses’, 89. 29 Rosenthal, ‘Aristocratic Widows’, 40, 43. 30 DeAragon, ‘Dowager Countesses’, 90; Rosenthal, ‘Aristocratic Widows’, 44. 31 DeAragon, ‘Dowager Countesses’, 90; Rosenthal, ‘Aristocratic Widows’, 39. 32 Rosenthal, ‘Aristocratic Widows’, 40. See also DeAragon, ‘Dowager Countesses’, 92. 33 Rosenthal, ‘Aristocratic Widows’, 40. 144 chapter five

Marital Demographics for Icelandic and Yorkshire Widows

Now that we’ve looked at the historiography of medieval marital demographics, it is time to turn to the Icelandic and Yorkshire widows. Enough information exists about thirty-seven of the fifty Icelandic widows and twenty of the twenty-five Yorkshire widows to calculate an average age at first marriage.34 A tentative average for Iceland is 21.4 and for Yorkshire 19.8. These figures suggest that both medieval Yorkshire and Iceland, like the marginal countries of Greece and Hungary, might have fallen between the European and non-European marriage patterns, and that high-ranking Icelandic women might have married a little later than their Yorkshire counterparts. Such a theory fits with Percivall’s findings on age at first marriage for Icelandic men, noted above. Apart from these tentative conclusions, it does not seem prudent to speculate further on age at first marriage. Further research is needed to attempt a more definitive average age and determine the marriage pattern prevalent in each region. Length of marriage in the later Commonwealth and twelfth-century Yorkshire varied from woman to woman. The fifty Icelandic widows made a total of seventy-one marriages (including four stable, long- term sexual relationships), and the twenty-five widows from Yorkshire entered into forty-eight marriages.35 Enough information exists about forty-six Icelandic and thirty-four Yorkshire marriages or sexual relationships to determine their length.36 One marriage in Iceland lasted only a few days, while a further two ended within a year. In Yorkshire, four marriages might have lasted less than a year (although they could also have lasted up to eight, eleven, fifteen and twenty years). The longest marriages in Iceland lasted for thirty-eight or thirty-nine years and for fifty to fifty-six years. In Yorkshire, they lasted for twenty-five

34 See appendices 1 and 2 for the information on which these calculations are based. 35 The four widows who conducted stable extra-marital relationships were Álof Þorgeirsdóttir, Yngvildr Þorgilsdóttir (her union with Bishop Klængr Þorsteinsson), Úlfheiðr Gunnarsdóttir and Hallveig Ormsdóttir. While these relationships were not formalized marriages, they seem to have been treated as informal marriages at the very least by both partners, as well as by society. None of the men took other lovers or married while conducting these relationships, and each of the four women bore her partner at least one child. 36 Only marriages for which information concerning the least and greatest possible number of years for their length are used in these calculations. See appendices 1 and 2 for the information on which these calculations are based. remarriage 145 or twenty-six years and forty-four to fifty years. The average length of marriage among the widows was between 12.9 and 19.7 years in Iceland and between 10.8 and 17.4 in Yorkshire.37 A breakdown of the marriages by five-year periods is illuminating:

Table 5.1. Duration of marriage years Icelandic widows Yorkshire widows 0–5 17 8 6–10 8 14 11–15 9 6 16–20 4 2 21–25 0 3 26 + 8 1 Compiled from information in appendices 1 and 2.

That so many more Icelandic than Yorkshire women lost husbands within five years of marriage suggests that many Icelandic marriages might have been cut short prematurely. This is hardly surprising, given the large number of men reportedly killed by an enemy during the later Commonwealth period (see below, pp. 172–3). Of the seventeen times a woman was widowed within five years of marriage, eleven husbands were killed violently. Seven of the seventeen widowings that occurred between six and fifteen years after marriage were also due to the violent death of a partner. Only three husbands of the twelve women married for more than fifteen years were killed. There is no indication that any of the Yorkshire widows’ husbands were killed, although the English charters generally are not concerned with this kind of information. However, even if some of the Yorkshire men were deliberately killed, it is unlikely that nearly half, as in Iceland, would have died violently without leaving some record. Children, or at least some children, are known for most of the widows in both groups. In Iceland, thirty-nine women are reported to have had 133 children whose sex is known, seventy-two (54%) boys and sixty-one (46%) girls.38 In Yorkshire, twenty-three women are

37 The span of time for the average length of marriage is calculated from the average of the least number of years a marriage could have lasted and from the average of the greatest number of years. 38 Five widows had no children, and it is not possible to determine whether or not six others had any children. See appendix 1 and 2 for details of all of the Icelandic and Yorkshire widows’ children. 146 chapter five reported to have had eighty-five children, fifty-two (61%) boys and thirty-three (39%) girls. The Icelandic figures appear to indicate that girls were not under-reported, or at least not significantly for the highest ranks, as elsewhere in Europe. The percentages compare well with those DeAragon noticed for Norman and Angevin England (61% boys and 39% girls), as well as with the children of Yorkshire widows. Taking into account the five children whose sex is unknown, the average number of children per Icelandic woman was 2.8 (3.5 if childless widows are excluded).39 Five widows had no children, 8 had one child, 8 had two, 4 had three, 12 had four, 1 had five, 2 had six, 1 had eight, 1 had nine and 2 had ten. For Yorkshire, the average per woman was 3.4 (3.7 excluding childless women). Two women had no children, 3 had one, 4 had two, 4 had three, 5 had four, 4 had five, 2 had seven and 1 had eight. Similar to DeAragon’s and Russell’s findings for medieval England, the widows’ experience of family size was diverse. Widowhood, as noticed by Rosenthal and DeAragon, seems to have been characterized by variety. Of the fifty from Iceland, thirty-four did not remarry and sixteen did. Fifteen remarried once and one remarried twice. Widows more often remarried someone equal in rank (twelve) to their previous husband than a man of a higher (three) or lower (two) social status.40 In Yorkshire, only seven of the twenty-five widows did not remarry, whereas eighteen did. Thirteen widows made two marriages and five widows made three. These women often married a second or third husband whose social status was lower than (thirteen) or equal to (six) the rank of a previous spouse, although a few also married a higher-ranking man (four).41 Ten Icelandic widows

39 Hallveig Ormsdóttir has at least two children who died young. SS, i, 52. Þorlaug Pálsdóttir had at least three children who died young before she left Iceland for Norway, where her last child, Björn, was born. SS, i, 106. Of these children, the sagas record more information only about Björn. 40 Married a man equal in rank: Þóra Þorgeirsdóttir, Þuríðr Sturludóttir, Þuríðr Gizurardóttir, Ingibjörg Guðmundardóttir, Arnþrúðr Fornadóttir, Guðrún Bjarnadóttir, Guðrún Þórðardóttir (second husband), Guðrún Brandsdóttir, Ragnheiðr Aronsdóttir, Herdís Hrafnsdóttir, Helga Böðvarsdóttir, Guðrún Þórðardóttir; married up: Ingibjörg Þorgeirsdóttir, Guðný Þorvarðsdóttir, Guðrún Þórðardóttir (third husband); married down: Kolfinna Gizurardóttir and Ingibjörg Sturludóttir. 41 Widows who married a tenant-in-chief or his heir, and subsequently married a younger son of a tenant-in-chief, are considered to have married down, as are widows who married an earl or his heir, and subsequently married a non-comital tenant-in- chief. Married down: Agnes de Arches (second and third husbands), Cecily de Rumilly I (although if Henry de Tracy was a relative of Henry I’s illegitimate son William de Tracy, then this husband is more likely to have been of equal rank to Cecily’s first), remarriage 147

Table 5.2. Marriages, liaisons and remarried widows total # total # of # # not widows women who remarried remarried had liaisons all widows 75 11 34 41 Icelandic widows 50 10 * 16 34 Yorkshire widows 25 1 * 18 7 * One Icelandic liaison was conducted before a first marriage, as was the one liaison conducted by a Yorkshire widow. Compiled from information in appendices 1 and 2. had thirteen liaisons between them which ranged from brief affairs to stable, long-term concubinage relationships. Eight of these women did not remarry, while the ninth conducted her liaisons during her second and third marriages and the tenth had an affair before her marriage. Motivations for entering a sexual relationship outside of marriage included love, murder (of a husband), coercion, political bargaining power, to secure a suitable marriage for a child, and independence. Those who conducted concubinage relationships tended to choose (or be chosen by) a man of equal (two relationships) or higher rank (five relationships) than her previous husband, especially if they were wealthy, although one woman chose a lower-ranking man.42 The widows who had shorter or less regular affairs did so with men of lower rank (two) or higher rank (three) than a husband.43 Based on charter

Avice Meschin (third husband), Alice de Rumilly I, Agnes d’Aumale, Rohaise de Clare, Juetta de Arches, Gundreda de Warenne (third husband), Sibyl de Valognes (third husband), Hawise countess of Aumale (second and third husbands), Isabel de Brus. Married equal rank: Avice Meschin (second husband), Matilda Meschin, Alice de St Quintin, Alice de Rumilly II, Agnes de Flamville, Alice de Curcy. Married up: Alice, wife of Richard de Percy, Alice Paynel, Gundreda de Warenne (second husband), Sibyl de Valognes (second husband). 42 Lover of equal rank: Guðný Böðvarsdóttir, Hallveig Ormsdóttir. Higher rank: Yngvildr Þórðardóttir, Álof Þorgeirsdóttir, Yngvildr Þorgilsdóttir (first and second lovers), Úlfheiðr Gunnarsdóttir. Lower rank: Þórdís Snorradóttir (second lover). Guðný Böðvarsdóttir’s, Yngvildr Þórðardóttir’s and Þórdís Snorradóttir’s (second lover) relationships cannot be counted as stable, long-term concubinage relationships in the same way as the other five relationships. Guðný’s and Þórdís’s lovers were already married when they conducted their concubinage affairs (see below, p. 164). Although Yngvildr’s liaison can be considered a stable concubinage relationship, it is impossible to determine how long it lasted. 43 Lover of lower rank: Guðrún Þórðardóttir (second lover), Þórdís Snorradóttir (first lover). Higher: Guðrún Þórðardóttir (first lover), Þórhildr Gíslsdóttir, Snælaug Högnadóttir. 148 chapter five and other evidence, only one Yorkshire woman had an extra-marital relationship, but it occurred before she married. These figures suggest that remarriage for aristocratic and gentry women was common in twelfth-century Yorkshire, perhaps even more so than among dowager countesses in the same period. However, in twelfth- and thirteenth- century Iceland, remarriage was much less common for high-ranking women, although extra-marital relationships appear to have been an alternative. Enough information exists to calculate the period of widowhood between a first and subsequent marriage for nine Icelandic and seventeen Yorkshire widows.44 Some Icelandic widows remarried within a few months or less than a year after losing a husband, others after about three, five or six years, one or two as long as thirteen years later, and one possibly as long as sixteen years later. For Yorkshire, over half of all the widows who remarried did so within four years. At least four remarried within a few months to a year after being widowed, and six more within four years. At least thirteen of seventeen who remarried did so within eight years. Four widows might have remarried as long ten, fifteen or twenty years later, although it is possible that all four remarried within a year or two. It is difficult to calculate an average time between losing a husband and remarrying because the dating is so imprecise for several widows. The duration of widowhood was variable in both regions. The minimum number of years by which twenty-one Icelandic and fifteen Yorkshire widows outlived their final husbands can be calculated.45 Some widows died within a few years of their husbands, but over half survived by at least ten years in Iceland and nine years in Yorkshire. Nearly one-third of widows in Iceland and exactly one-third in Yorkshire survived their final husbands by twenty years or more. The longest widowhoods lasted thirty-eight (Guðný Böðvarsdóttir) and at least forty-one years (Úlfheiðr Gunnarsdóttir) in Iceland and about

44 These calculations are made from information in appendices 1 and 2. 45 I have only used those widows in the calculations about whom something is known subsequent to the death of a final husband. That is, only widows who are known to have survived by at least one year, and Þorlaug Pálsdóttir, whose own death is dated precisely to within several months of her husband’s. Calculations can be made from information in appendices 1 and 2. remarriage 149 thirty-one (Gundreda de Warenne) and at least thirty-three years (Juetta de Arches) in Yorkshire.

Remarriage

What is immediately striking about the marital demographics of twelfth- and thirteenth-century Icelandic and Yorkshire widowhood is the greater percentage of remarriages among the Yorkshire widows, and the greater number of extra-marital relationships among their Icelandic counterparts. All of the liaisons occurring during widowhood were conducted by Icelandic women. In addition, only about one-third of the Icelandic widows remarried, whereas nearly three- quarters of the Yorkshire widows did. These figures are dissimilar to those from DeAragon’s research concerning post-Conquest dowager countesses and Rosenthal’s fifteenth-century peeress widows. Both scholars found that roughly half of the widows they studied remarried and half did not. Far more aristocratic widows remarried in twelfth- century Yorkshire than in England generally during the periods studied by DeAragon and Rosenthal, and far more in Commonwealth Iceland did not. What produced this pattern?

Wealth and Heiresses Icelandic widows remarried less often than Yorkshire widows, and in their society liaisons were a possible alternative. Is this a simple case of greater freedom for Icelandic widows? The answer depends on the various factors affecting remarriage in the two countries. Historians have focused in particular on wealth. Pollock and Maitland asserted that property and remarriage were closely linked, stating that ‘the rich widow generally found another husband . . . it is rare therefore to find that any large mass of land long remains in the hands of a feme sole’.46 It is a sentiment echoed by others,47 and occasionally the implication is that the choice of remarriage was not a widow’s own.48

46 P&M, vol. 2, p. 307. 47 RD, p. xxxviii; Loengard, ‘Of the Gift’, 236–7. 48 Green, ‘Aristocratic Women’, 66–7; Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, Chieftains and Power, 146. 150 chapter five

There is enough information about thirty-eight Icelandic and all twenty-five Yorkshire widows to examine this point.49 In Iceland, eleven widows were not wealthy, while twenty-seven were.50 The numbers for Yorkshire are one and twenty-four, respectively. Of the eleven poorer Icelandic widows, three remarried, seven did not, and one had a stable, long-term extra-marital relationship.51 The one Yorkshire widow who was not wealthy also remarried. Although this sample is small, it suggests that lack of wealth was not a bar to a second marital union. Conversely, wealth alone did not ensure remarriage, especially not in Iceland. Of the twenty-seven wealthy and very wealthy Icelandic widows, only six remarried, only one of whom remarried twice. The other twenty-one remained unmarried, six of whom entered stable, long-term relationships. Even if the liaisons are grouped with the remarriages, over half of the rich widows remained single (fifteen). None of the six very wealthy widows remarried, although three took a lover. Furthermore, two of the remarried widows who were not wealthy at the end of their first marriage were wealthy by the end of their second. Neither remarried again. Clearly wealth was not the only factor that influenced remarriage in Iceland. Greater riches did not necessarily, perhaps not even often, bring a greater likelihood of a second union for widows, and extra-marital liaisons were a real possibility regardless of wealth. In Yorkshire the situation appears somewhat different. Of the twenty-four wealthy or very wealthy widows, seventeen remarried, five twice. The other seven remained single, and none entered an extra-marital relationship. Of the thirteen very wealthy widows, a slightly higher percentage remained single (four of thirteen). These figures indicate that wealth might have been a determining factor in some remarriages, and possibly an important factor in many. However, it was almost certainly not the only factor in many cases since over a quarter of wealthy widows, and almost a third of very wealthy widows, did not remarry, and the one widow who was not wealthy did. In Yorkshire, unlike in Iceland, liaisons do not seem to have been an alternative. The notion that wealthy widows rarely remained single needs some reconsideration for both countries.

49 See appendix 3. 50 See the key to the appendices for a clarification of the term ‘wealthy’. 51 Arnþrúðr Fornadóttir and Ingibjörg Guðmundardóttir are included here, since they were not wealthy at the end of their first marriage. remarriage 151

Table 5.3. Wealth and remarriage Iceland # widows # widows who # widows who had remarried remained single liaison not wealthy 3 7 1 wealthy 6 12 3 very wealthy 0 3 3 total 9 22 7

Yorkshire # widows # widows who # widows who had remarried remained single liaison not wealthy 1 0 0 wealthy 8 3 0 very wealthy 9 4 0 total 18 7 0

Compiled from information in appendices 3, 5 and 6.

The source of a widow’s wealth, rather than wealth alone, might be significant. Were, for example, heiress-widows more likely to remarry?52 Here again, however, the same pattern emerges. In Iceland, there were nine heiresses.53 Two remarried, five did not, and two entered a stable, long-term extra-marital relationship. In Yorkshire, there were fourteen heiresses.54 Ten remarried, two twice; four did not. A position as heiress might have been one factor in remarriage, but other factors must have been important. Examining wealth and heiresses together, the results are even more striking. The heiresses Hallveig Ormsdóttir and Solveig Sæmundardóttir were two of the wealthiest women in thirteenth-century Iceland. Neither remarried, although Hallveig entered a long-term extra-marital relationship. Juetta de Arches, Matilda de Percy, Alice de Rumilly I, Alice de Curcy, Hawise countess of Aumale

52 For information about widows as wealthy heiresses, see appendices 3 and 4. 53 Hallveig Ormsdóttir and Solveig Sæmundardóttir are listed in appendix 4 under daughters with brothers who received substantial family lands to distinguish them from heiresses who had no brothers. Nevertheless, they can be considered heiresses because they received their wealth not as dowry, but at their father’s death as inheritance. (see above, pp. 95–7, 103) 54 Alice Paynel is included among the heiresses here because she disinherited her brothers at her father’s death, at least for several years until Henry II redistributed the Paynel lands. (see above, pp. 97–8) 152 chapter five and Alice de Rumilly II were all very wealthy heiresses, five of whom held land directly of the king, yet not one remarried once past childbearing years. Royal lordship and childbearing in these latter cases suggest the need to examine other factors.

Lordship and Family If wealth was not the sole factor which determined the likelihood of remarriage, what part did lordship play? It has been argued that lords exerted some control over the remarriage of widows in both Iceland and England.55 Details of a widow’s chieftain or lord, or lack thereof, at the death of her husband can be established for forty-three of the Icelandic and twenty-four of the Yorkshire widows.56 Of the former, ten remarried, one successfully resisted a second marital union, and six had liaisons. Of the latter, thirteen remarried once, five remarried twice, no widow is known to have successfully resisted an unwanted remarriage, and none had a liaison in widowhood. Five chieftains are known to have been involved in marriage negotiations for the ten remarried Icelandic widows. Four were fathers of the widow, and the fifth was father of the widow’s dead husband. One chieftain aided the widow who resisted remarriage. They were not related (although the chieftain was linked to the widow’s brother). Three chieftains were also concerned with the liaisons of three widows, two of whom were close natal kin of the widows, and the third was marital kin. Of the Yorkshire widows’ twenty-three remarriages, the king was probably involved in the choice of, or received payment from, a subsequent husband in nine remarriages, a widowed heiress’s own lord was involved in remarriage once, and the lord of a widow’s dead husband was involved twice. None of these lords had kinship ties to the widows. One widow’s tenant-in-chief brother was also involved in her remarriage. In addition, the king received payment to exempt a widow from remarriage in four cases, one instance of which was unsuccessful since the widow entered another marital union.

55 Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, Chieftains and Power, 146; Sue Sheridan Walker, ‘Feudal Constraint and Free Consent in the Making of Marriages in Medieval England: Widows in the King’s Gift’, Canadian Historical Association Historical Papers (1979), 97–110. For lordly control over marriage of women in general, see Nordal, Ethics, 112; Green, Aristocracy of Norman England, 351; Milsom, ‘Inheritance by Women’, 63–9. 56 See appendix 7. remarriage 153

Table 5.4. Lordship and remarriage # widows # remarriages # chieftains / # chieftains / # widows # chieftains / (sufficient lords involved lords involved who had lords involved info) in remarriage in non- liaison in liaison remarriage Iceland 43 10 5 1 63 4 fathers, 1 1 non-related, 1 father, father-in-law but linked to 1 brother, brother 1 father-in-law Yorkshire 24 23 13 4 00 king 9 times, 1 fined with widow’s lord, king to remain 1st husband’s unmarried, 1 lord twice, 1 unsuccessful tenant-in-chief brother Compiled from appendix 7.

This evidence suggests that lordship could, and did, play a role in remarriage in both Iceland and Yorkshire. Lordship influenced at least half of the remarriages of the widows in this study. However, little evidence supports consistent lordly involvement or attempted coercion when widows did not remarry. In addition to the one Icelandic widow who successfully resisted remarriage, four Yorkshire widows paid the king to remain single, one unsuccessfully. Such payments suggest that these widows might have faced strong familial or lordly persuasions (royal or otherwise) to enter another union had they not bought an exemption. A few widows might arguably have used the fines to free themselves from familial coercion to remarry, thereby gaining some room for manoeuvre and highlighting the tensions that could arise between lordly and family interests in Yorkshire. But the case of Isabel de Brus, the one widow who paid to stay single yet later remarried, perhaps indicates that such tactics might not always be successful, especially when a widow was still fertile, as Isabel was.57 Despite four

57 Isabel was forced to pay 100 marks to be exempt from remarriage, and she was still making payments in 1205. PR 10 Ric I, p. 42, PR 7 John, p. 44. Nevertheless, she married Roger Mauduit and had a son by him by 1220. 154 chapter five

Yorkshire widows perhaps being subject to pressure to remarry, eleven Yorkshire widows did not fine with the king to remain single, probably indicating that such pressure was not always present.58 The figures suggest that when remarriage took place, lordly involvement was significant in both countries, and royal intervention particularly so in England. But they do not suggest that lordly interests alone determined the likelihood of remarriage. The evidence also suggests a major difference between Iceland and Yorkshire. When lords were involved in a potential or actual remarriage or liaison in Yorkshire, only one of seventeen was related by blood to a widow, and only two were connected by marriage. The numbers indicate that lordship and family were often separate among the aristocracy in Yorkshire, at least when marriage was concerned. That is not to say that kin were not involved in remarriage. Scholars have noted the importance of family in the making of marriages, though the Yorkshire charters provide little evidence of this.59 In Iceland, however, where chieftains were related by blood in eight of ten instances and by marriage once, lordship and family appear quite closely linked at the highest level of society. These men often used their female kin to attempt to enhance their power and prestige, and that of the kin group, through advantageous political alliances.60 They also used their female relatives to strengthen ties to loyal farmers by rewarding the men with marriage to their kinswomen.61 Such strategies were not unlike those used by families in England.62 The main difference seems to have been that lordly and family interests were generally one and the same among the Icelandic chieftain class, while these interests could clash among the Yorkshire aristocracy. The list of the widows’ chieftains and lords in appendix 7 supports this conclusion. In Iceland, twenty-one of forty-three widows had close natal kin (father, brother, son, uncle, cousin) as their chieftain, and nine had marital kin (father, brother, uncle or cousin of husband, stepson, cousin of daughter’s husband) or a husband’s chieftain as their chieftain. Only six had a chieftain who

58 See appendix 7. 59 Green, Aristocracy of Norman England, 351–5; Bartlett, England under the Norman and Angevin Kings, 549–51. 60 Sturlunga saga contains numerous examples of this strategy, including the remarriages of Ingibjörg Þorgeirsdóttir, Guðný Þorvarðsdóttir and Ingibjörg Guðmundardóttir. SS, i, 66, 117, 257. 61 An example of this practice is the remarriage of Þuríðr Sturludóttir. SS, i, 234. 62 Green, Aristocracy of Norman England, 351–5. remarriage 155

Table 5.5. Kinship and lordship # chieftains / natal kin as marital kin or not related no chieftain / lords chieftain / husband’s lord lord chieftain / lord Iceland – 36 21 9 6 7 Yorkshire – 24 1 4 19 0

Compiled from information in appendix 7. was not connected by blood or marriage. The remaining seven had no chieftain, and they were aided variously by lovers, natal or marital kin. In Yorkshire, however, only one of twenty-four widows had natal kin as lord, four had marital kin or a husband’s lord as lord, one had the non-related lord of her own lands held as an undertenancy, and the remaining eighteen had the king as lord. Not only were lords in Yorkshire far less likely to be family members, but the presence of the king had a significant impact on lordship in general, as well as on the remarriage of Yorkshire widows. Loengard claims that for England widows’ remarriage was ‘built into the economic and political policy of Henry II and his sons’, implying that the king regularly exerted pressure on widows to agree to a proposed marriage or to pay for an exemption.63 Yet DeAragon argues in her study of dowager countesses from 1069–1230 that English kings did not systematically oppress or financially disadvantage widows in the twelfth century.64 The Yorkshire evidence supports the latter contention. Although the king received a political or financial benefit in nine of twenty-two remarriages, as well as from one woman who fined to remain single but subsequently remarried, only three of fifteen widows who did not remarry fined to remain single. So the king only gained directly from just over one-third of all widowings among the Yorkshire women (thirteen of thirty-eight). While the king undoubtedly exercised some authority over widows’ remarriages, these numbers hardly corroborate Loengard’s contention. As Green maintains, royal compulsion to remarry and ‘a policy of vigorous exploitation of royal rights over widows’ in the twelfth century do not seem to have been the norm.65

63 Loengard, ‘Of the Gift’, 234. 64 DeAragon, ‘Dowager Countesses’, 94–100. 65 Green, ‘Aristocratic Women’, 64. 156 chapter five

For Iceland, where there was no king, royal intervention was not a factor in the remarriage of widows. But family interests seem to have been. The evidence concerning chieftains and their involvement in remarriage suggests that the lack of a single executive power in Iceland led to a system where kinship and lordship at the highest levels were often closely related.66 There was no one man to whom all chieftains were beholden, at least not before the 1250s, and thus each head of family was potentially as powerful as any other. A chieftain’s daughter, sister or other female relative was not in the same position vis-à- vis marriage as a Yorkshire baron’s kinswoman, since there was no king whose consent must be obtained or whose exemption might be sought. It was a widow’s kin who generally sanctioned or refused a proposal. Thus the interests of an Icelandic widow’s family, though not necessarily those of the woman herself, were often the interests of her chieftain when a woman was of chieftain rank. Yet in Iceland the interests of the most powerful member of a widow’s kin could not have been the decisive factor in remarriage. On available evidence, chieftains related to widows were involved in five of ten remarriages but in only one instance of twenty-seven when widows did not enter a subsequent relationship. And they were not involved in two of the five liaisons conducted by the widows. It might be that other factors prevented chieftains from disposing of their female kin in certain situations. Chieftains-as-kin thus appears to have been a significant factor when remarriage occurred, but not the sole determinant of a widow’s marital fate.

Social Status Social status is another possible factor connected with lordship and family interests. Status is its own form of social ‘wealth’. High-ranking widows could have brought advantageous connections to a husband in both Iceland and England, and thus might be expected to remarry

66 Much work has been done on the nature of the kinship system in Iceland and on the power of the chieftains, but to my knowledge no one has focused specifically on the inter-relationship between kinship and lordship. For the kinship system, see Agnes Arnórsdóttir, Konur og vígamenn; Barlau ‘Old Icelandic Kinship Terminology’ 191–202. For chieftains’ power, see Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, Chieftains and Power; Gunnar Karlsson, ‘Goðar og bændur’, Saga, 10 (1972), 5–57. Nordal’s Ethics and Miller’s Bloodtaking discuss both kinship and lordship thoughout, but do not examine in detail connections between the two. remarriage 157 more than other widows. It has been suggested that in Iceland a large family was useful to those in the upper echelons. Children could be used to make political alliances through marriage, and in-laws were often as important as blood kin, occasionally more so if they were chieftains.67 In England, social status would have been important for similar reasons. Green has argued that the most desirable brides were those ‘from more powerful and illustrious lineages’, especially those of royal descent, implying that status was indeed significant.68 The statistics for Iceland suggest that higher-ranking widows would remarry more often that those of lesser rank. Fourteen of thirty-three widows of chieftain rank remarried, whereas nineteen did not. Two of the fifteen widows of farmer or large farmer rank remarried. Being of chieftain rank did not apparently guarantee another marital union, but it seems to have greatly increased the likelihood of remarriage. These figures indicate that widows of a lower social status probably found it difficult to find another husband. However, the option of conducting a liaison seems to have been available to all widows. Four widows of chieftain rank entered an extra-marital relationship, as did four below chieftain rank. Yet, if social status was indeed a crucial factor for remarriage, the figures do not explain why so many high-ranking widows did not remarry. For Yorkshire the statistics do not fully support the assumption that higher social status increased the likelihood of remarriage. Only one of six lower-ranking widows of the honorial baronage did not remarry, whereas six of twelve, or one-half, of those who were of tenant-in- chief rank remained single. And although all seven of the widows who were both of tenant-in-chief and comital rank remarried, only one of two who were related to royalty did. The figures indicate that rank was indeed important in Yorkshire, and that the title of earl among a widow’s kin could bring a coveted connection. But, as there is no evidence that any attempt was made to prevent the six widows of the tenant-in-chief rank who remained single from remarrying, the statistics do not seem to fully corroborate the theory that the marriages of the highest-ranking women were the most strictly controlled.69 Social status might have been very significant for unmarried daughters of

67 Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, Chieftains and Power, 145–7. 68 Green, Aristocracy of Norman England, 350–4. The quotation is from p. 351. 69 Green, Aristocracy of Norman England, 350–1. 158 chapter five

Table 5.6. Social status and remarriage Icelandic rank # widows # widows who # widows who remarried remained single had liaison chieftain 14 19 4 large farmer 1 6 1 farmer 1 7 3 unknown 0 2 2 total 16 34 10

Yorkshire rank # widows # widows who # widows who remarried remained single had liaison tenant-in-chief 4 5 0 and royal 1 1 0 and comital 7 0 0 subtotal 12 6 0 honorial baronage 5 1 0 unknown 1 0 0 total 18 7 0 Compiled from information in appendix 7. the highest rank. But when it came to remarriage other factors might override the benefits conferred on a prospective husband by a widow’s status and associations.

Fertility and Children Wealth, lordship, family and social status all seem to have affected the remarriages of the Icelandic and Yorkshire widows to a greater or lesser extent. None of them was the sole significant determining factor. Potential fertility is another possible factor, one which has not been examined in depth.70 As table 5.7 demonstrates, the sixty-five widows considered here survived their husbands (or lovers) eighty-nine times, in some cases surviving more than one man. Three-fifths of those who

70 Although Rosenthal has not examined fertility itself as a factor which might affect remarriage, he has noted that widows might have been young or old. Some of these young widows remarried, and some did not, implying that not all women young enough to have been considered fertile necessarily remarried. Rosenthal, ‘Aristocratic Widows’, 38. remarriage 159

were young enough, or probably young enough, to be fertile at widowing remarried (35 of 58). But not one widow past childbearing age remarried, and only one widow probably past childbearing age remarried (1 of 18). Of those who were nearing the end of their fertility or whose fertility could not be determined, only a small number remarried (2 of 13). Clearly, the possibility that a prospective bride could provide her husband with children was an important concern in the twelfth and thirteenth century. The fact that not one widow who was definitely too old to produce offspring remarried must have meant that the likelihood of an older widow entering another union was not very great. Age, and perceived infertility associated with it, thus appears to have been a major factor determining the likelihood of remarriage.71 However, it does not follow that all younger widows, likely to have been perceived as fertile, remarried. Here a distinction emerges when the figures for Iceland are compared with those for Yorkshire. Of the forty-four times that Icelandic women were fertile or possibly fertile when a relationship ended (columns 3, 4, 7 and 8 in table 5.7), fifteen remarriages occurred. Even disregarding those possibly too old to have more children (columns 4, 7 and 8), twenty-three women young enough to be fertile were left as widows twenty-nine times, and only fourteen remarriages occurred. Thus, fertility alone was not the sole or determining factor for choice of an Icelandic widow as bride.

Table 5.7. Fertility upon entering widowhood total # fertile at probably not fertile probably nearing uncertain times widowing fertile at widowing not end of fertility women fertile fertility / left as not fertile widows all widows 89 49 (33) 9 (2) 16 (0) 2 (1) 8 (2) 5 (0) Icelandic 53 29 (14) 8 (1) 8 (0) 1 (0) 2 (0) 5 (0) widows English 3671 20 (19) 1 (1) 8 (0) 1 (1) 6 (2) 0 (0) widows Numbers in parentheses represent number of remarriages. Compiled from information in appendices 5 and 6.

71 Alice, wife of Richard de Percy, was widowed twice, but she is not included among these figures or in appendix 6 because there is no information regarding her fertility or children’s ages when her second husband died. 160 chapter five

In Yorkshire the figures tell a different story. Of the twenty-seven instances when a woman was fertile or possibly fertile at widowing, twenty-two remarriages took place. Narrowing the number to only those who were definitely young enough to be fertile, fifteen women were left as widows twenty times, and nineteen remarriages took place. It would seem that in Yorkshire fertility was one of the most important factors in determining the marital state of a widow. It is hard to escape the conclusion that an upper-class, twelfth-century Yorkshire widow would have found it difficult to remain unmarried if she was still capable of producing offspring, and difficult to remarry if she was not. For a fertile twelfth- or thirteenth-century Icelandic widow the possibility existed either to remain single or to remarry, but she, too, would have found it difficult to remarry if she was past childbearing years. In neither Iceland nor Yorkshire, of course, need the choice have been a woman’s own. Another factor which could have had an impact on the remarriage of widows was the age of her children. Widows who had young children often remarried, as table 5.8 shows. Of the sixty-nine times that a woman’s partner died leaving her with children, the widow had or probably had underage or unmarried children in thirty-nine instances, while she had or probably had at least one grown or married child in twenty-three instances.72 Of the former, seventeen remarriages and three liaisons took place; of the latter, only three remarriages and no liaisons occurred.73 The statistics may simply reflect that widows with young children were more likely to be younger and have a longer period of reproductive years remaining than those with grown children. In these circumstances it may have been less that widows desired to remarry for the sake of their children than that they chose to remarry, or were pressured to remarry, for their reproductive capabilities. Another consideration is that widows with grown children may have been less attractive than those with young children. A widow’s grown children may have had more influence over their mother, how she ran her household and her property transactions. But there would

72 The age of the children of seven widows is unknown. 73 The widows who had young or unmarried children and subsequently conducted an extra-marital relationship were Yngvildr Þórðardóttir from her marriage, and Yngvildr Þorgilsdóttir and Þórdís Snorradóttir from their first liaison. It is not known how old Álof Þorgeirsdóttir’s daughter from her marriage was when Álof began her liaison. See appendix 1 for details. remarriage 161

Table 5.8. Children upon entering widowhood # times children children at least at least uncertain widows left underage probably one child one child age of with children or underage grown or probably children unmarried or married grown or unmarried married all widows 69 (26 + 4) 36 (16 + 3) 3 (1) 23 (3) 0 (0) 7 (6 + 1) Icelandic 40 (8 + 4) 23 (4 + 3) 2 (0) 11 (1) 0 (0) 4 (3 + 1) widows Yorkshire 29 (18) 13 (12) 1 (1) 12 (2) 0 (0) 3 (3) widows Numbers in parentheses represent number of remarriages of widows with young children, plus widows with young children who entered a liaison, where applicable. Compiled from information in appendices 5 and 6.

have been no such interference from a widow’s young children. Or perhaps a widow’s unmarried teenage daughter, if she had one, was a more attractive bride than the widow herself. However, it is possible that these figures show that widows with young children might have felt the need to remarry or engage in extra-marital relationships in order to protect their young offspring, whereas a grown son or married daughter’s husband (or the man’s kin or lord) might often have been able to take the place of a husband or lover. So what affected the chances of remarriage for those widows who had no children? A widow was left childless at her husband’s death in twenty instances, and a remarriage occurred in eleven. Of those who remarried ten were certainly young enough to be fertile, while the eleventh possibly was not. Of those who did not remarry: two (from Iceland) were fertile and had an extra-marital liaison instead; four (all from Iceland) were young enough or probably young enough to have children, two of whom were not from higher-ranking families; one widow was too old (Yorkshire), one was probably too old (Iceland) and one was possibly too old (Yorkshire), to reproduce. When these figures are divided between Iceland and Yorkshire, it suggests that fertility was a key issue in Yorkshire, less so in Iceland. Icelandic widows were left childless thirteen times. They remarried in six instances, all of the women potentially fertile at widowing. In Yorkshire widows were left childless seven times. They remarried in five instances, four of these women being young enough to have a child at widowing, while the fifth might have been fertile but was at least thirty-six. The two 162 chapter five

Table 5.9. Childless widows childless widow fertile at widow not fertility marriages end of childless fertile uncertain marriage all widows 20 (11) 13 (10) 1 (0) 6 (1) Icelandic widows 13 (6) 9 (6) 0 (0) 4 (0) English widows 7 (5) 4 (4) 1 (0) 2 (1) Numbers in parentheses represent number of remarriages. Compiled from information in appendices 5 and 6. widows who did not remarry were too old, or probably too old, to produce offspring. It is worth stating, however, that because the numbers are small, it might be worth exploring the possible connection between fertility, childlessness and remarriage further more generally. When viewed alone, the figures relating to widows and children do not provide enough information to determine how important a factor the existence or lack of children was to the likelihood or possibility of remarriage. However, they corroborate the statistics concerning fertility. It appears that in Iceland many factors played a role in the politics of remarriage, and while fertility and children were two of them, they were not the only, nor perhaps even the most important, ones. But in Yorkshire the figures seem to suggest that potential fertility was a key factor. That four, possibly all five, of the childless widows who remarried were within childbearing years, and that the two who did not remarry probably were not, supports this conclusion. Fertility might thus have been a more significant factor in the remarriage of widows in twelfth-century England than has often been recognized. The evidence perhaps indicates that a lord or other interested party might not have been able to dispose of an older widow, despite her wealth or connections, because it was imperative to have children. And not just any children, but children born within a legitimately sanctioned marital union. This need would explain in part the differences between Iceland and Yorkshire. In chapter four it was noted that illegitimate offspring in Iceland, while possibly at a disadvantage, were neither barred from inheritance nor socially stigmatized (see above, pp. 116–9). A man could have children outside of a legal marriage who could inherit both property and a chieftaincy from him, replacing legitimate offspring; therefore, marriage was only one option open to a powerful Icelandic man. In such circumstances, perceived fertility, remarriage 163 although probably desirable, would not have been a decisive factor determining the likelihood of remarriage for widows, and wealth or rank might well have been more important in certain instances. But in England, a man needed a legitimate heir to succeed to his lands and his position as lord. A legal marriage was necessary to produce such an heir; children born to parents of any other union could not inherit (see above, pp. 119–21). Marriage to an older, infertile widow would not provide a legitimate heir. Even if a man already had one or two legitimate children from a previous marriage, the danger of entering an infertile union was thus greater than in Iceland. Children and adults died from illness and accidents, sons were often killed in warfare and daughters frequently died in childbirth or from related complications. This question of fertility as a factor is clearly connected to the nature of heir-producing unions, and to the ease with which they could be duplicated or terminated. In England, illegitimate children could not take the place of legitimate, and the difficulty of ending a marriage was great, even when it produced no heir.74 It appears that children, and the probability of having them, mattered at least as much in twelfth- century Yorkshire, and thus to the fate of widows, as did wealth and status. Children clearly mattered to Icelandic men. But differences in the nature of marriage and heir-producing unions arguably had a significant impact. A critical difference here is the impact of Christian teaching.

Ecclesiastical Influence The statistics presented above indicate that ecclesiastical teachings on marital fidelity and illegitimacy had an impact in several ways on the future of widows. First, it had an impact on the nature of socially accepted unions into which widows might enter. Chapter four discussed the Church’s failure in promoting the consistent acceptance of the validity of monogamous marital unions in Iceland over extra-marital relationships, and the resulting lack of social stigma attached to illegitimacy (see above, pp. 116–9). The extra-marital liaisons conducted by the Icelandic widows underline this. They were conducted by women from all ranks, many voluntarily. There is little indication that women

74 Brundage, Law, Sex and Christian Society, 199–203. 164 chapter five were forced into these relationships, especially those of chieftain rank.75 There is often too little information about lower-ranking concubines to know whether the choice to take a lover was theirs or not, but there are some indications that they were not always reluctant. If women often chose this option, stigmatization of the relationships is unlikely. The lack of disapproval of the widows’—or other—extra-marital relationships in the sagas also suggests that liaisons were socially acceptable. A child from such a union, Úlfheiðr Gunnarsdóttir’s son by her lover Ari Þorgeirsson, became a bishop in 1201.76 The only comment about the liaison is that ‘after [her marriage] Ari took her as his lover and had four children with her’.77 Two other terse comments about extra-marital relationships involve Guðný Böðvarsdóttir in 1184 and Þórdís Snorradóttir in 1228–1232. In both cases the ‘great love’ between the widows and their lovers is noted when the liaison is introduced, perhaps indicating the acceptability of the relationships.78 Both men were married at the time, and there is no indication of disapproval of either the widows or the married men. Guðný soon travelled to Norway with her lover, who left his wife behind in Iceland.79 Not only was it unusual for women to travel abroad from Iceland, but Guðný was among the very few unmarried women who did so. Of this incident Íslendinga saga states, without criticism, Guðný gave her farm at Hvammur into the hands of a man called Oddr dignari. And both she and Ari travelled west to a ship in Vaðill and from there abroad . . . Later Guðný returned to Iceland and took control over her household at Hvammur.80 It was not only married men who had liaisons, but married women, and their reputation does not appear to have suffered.81 The widow

75 Consent of individual widows in the study, in relation to liaisons or remarriage, will be examined in detail in chapter six (see below, pp. 180–3, 185–9). 76 SS, i, 118, 147, 238–9. 77 ‘En síðan lagði þokka á hana Ari Þorgerisson ok átti við henni börn fjögur.’ SS, i, 118. 78 ‘gerðust með þeim Guðnýju kærleikar miklir.’ (‘great love developed between them, Guðný [and Ari].’) SS, i, 229; ‘Váru þá kærleikar miklir með þeim Oddi ok Þórdísi.’ (‘There was then great love between Oddr and Þórdís.’)SS , i, 361. 79 SS, i, 231. 80 ‘Guðný seldi bú í Hvammi í hendr þeim manni, er Oddr dignari hét. En þau Ari bæði réðust til skips vestr í Vaðil ok fóru þar útan . . . Síðan fór Guðný til Íslands ok tók við búi sínu í Hvammi.’ SS, i, 231. 81 Nordal, Ethics, 142–3. remarriage 165

Guðrún Þórðardóttir took a lover during both her second and third marriages in the 1180s. The lover from her second marriage, Hákon Þórðarson, became her third husband. During her third marriage, Guðrún took another lover, Sigurðr grikk. When Hákon was killed in revenge for killing another, he sarcastically approved of the choice of Sigurðr as executioner. I would prefer that choice as well, because, of those men who are here, I owe you the least. I took you in and supported you when you arrived in Iceland without money. And I stood by three times while you slept with Guðrún, my wife.82 Even though the comment is sarcastic, there is no indication that Hákon, or any other man, disapproved of the actual affair. Hákon was making a statement more about the disloyalty his executioner demonstrated than about his wife’s conduct. Even high-ranking ecclesiastics were not above entering extra-marital unions. Bishop Klængr Þorsteinsson took the widowed Yngvildr Þorgilsdóttir as lover between 1158 and 1164. The relationship produced a daughter, who married one of the most powerful chieftains of the late twelfth and early thirteenth century. The sagas do not condemn the relationship, only mentioning it in relation to the daughter. ‘Þorvaldr Gizurarson was then married to Jóra, daughter of bishop Klængr and Yngvildr Þorgilsdóttir’.83 The lack of comment is arguably tacit disapproval. However, bishop Klængr is not a major figure in the sagas; he is only mentioned six times, other than his three mentions as Jóra’s father.84 It is thus unwise to infer any condemnation from the sagas’ silence. Clearly, extra-marital couplings could provide Icelandic widows with an alternative to remarriage, one which does not appear to have been available in Yorkshire. The poor reception of canon law and Christian ideology during the Icelandic Commonwealth allowed this option to remain in force, even for widows among the chieftain class, whose children continued to ‘retain the privileges aristocratic birth bestowed on them’.85 St. Þorlákr, the leading advocate of marital

82 ‘Þat mynda ek ok helzt kjósa, því at frá þér em ek ómakligastr þeira manna, er hér eru. Ek tók við þér félausum, er þú komt út, ok veitta ek þér vist. En ek stóð þik þrisvar í hvílu hjá Guðrúnu, konu minni.’ SS, i, 198–9. 83 ‘Þá hafði Þorvaldr Gizurarson fengit Jóru, dóttur Klængs biskups ok Yngvildr Þorgilsdóttir.’ SS, i, 230. 84 SS, i, 36, 60, 73, 75, 86–7, 121, 125, 230, 299. 85 Orri Vésteinsson, Christianization, 2000, 169–72, at 172. 166 chapter five reform, campaigned strongly during his episcopate at the end of the twelfth century, and his efforts laid the groundwork for the Church’s eventual authority over sexual and marital matters. But society in the thirteenth century was still reluctant to accept monogamous marital relationships as the only valid ones.86 However, the chronology suggests that these liaisons might have ceased to be a feasible alternative by the mid-thirteenth century, as none was conducted by a widow after 1234. Whether this shift was due to a change in the acceptance of marriage as the only legitimate union or another reason remains to be seen. Christianity and the degree and nature of its acceptance had a second impact on the lives of widows. Where they existed and flourished, nunneries were significant for widows, opening the option of entering one. In Iceland this option was unlikely. Only one nunnery existed before the end of the Commonwealth period, at Kirkjubær. It was established in 1186 and appears to have ceased to function as a convent by 1224.87 Of the ninety-five people known to have taken monastic orders before 1300, only seven were nuns and three were anchoresses.88 As Frank notes, the term for an unmarried woman was ‘úgipta’ or ‘ill luck’, and, taken with the seeming lack of interest in nunneries, perhaps indicates that many Icelandic women were in no hurry to enter the cloister.89 Only two twelfth- or thirteenth-century widows are known to have entered the religious life. Þuríðr Gizurardóttir became a nun sometime between 1215, when she was at least fifty-five, and her death in 1224.90 Her eldest son was already dead, and her second son was an important chieftain.91 Her husband, Sigurðr Ormsson, also retired to a convent late in life, probably at about the same time as Þuríðr.92 Þuríðr’s sister Halldóra Gizurardóttir became a nun between her husband’s death in

86 Orri Vésteinsson, Christianization, 2000, 172. 87 Islandske Annaler indtil 1578, ed. G. Storm (Oslo, 1888), Annales regii, iv, 1186, p. 119; Skálholts-Annaler, v, 1186, p. 180; Lögmanns-annáll, vii, 1186, p. 254; Gottskalks Annaler, viii, 1186, p. 323; Oddveria Annall, x, 1186, p. 476; Orri Vésteinsson, Christianization, 2000, 130, 137. The nunnery at Kirkjubær was re-established at the end of the thirteenth century. Unlike its first aristocratic foundation, its re-establishment was initiated by a bishop. Orri Vésteinsson, Christianization, 2000, 139. 88 Orri Vésteinsson, Christianization, 2000, 133. 89 Frank, ‘Marriage’, 482. 90 Islandske Annaler, Annales regii, iv, 1224, p. 127; Skálholts-Annaler, v, 1224, p. 186. 91 SS, i, 248–50. 92 SS, i, 260. remarriage 167

1204 and her own in 1224.93 Both her children were adults, and her daughter was probably married. It may be significant that the sisters only became nuns later in life, after their children were grown and, in Þuríðr’s case, her son’s authority already established. Þuríðr and Halldóra may not be lone examples, but there cannot have been many widows, especially young widows, who had the opportunity to avail themselves of this choice, given the failure of nunneries to thrive during the Commonwealth period.94 At the death of Þuríðr and Halldóra in 1224, the convent at Kirkjubær, at which they were probably nuns, ceased to function. The situation in England was different. Between 1125 and 1215 twenty-five nunneries were founded in Yorkshire, accounting for about one-sixth of all the convents for women established in England.95 Although the majority of these female establishments were poor and small, unlike the older, pre-Conquest nunneries farther south, they still provided an outlet for a number of women who wished to become nuns.96 However, few, if any, widows in the study entered the monastic life. A few, about whom insufficient information exists concerning the last few years of their lives, might have entered a nunnery. However, no evidence indicates definitely that any joined a convent. So despite the high proportion of Yorkshire nunneries in existence by the end of the twelfth century, entering the religious life does not appear to have appealed to many Yorkshire widows from the Arches, Percy or Rumilly families.97 The question of their patronage of nunneries, with the related issues of power and identity, is a very different matter, and will be discussed in chapters six and seven. A third area where ecclesiastical influence may have significance for widows is in relation to marriage. The doctrine of female consent was

93 Islandske Annaler, Henrik Høyers Annaler, iii, 1204, p. 62; Annales regii, iv, 1204, p. 122 and 1224, p. 127; Skálholts-Annaler, v, 1224, p. 186. 94 Úlfrún became an anchoress as an older woman, but it is uncertain if she was a widow. It is assumed that she was because she had a son, but such an assumption cannot be substantiated. SS, i, 155. 95 Burton, Monastic Order, 125, 139. 96 Janet Burton, The Yorkshire Nunneries in the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries, Borthwick Papers, 56 (York, 1979), 24; Sally Thompson,Women Religious, The Founding of English Nunneries after the Norman Conquest (Oxford, 1991), 161–3; Eileen Power, Medieval English Nunneries, c. 1275–1535 (Cambridge, 1922), 2. 97 However, Matilda de Arches, sister to the widow Juetta de Arches, did become the prioress of her parents’ foundation rather than marry. 168 chapter five known in England during the twelfth century.98 However, it is difficult to determine how significant female consent was as a factor in remarriage of the Yorkshire widows. The charters are a poor source on this issue in general and on the consent of the individual widows in particular. It was suggested earlier that lords did not regularly force widows to remarry (see above, pp. 153–5), but the source material does not indicate if family did. As perceived fertility appears to have been crucial in nearly all cases, it is hard to escape the view that either many widows wanted to remarry if they thought they could still have children, or that they were forced to do so. For Iceland, the accepted theory is that marriage during the Commonwealth period was little influenced by the Christian doctrine of female consent.99 Jenny Jochens maintains that not a single woman in the contemporary sagas was asked for her consent in marriage, stating that many, even as widows, were forced to marry. Some women were certainly coerced.100 Úlfheiðr Gunnarsdóttir is one such woman; Prestssaga Guðmundar góða states outright that she ‘was married against her will’.101 But nearly all of these women were previously unmarried daughters, not widows, and there are not many. Perhaps their cases are noted in the sagas because coercion was not the norm.102 As noted in chapter three, Grágás suggests that a widow’s consent was unnecesary for remarriage (see above, pp. 68–9). Yet in the one known instance of attempted coercion the widow involved successfully resisted an unwanted remarriage (Jóreiðr Hallsdóttir, see below, pp. 180–3). Of the sixteen Icelandic widows who did remarry, it can only be said with some certainty that one was forced to remarry (Guðrún Þórðardóttir), and that one was not consulted (Ingibjörg

98 Michael M. Sheehan, ‘Marriage Theory and Practice in the Conciliar Legislation and Diocesan Statutes of Medieval England’, in Marriage, Family and Law in Medieval Europe: Collected Studies, ed. J.K. Farge, with an introduction by J.T. Rosenthal (Cardiff, 1996), 118–76, especially at 120–1, 174–5. 99 Frank, ‘Marriage’, 473–4; Jochens, ‘Consent in Marriage’, 145; Jochens, ‘Medieval Icelandic Heroine’, 43; Agnes S. Arnórsdóttir, ‘Marriage in the Middle Ages: Canon Law and Nordic Family Relations’, in Norden og Europa i middelalderen, eds P. Ingesman and T. Lindkvist (Aarhus, 2001), 174–202, at 176–80; Korpiola, ‘Controlling Choice’, 80, 83–4. The examples of consent given by Agnes and Korpiola all date from the period after the end of the Commonwealth. 100 Jochens, ‘Consent in Marriage’, 145. 101 ‘var gift nauðig’. SS, i, 118. 102 Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, ‘Konur og kvennarán’, 78. remarriage 169

Þorgeirsdóttir).103 Of the remaining fourteen widows, three are known to have made political remarriages, one of which benefited the widow herself (Þuríðr Gizurardóttir) and two of which benefited the kinsmen or second husband of the widow (Ingibjörg Sturludóttir and Guðrún Bjarnadóttir). All of these cases will be discussed in chapter six (see below, pp. 185–9). Even though too little information exists about the marriages of the other eleven widows to draw any conclusions (Þóra Þorgeirsdóttir, Guðrún Brandsdóttir, Þuríðr Sturludóttir, Arnþrúðr Fornadóttir, Kolfinna Gizurardóttir, Ragnheiðr Aronsdóttir, Ingibjörg Guðmundóttir, Guðný Þorvarðsdóttir, Herdís Hrafnsdóttir, Helga Böðvarsdóttir and Guðrún Þorsteinsdóttir), there is no indication that they were married against their will or without being consulted. The contemporary sagas give few details of marriage negotiations, and the absence of recording of a bride’s consent is common. But lack of consent and coercion are two separate issues, and the absence of the former does not necessarily imply the latter.104 And although sixteen Icelandic widows did remarry, thirty-four did not. Of these thirty-four, twenty- eight were, variously or in combination, of childbearing age (eleven widows, perhaps more), heiresses (seven), wealthy (twenty-one) and/ or closely related to a chieftain (nineteen); nineteen shared at least two of these desirable qualities.105 All this suggests that coercion was not customary. If it had been, one would expect the number of remarriages to be higher in a small island population where marriageable women were highly sought after due to the unfavourable ratio of men to women.106 It seems as if, in Iceland, something other than wealth, rank, fertility and children, or even a combination of these factors, was at work. But did the ecclesiastical notion of female consent leave so many Icelandic widows unmarried, or was it some other factor?

Political Change in Iceland The one known instance of attempted coercion and refusal of consent in Iceland was purely political.107 It had nothing to do with ecclesiastical

103 SS, i, 66, 169–71. 104 Nordal, Ethics, 112. 105 See appendices 3, 4, 6 and 7. 106 Personal communication from Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, June 2003. 107 This case will be examined in full in the next chapter. (see below, pp. 180–3) 170 chapter five notions of female consent, an issue never raised, either in the court case resulting from the event or in the saga author’s description of it. A widow’s ability to withhold consent depended largely on the backing of others, normally male kin or occasionally a chieftain. But if ecclesiastical influence had no major impact on remarriage, it is still not clear why so many potentially fertile widows of chieftain rank did not enter another marital union. It has been argued that liaisons offered another alternative, but not all single widows began extra-marital relationships. Another factor must have been involved, and that appears to have been the major political changes which occurred in Iceland during the thirteenth century. If the Icelandic figures are broken down chronologically, transformation can be seen in the pattern of widows’ remarriages over the last 150 years of the Icelandic Commonwealth. From 1100 to 1180, sixteen women were widowed. Six remarried and four conducted liaisons. In the next period, from 1181 until 1220, thirteen women were widowed. Six remarried and four had extra-marital relationships, one before marriage and one while married. In the final period, from 1221 until the end of the Commonwealth in 1264, twenty-one women were widowed. Four remarried and only two took a lover. As discussed earlier, in Iceland age and associated infertility were almost certainly a bar to remarriage, and higher rank afforded a much greater possibility of entering another union. It is instructive to view the figures with these factors in mind. Of the sixteen women widowed between 1100 and 1180, eight were of chieftain rank. Five remarried and one, in her thirties, conducted a liaison. The seventh widow died abroad within months of her husband. The eighth was well past childbearing age. Her eldest surviving son was already in possession of his inheritance and his father’s chieftaincy, and it is unlikely that she was

Table 5.10. Chronological changes in Iceland and remarriage time period # widows # remarried widows # widows who have liaisons 1100–1180 16 6 4 (1 twice) 1181–1220 13 6 (1 twice) 4 (1 twice) 1221–1264 21 4 2 (1 twice) Widows are counted in the period of their first widowhood. Compiled from information in appendices 4, 5, and 6. remarriage 171

wealthy.108 Of the thirteen widowed between 1180 and 1220, nine were of chieftain rank. Six remarried. The seventh, who was at least thirty- two at her husband’s death, began a liaison. The eighth was between forty-six and sixty and had two grown children at her husband’s death. It is unknown whether or not she was wealthy. There is insufficient information about the ninth widow to determine how old or wealthy she was at her husband’s death. Of the twenty-one women widowed after 1220, seventeen were of chieftain rank. Yet only four remarried and two entered extra-marital unions. Of the eleven who did not enter a second union after 1220, only three were definitely too old to be fertile, and nine of the eleven were wealthy. Six were both potentially fertile and wealthy, yet remained single. Clearly some change occurred during the course of the later Commonwealth that reduced the chances of remarriage for all these high-status widows, even for those at the highest level who previously had remarried or conducted an extra-marital relationship as a matter of course. The change seems to have been linked to the state of civil war, which not only reduced the likelihood of remarriage, but also appears to have produced more widows. These figures may, of course, reflect the nature of the sources. The closer in time to the authors’ own period, the more widows of whom these men would have knowledge. More widows would thus appear in the later years covered by the sagas, which is the most detailed section and most densely packed with historical persons. The authors might include all contemporary thirteenth-century widows, remarried or not, but only those from the twelfth century whose remarriages were

Table 5.11. Widows of chieftain rank and chronological changes time period # widows of # remarried # widows who # potentially # wealthy chieftain rank widows have liaisons fertile widows widows 1100–1180 8 5 1 6 2 1181–1220 9 6 1 8 3 1221–1264 17 4 2 (1 twice) 14 13 Widows are counted in the period of their first widowhood. Compiled from information in appendices 1, 3, 5, 6 and 7.

108 Hallbera Einarsdóttir’s husband Þorgeirr Hallason had retired to a monastery a year or two before his death, and his son Þorvarðr inherited. SS, i, 123–4. 172 chapter five historically significant, while omitting from the narrative altogether the remainder who did not remarry. This would have implications for ascertaining the factors determining likelihood of remarriage. This explanation is, however, unlikely. If this practice occurred, it would be expected that the sagas would contain a lower percentage of women in general from the twelfth century than the thirteenth. The genealogies of the important families in Icelandic history are generally very thorough for the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. The ratio of men to women is about 5:3 in the most influential chieftain families. The overall number of people in the sagas from the twelfth century is lower than that from the thirteenth, but the ratio of men to women remains the same.109 Of course it might be that only the most significant women and men are mentioned for the twelfth century, and that the figures do not represent the Icelandic aristocracy as a whole. However, the evidence suggests that this is not the case. The sagas contain references to many seemingly unimportant members of the most influential families. For example, Hvamm-Sturla Þórðarson’s six sons and eight daughters, Gizurr Hallson’s three sons and six daughters, and Þorgeirr Hallason’s five sons and five daughters are named. All were born in the early to mid-twelfth century. Of these, the sagas suggest that several, two of whom were widows, did not play a major part, through direct action or a significant marital alliance, or as the parent of an important child, in the history or politics of the time.110 It therefore seems that it was not just the most important twelfth-century widows who were mentioned in the sagas. But there is another reason to believe that the sagas here reflect a real change. The number of killings that occurred in the last period of the Commonwealth is well attested in the sagas; unlike the earlier periods, it is rare to find a chieftain who died in old age. The descriptions of the

109 SS, ii, ættskrár following p. 326. The numbers are 265 men and 166 women found in the full genealogies, including a few people from the eleventh and fourteenth centuries; 83 men and 49 women from the twelfth century (37% women); 190 men and 116 women from the thirteenth century (38% women). The families used to determine these numbers are the Oddaverjar, Haukdælir, Sturlungar, Staðarhólsmenn, Seldælir, Vatnsfirðingar, Ásbirningar, Möðruvellingar and Fljótamenn, Svínfellingar and the kin of Þorgeirr Hallason. 110 These were: Hvamm-Sturla’s sons Björn and Halldórr, and his daughters Helga the elder, Sigríðr, Þórdís and Valgerðr; Gizurr’s daughters Vilborg (widow) and Valgerðr; and Þorgeirr’s sons Einarr (died young) and Þórðr (became a monk), and daughters Þóra (widow), Gríma and Oddný. SS, i, 52, 54, 60, 64, 76, 98, 116–7, 123, 161, 205, 221, 229, 232. remarriage 173 battles of the last decades of the Commonwealth provide the names of the men killed, and these deaths usually outnumber those killed in battle before the 1220s.111 For example, at the battle of Sælingsdalsheiði in 1171, where Sturla Þórðarson defeated Einarr Þorgilsson, four people were killed or later died of their wounds.112 Furthermore, Sturla did not find it necessary to execute his rival, because ‘it was said that most men sensed a change in the balance of honour between Sturla and Einarr’.113 This event is recorded in Sturlu saga, written between 1200 and 1225, by someone close to the events; it is possible that he was present at the battle and on the whole reported the resulting deaths and outcome accurately.114 On the other hand, fifty-seven men lost their lives at the battle of Örlygsstaður in 1238. The chieftains Kolbeinn Arnórsson ungi and Gizurr Þorvaldsson felt compelled to kill their powerful rivals, the chieftains Sighvatr Sturluson and his son Sturla, as well as three of Sturla’s brothers, to neutralize any future threat from them.115 Like Sturlu saga, this account was written within a half-century of the event, in Íslendinga saga, by Sturla Þórðarson, who took part in the battle and was closely connected to all of the major participants.116 These battles indicate the nature and extent of political change in Iceland in the thirteenth century. The increased number of political killings also suggests not only the higher number of overall deaths in the thirteenth century, but also the greater likelihood of the premature death of a cheiftain.117 It is almost certainly this increase that accounts for the greater number of widows, especially of chieftain rank, who failed to remarry in the mid-thirteenth century. The higher proportion of killings meant that the number of widows for the period from 1220 until 1264 would be higher than earlier, thereby increasing the number of eligible brides. But the killings also meant that influential men with real power who were still alive were in short supply. There

111 Jón Viðar Sigurðsson notes the high number of men killed in battle from the 1220s. Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, ‘Krigføring i Island på 1200–tallet’, in Krigføring i middelalderen. Strategi, ideologi og organisasjon ca. 1100–1400, ed. K. Årstad, Forsvarsmuseets småskrifter nr. 35 (Oslo, 2003), 110–128, at 118–9. 112 SS, i, 94. 113 ‘Ok var þat mál flestra manna, at á þeim fundi skipti um mannvirðing með þeim Sturlu ok Einari.’ SS, i, 94. For a detailed discussion of the conflict, see Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, Chieftains and Power, 87–9. 114 Stefán Einarsson, History of Icelandic Literature, 153; Thomas, ‘Introduction’, 19. 115 SS, i, 438–9. 116 Stefán Einarsson, History of Icelandic Literature, 154. 117 Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, Chieftains and Power, 88–9. 174 chapter five were fewer available men for chieftains’ daughters and sisters to remarry. So not only was pressure on widows to enter another marital union probably not as great after 1220 as earlier due to a lack of suitable men, but the option to remarry might not even have been available to most, regardless of wealth, social status and perceived fertility. The figures suggest that even entering an extra-marital liaison would have been difficult for widows.

Conclusion

This chapter has examined questions of remarriage and the factors that affected it in twelfth- and thirteenth-century Iceland and Yorkshire. The statistics indicated that remarriage was far more common among the Yorkshire widows and that liaisons were more frequent among the Icelandic. An analysis of factors impacting on remarriage in Iceland suggests that age, social status and political transition in the later Commonwealth were the most crucial. Widows definitely past childbearing age, those of farmer rank and those widowed after about 1220 were unlikely to remarry. But for those potentially fertile women of chieftain rank widowed prior to 1220, a subsequent union, although a possibility, was not necessarily guaranteed. For these widows, other factors also influenced whether and whom they remarried. Evidence suggests that lordship and family interests were closely connected, and wealth and the formation of political alliances between families through marriage probably played a role in potential remarriage. More often than not chieftains were involved in the remarriage of widows, usually their kinswomen, and the absence of a king meant that a widow was only subject to familial pressure. But when no remarriage took place, issues of lordship do not appear to have been significant. Coercion does not appear to have been the norm, but whether or not this was due to the ecclesiastical idea of female consent cannot be determined. Failure in Iceland of Christian teaching concerning monogamy and of the stigmatization of extra-marital relationships seems to have provided some widows of chieftain and farmer rank with an alternative to remarriage. Liaisons, whether temporary or permanent, were a real option. On the other hand, the Church’s limited influence provided little impetus for the growth of nunneries, and entering one does not appear to have been open to widows in general. All of this indicates the importance of an individual widow’s circumstances—of age, rank, remarriage 175 politics, family connections, availability of lovers, perhaps even the choice of the widow herself—to her potential to remarry. The room for manoeuvre with which a widow’s circumstances provided her will be discussed in more detail in chapter six. In Yorkshire, one factor appears vital—perceived fertility. Although the likelihood of remarriage was equally small if she was past childbearing age, a Yorkshire widow was less likely than her Icelandic counterparts to remain unmarried if she was perceived young enough to be fertile, regardless of wealth and status. Wealth, a position as heiress and social status do not appear to have been the sole determining factor in remarriage. Potentially fertile widows appear to have had less room for manoeuvre in remarriage, despite the awareness of the doctrine of female consent in twelfth-century England. Lordship, especially royal lordship, might have been a significant factor in these unions, although there is evidence that coercion, even royal coercion, was not applicable in many cases. Family interests might account for these cases, but the source material does not allow further consideration of this. Even the option of fining with the king, perhaps in the hope of gaining freedom from family pressure, does not appear to have been a viable alternative for widows of childbearing age. Due to ecclesiastical influence and the importance of producing heirs within a legally recognized marriage, extra-marital relationships do not seem to have been an acceptable alternative. The many nunneries in Yorkshire might have provided widows with an alternative, as elsewhere, but if so, these women do not seem to have taken advantage of this. The evidence therefore suggests that widows past childbearing age rarely remarried, but those perceived as fertile generally did remarry. We cannot, however, be certain that these widows were forced to remarry. On the evidence presented so far, it appears that the degree of manoeuvre available in certain circumstances to potentially fertile Icelandic widows was not generally available to Yorkshire widows. Perceived fertility, more than wealth, rank or any other factor, probably subjected a Yorkshire widow to stricter control. Yet stricter control did not necessarily mean coercion in all cases. Room for manoeuvre almost certainly varied depending on individual circumstances, in both Iceland and Yorkshire, and this issue will be taken up in the next chapter.

CHAPTER SIX

POWER

The previous chapter was concerned with questions of remarriage and the factors which impacted on it. The answers to these questions had important implications for the remainder of a widow’s life in terms of property, power and identity. Prior to the death of her husband, a widow had been a daughter, then a wife, and each life stage placed her to some extent under the control of a man. That is not to say that she had no room for manoeuvre as daughter or wife, but it has been argued that she reached her fullest potential for freedom of action as a widow.1 A woman arguably first gained, at widowhood, independent control over the property she had accumulated over the course of her life. Widowhood could also, of course, expose a woman to dangers without the protection of men. Remarriage had the potential to provide security but also to curtail freedom, since she was again subject to the influence of a husband. Yet it probably brought further wealth in the form of another brideprice or dower, which she might control to a greater or lesser extent during the marriage, or after it if she was widowed again. It also brought at least one other element to her identity, potentially changing an existing one as she became the wife of a new husband. And a widow might have acquired further identities, as mother to more children of her own, as stepmother to her new husband’s children if he had them, or as daughter- and sister-in-law within a new kin group. This chapter is concerned with issues of remarriage, property, and power; identity will be examined in the next. In the field of history, power traditionally has been defined fairly narrowly, usually being equated with the holding of public authority. This definition assumes that non-royal women in the medieval period were generally powerless, as they could not hold public office and almost without exception were excluded officially from public life. Several scholars have recently challenged this perception of power, accepting a wider definition ‘which encompasses the ability to act effectively, to

1 Johns, ‘Wives and Widows’, 122. 178 chapter six influence people or decisions, and to achieve goals’, thereby allowing for a kind of informal power.2 This definition is arguably more useful in assessing women’s access to power in the medieval period, and the Icelandic and Yorkshire widows in this study will be measured against it. However, there is still the danger of artificially separating the public and private spheres. This often happens in the historiography of Icelandic women.3 ‘Innan stokks’ (the area within the farmhouse and its immediate area) and ‘utan stokks’ (the area outside of the immediate household) are frequently divided as women’s and men’s areas of work and influence. The sagas do in fact divide work between these areas according to gender.4 However, it is misleading to think, therefore, that there was in a more general sense private and public spheres which corresponded to these areas inside and outside of the household, with a fixed boundary which could not be crossed by women and men. Public and private were often one and the same in a society such as medieval Iceland, where a chieftain’s household and farm were the centre of his power, and arguably to some extent in twelfth-century Yorkshire as well. An inappropriate division of these spheres fails to acknowledge the full scope for action which women had.5 Discussion of power must consider both the source of power and the means of action. Land is obviously the main focus of discussion as the most important source of power in twelfth- and thirteenth-century Iceland and Yorkshire. Women, as we have seen, had access to land in various ways. Could they control and use it, as a source of power and in ways which enabled them to pursue goals, act effectively and influence others? Bonds of kinship may have provided another source of

2 Specifically in relation to women, see Erler and Kowaleski, ‘Introduction’, 2, from which the quotation comes; Johns, Noblewomen, 2. 3 McNamara and Wemple, ‘Power of Women’, 83–101. For Iceland, see Ólafía Einarsdóttir, ‘Om húsfreyjamyndighed’, 77–85; idem, ‘Kvindens stilling’, 227–38; Jochens, ‘Medieval Icelandic Heroine’, 35–50. Else Mundal notes that women could exercise a kind of informal political power, in the choice of vengeance against rivals, but she argues for such power only within the confines of the family. Mundal, ‘Position of Women’, 3–11. 4 Jochens, Women in Old Norse Society, 115–40; Agnes Arnórsdóttir, ‘Kvinner og “krigsmenn” ’, 158–60. 5 Stafford, ‘Emma: Powers of the Queen’, 3–25, especially at 8–10; idem, ‘Women and the Norman Conquest’, 229–30. Although Agnes Arnórsdóttir divides Icelandic society into public and private spheres, she at times recognizes that there was no fixed boundary between the two. She is thus more aware of the opportunities for power that Icelandic women had during the later Commonwealth. Agnes Arnórsdóttir, ‘Kvinner og “krigsmenn” ’, especially 76–8, 158–70. power 179 power to act or exert influence. The ties of lordship might mean that a woman could call on her own lord, or, if she were one, herself call as a lord on her own retainers. Sexual power could give influence over lovers. As well as power, women might also have authority, deriving from their social roles or status, as remarried wife, widow or guardian of her husband’s heir. This chapter will also be concerned with the aims a widow might have, as well as the strategies and means of pursuing them. As McNamara and Wemple have pointed out, this might not necessarily, or primarily, mean pursuing the interests of her dead husband and his family. She might pursue those of her natal family, or even her own personal objectives.6 It might be anachronistic to see control of her own life as an aim at this date, especially if we see this in modern terms. But a widow might wish to control the question of remarriage and choice of a second husband. For example, some widows paid fines to the king in twelfth-century England to do this. Such an aim was probably often connected to a desire to keep effective control over her property. These were societies in which kin and lords had much influence over marriage and choice of partner. A woman’s, or man’s, expectation of personal choice here might not be the same as our own. The goal of control over property might itself be linked to other aims, connected to the future of her children. Susan Johns notes that ‘as mother of the heir to the earldom [the countess’s] role was to support her son’.7 This was arguably a strategy common to all high- ranking mothers. Continuation of the lineage, and of the property and associated authority within that lineage, were important goals in medieval society. Both women and men strove to pass on their property to their children, whether the property consisted of a tenancy-in-chief or a family farm. The strategy followed, however, may have differed between the genders, and acknowledging the differences in ‘the way that men and women exerted power and influence in society through complex power structures such as the family and lordship’ should lead to a better understanding of the power of widows.8 The means widows used to pursue these goals will be a major concern of this chapter.

6 McNamara and Wemple, ‘Power of Women’, 94. 7 Johns, Noblewomen, 56. 8 Johns, Noblewomen, 2. 180 chapter six

All this is not to say that widows did not act for their own personal purposes. A widow might have wished to retain control over property simply because she wanted a degree of freedom in her life, or to fulfil other ambitions, such as the obtaining of prestige or spiritual benefits. She might have wished to fulfil her own society’s view of good lordship, which involved, for example, the giving of gifts. While it is not always possible to determine precisely what a widow’s aims were, her actions can indicate the strategies and means available to her and the extent of the power which she had to act effectively.

Consent in Marriage

It was suggested in chapter five that in general Icelandic widows were not forced to remarry, whilst Yorkshire widows may have been, although from whom the coercion came is often unknown (see above, pp. 152–6, 167–9). Detailed discussion of individual cases throws more light on these generalizations, and on the question of the power of the widows themselves. It is instructive to begin with two widows, Jóreiðr Hallsdóttir from Iceland and Hawise countess of Aumale from Yorkshire. When widowed, both were young, perceived as fertile, well born and wealthy. Yet the conclusion of the two cases was very different. Neither wanted to remarry the man put forward as a second husband. Jóreiðr remained unmarried, Hawise did not. Jóreiðr Hallsdóttir was a wealthy widow in 1225. She had a child and thus had proved herself fertile. She came from and had married into impressive families, albeit not of the highest rank. Her great- grandfather was Þorgils Oddsson, one of the leading chieftains in the region of Saurbær in the first half of the twelfth century, and she was descended from a Norwegian king.9 She was the widow of Þórðr Narfason, grandson of Snorri the Lawspeaker; her husband could count among his ancestors an earl and Ingólfr Arnarson, acknowledged as the first settler in Iceland.10 Jóreiðr would have been an attractive marriage partner. Her only child, a young daughter Helga, was heir to Þórðr Narfason’s property, as well as to her mother’s, and she lived with

9 SS, i, 5, 13, 63; ii, 22. ættskrá. 10 SS, i, 10. power 181

Jóreiðr, probably at Sælingsdalstunga.11 Jóreiðr’s brother Páll lived a short distance north of his sister, at Staðarhóll, and was ‘the greatest of friends’ (‘inn mesti vinr’) and possibly a retainer of the powerful chieftain Þórðr Sturluson.12 When Jóreiðr received an offer of marriage from Ingimundr Jónsson in 1225, she declined, Íslendinga saga tells us, ‘because she did not want to make an agreement that would deprive her daughter of her wealth’.13 Ingimundr was a kinsman and retainer of Sturla Sighvatsson, a young chieftain trying to establish a name for himself in the region where Jóreiðr lived. At the time of the proposal, Sturla was embroiled with his powerful chieftain uncles Snorri and Þórðr Sturluson, the latter being Páll’s friend, in a dispute over the family chieftaincy, the Snorrungagoðorð.14 It is unclear who Jóreiðr’s chieftain was at the time. Þórðr had recently moved to the nearby Hvammur, located about ten kilometers south of Sælingsdalstunga, but the sagas do not imply that he was Jóreiðr’s chieftain.15 Nor do they imply that Sturla was, who lived at a somewhat greater distance south (although not far), at Sauðafell.16 Shortly after Ingimundr’s proposal was rejected, Jóreiðr was abducted from her home by Sturla Sighvatsson and held against her will at his farm of Sauðafell in an attempt to wear her down so that she would finally agree to marry Ingimundr. Jóreiðr’s response was to go on a hunger strike and steadfastly reject the proposed union, until Sturla finally allowed her to return home.17 The saga reports that ‘her kinsmen did not like these actions at all’, meaning her abduction, not her response.18 Jóreiðr’s family members were not among those who attempted to force her to make another marital alliance; when Ingimundr proposed, there is no indication that her kin were eager for her to marry or that they put any pressure on her to accept. On the contrary, her brother Páll solicited the aid of his friend Þórðr to obtain compensation for the abduction.19 The outcome was that Jóreiðr’s

11 SS, i, 321, 480. 12 SS, i, 310. 13 ‘því at hon vildi eigi ráða fé undan dóttur sinni.’ SS, i, 309. 14 SS, i, 303–15. 15 SS, i, 309. 16 SS, i, 284. 17 SS, i, 310. 18 ‘Þetta líkaði stórilla frændum hennar.’ SS, i, 310. 19 SS, i, 310. 182 chapter six daughter Helga later married one of Þórðr’s sons, Sturla, cousin to Sturla Sighvatsson. The pressure on Jóreiðr came instead from the local chieftain, Sturla Sighvatsson. Sturla’s attempted intervention on behalf of Ingimundr Jónsson was arguably due to a variety of factors. During the Icelandic Commonwealth, marriage to a wealthy woman was often the only feasible way for a man to improve his economic situation and to gain influence. It was therefore important to chieftains that they should control the marriage market when they could. Through brokering marriages, they could reward loyal followers and kinsmen, thereby ensuring their continued support.20 Sturla almost certainly had this aim in mind when he abducted Jóreiðr and tried to persuade her to marry Ingimundr. But Sturla had another reason for his actions. Marriage to Jóreiðr would bring wealth to the man who married her, and through that wealth political clout. If, at the time of the abduction, Jóreiðr married a follower of Sturla’s uncle and rival Þórðr, her wealth would be used to bolster Þórðr’s supporters, and hence Þórðr himself. But if she married Ingimundr, with Sturla’s support, her wealth would bolster Sturla’s ally at the expense of his rivals. Sturla’s course of action was, however, dangerous. The evidence presented in chapter five indicated that chieftains who were not kin did not often control the remarriages of widows (see above, pp. 152–6). This suggests the lack of an established custom or right for Icelandic chieftains to interfere in remarriage. As a result, Sturla’s actions were not automatically accepted. The possibililty of failure was real and would require Sturla to pay compensation to Jóreiðr or her kin, while he simultaneously lost their support and perhaps that of Ingimundr as well. But he may have been acting in desperation. Earlier he and the chieftain Þorvaldr Vatnsfirðingr had pledged their friendship and mutual aid, which Sturla perhaps hoped to count on if a dispute over the family chieftaincy arose. But in 1224, this hope began to fade. Sturla’s uncle and rival for the chieftaincy, Snorri, married his daughter to Þorvaldr. Þorvaldr was now faced with close kinship ties to one of the rivals and a promise of friendship to the other. The fact that Sturla was harbouring some of Þorvaldr’s enemies in 1225 did not help matters. Sturla was still only twenty-six at this point and trying

20 Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, ‘Konur og kvennarán’, 75. power 183 to firmly establish himself.21 Losing the Snorrungagoðorð could dam- age his reputation. In the circumstances, Sturla perhaps believed he needed to secure other supporters, like Ingimundr, and to prove his ability to provide for his retainers. Since Jóreiðr was one means to that end, he therefore was willing to take a chance when he abducted her. Sturla was, after all, nothing if not a risk-taker. The political circumstances of those on either side of the dispute provided Jóreiðr with room for manoeuvre. When she refused the proposed union after being abducted, she was probably fairly confident of the aid of her kin and of the chieftain Þórðr Sturluson. Jóreiðr would have been aware of Sturla’s weakening position vis-à-vis his rivals, and her brother Páll’s position as Þórðr’s friend.22 The outcome, that her daughter Helga married Þórðr’s son Sturla, was excellent for Jóreiðr. Arguably her aim was a desire to protect her daughter’s property and keep it intact. Remarriage and more children would have meant that at best her daughter Helga would have to share her inheritance equally with her half-siblings, and at worst she might receive no more than a small percentage as her dowry. If this was Jóreiðr’s aim, she certainly achieved it. Helga’s marriage protected her property from diminution, as well as provided her with one of the best possible unions. Jóreiðr was so successful because her family supported her actions, coupled with the politics of the period during which she acted. Jóreiðr is one of several widows who used the political rivalry of chieftains to obtain her ends during the twelfth century and first half of the thirteenth, a point to which I will return (see below, pp. 185–7, 202–9, 221–2). Hawise countess of Aumale was the only legitimate child of William count of Aumale and earl of York (although the latter title had not been recognized by Henry II) and Cecily de Rumilly II, heiress to the honour of Skipton. Her father died in 1179, and shortly afterwards King Henry II married Hawise to William de Mandeville, earl of Essex.23 She (or rather her husband) took possession of her paternal inheritance of the honour of Holderness in Yorkshire and the county of Aumale during her marriage.24 She became a countess in her own right. When her husband died leaving her childless in 1189, she was between twenty-one and thirty-one years of age, probably younger

21 For the information in this paragraph, see SS, i, 299–310. 22 ‘inn mesti vinr Þórðar’. SS, i, 310. 23 Diceto, ii, p. 3. 24 EYC, iii, nos. 1310–1, pp. 40–1. 184 chapter six rather than older.25 Since her mother died between 1188 and 1190, Hawise was either in possession of the honour of Skipton in Yorkshire, or very soon to be, when widowed. Like Jóreiðr, Hawise was eminently marriageable at her husband’s death. Shortly after the death of her first husband, Hawise was ordered by King Richard to marry William de Forz, a Poitevin captain and loyal companion in his service. When Hawise refused, stock from one of her manors was seized on behalf of the crown and sold in an effort to compel her to comply.26 Hawise arguably found the marriage unacceptable. She was an earl’s daughter, a countess in her own right and had been married to an earl. William de Forz was significantly beneath her in rank and wealth, and he was foreign.27 It may not have been that Hawise was against remarriage; she needed to wed another man if she wanted her own child as her legitimate heir.28 It may simply have been that she was against remarriage to William de Forz. Nevertheless, the proposed marriage occurred in 1190.29 Hawise was powerless to avoid the fate the king had in store for her. Given that she was young, very wealthy, potentially fertile, had no heir of her body and could bring an earldom to a subsequent union, it is unsurprising that she failed in her attempt to refuse marriage. Hawise’s lack of powerful kin should be noted. Her father was dead when she was widowed, and perhaps her mother as well; her aunts and uncles were not as powerful as her father had been, and she had no brothers. Hawise thus had few powerful close family members to whom she could turn for aid. Nor was her husband’s family well placed to support her. The heir to her husband’s earldom of Essex was his aunt, and the king disposed of the earldom as he saw fit.30

25 For the dating of Cecily’s marriage, see above, pp. 108–9. Since Cecily’s marriage took place no earlier than 1157, Hawise, as her legitimate daughter, could not have been born before 1158, making her no more than thirty-one in 1189. For an account of the descent of the barony of Allerdale, see EYC, vii, 12–14. See appendix 2 for the dating of Hawise’s birth and marriages. 26 PR 6 Ric I, p. 163. 27 Barbara English, The Lords of Holderness, 1086–1260: A Study in Feudal Society (Oxford, 1979), 30–2. 28 DeAragon, ‘Dowager Countesses’, 94. 29 Chronica Monasterii de Melsa, ed. E.A. Bond, RS, xliii, 3 vols (London, 1866–8), vol. 1, 91. 30 Milsom, ‘Inheritance by Women’, 64. See also Ralph V. Turner, ‘The Mandeville Inheritance, 1189–1236: Its Legal, Political and Social Context’, HSJ, 1 (1989), 147–72. power 185

After her second husband’s death in 1195, Hawise again remarried.31 Her third husband was Baldwin de Béthune, another loyal companion of Henry II and his son Richard. Hawise was still very wealthy, and of childbearing age. She was no more than thirty-seven in 1195 and went on to have a daughter with Baldwin. There is no indication that Hawise was coerced into her third marriage, although it is possible that she objected. She had had a son with William de Forz, and thus already had an heir. And Baldwin, like William de Forz, was not from a high-ranking family, was not wealthy and was a foreigner.32 She successfully fined with King John in 1212 after the death of her third husband for the huge sum of 5,000 marks to hold freely her inherited and dower lands and not to be forced to marry again.33 By this point she was past childbearing age. The lack of effective familial support and the presence of a man too powerful to be challenged successfully, appear to have been crucial in Hawise’s case. Hawise had to contend with a power which Jóreiðr did not—a king. There was no one as powerful as Richard to whom Hawise could turn, and no powerful relations whom Richard needed to take into account. The king was able to use Hawise to benefit men loyal to him at no cost to himself. Her age and potential fertility were clearly factors in her desirability. Once she was no longer fertile the king was willing to concede to her wish to remain single and have her lands, although at a hefty price. Hawise, unlike Jóreiðr, had little room for manoeuvre as a widow of childbearing age. Not all Icelandic widows, however, were able to refuse remarriage. Guðmundar saga dýra informs us that Guðrún Þórðardóttir was a beautiful, young woman who, in 1185, had already inherited land and a farm at Arnarnes from her deceased father.34 She probably had no close male relatives, at least none who were influential, since the saga does not mention any support from or presence of natal kin at any point. She was married in 1185 to Símon Þorvarðsson, almost certainly under duress. The relationship began poorly and she spent periods away from home, although after a year or so things improved and Guðrún remained with her husband. Símon drowned in 1187, leaving

31 Chronica Magistri Rogeri de Houedene, ed. W. Stubbs, RS, li, 4 vols (London, 1868–71), vol. 3, 306. 32 English, Lords of Holderness, 32–5. 33 Rot. Chart., 189a; EYC, vii, p. 21. 34 For details of Guðrún’s relationships, see SS, i, 168–71. 186 chapter six her a young, childless widow. That summer a man named Hrafn proposed, and her former father-in-law acted as her legal guardian in the matter. The saga relates, without providing any details, that the proposal was discussed by her and her father-in-law together, resulting in the couple’s marriage.35 Subsequent events suggest that Guðrún was persuaded to marry against her will. If she consented, she had second thoughts. She rushed away from the bridal bed on her wedding night and later abandoned the marital home. She went to Hrafn’s chieftain Grímr Snorrason, who had lent his support to the proposal. Although Grímr let her stay with him for a while, he intended to return her to Hrafn. When Guðrún discovered Grímr’s intentions, she again fled and sought out her former father-in-law Þorvarðr, ‘crying and protesting that she loved Símon in every respect’.36 Þorvarðr was happy to take her in, and she stayed for a long time. Þorvarðr often travelled around the fjord on business, and on one occasion Guðrún accompanied him and met Hákon Þórðarson, the nephew of the powerful chieftain Guðmundr dýri. Guðrún and Hákon had often seen each other before, but they had not spoken. This journey afforded Guðrún the opportunity to have a long talk with Hákon for the first time, the result being that they became lovers. After Þorvarðr had concluded his business, he took Guðrún back to her home at Arnarnes, where Hákon continued to visit her. She persuaded Hákon to kill her husband, saying that she did not want him to visit while Hrafn was alive, ‘but you can do as you please afterwards’.37 Shortly after Hákon attacked Hrafn, and the latter died of his wounds three days later. Hákon subsequently became Guðrún’s third husband. The sagas do not indicate either approval or disapproval of any of their actions. This case is both an indication of the circumstances in which forced remarriage might occur, but also of continued room for manoeuvre, here provided by sexual power. Guðrún was a young and physically attractive woman in control of an inheritance, and apparently without close male kin. Her father-in-law seems to have pressured her

35 ‘Þorvarðr Þorgeirsson var at umsjá með henni, ok færðu þeir mágar þau mál saman, at Guðrún var föstnuð Hrafni.’ ‘Þorvarðr Þorgeirsson looked after the affairs of [Guðrún Þórðardóttir], and the father- and daughter-in-law reached a decision together that Guðrún should be betrothed to Hrafn.’ SS, i, 169. 36 ‘grátandi ok kvaðst þar unna hvívetna af Símoni.’ SS, i, 169. 37 ‘en ger sem þér sýnist siðan.’ SS, i, 170. power 187 into accepting another marital union, a union which natal kin might have helped her refuse. Her youth and inexperience also seem to have played a part. As a young widow, Guðrún might have thought that her father-in-law was the only man who could help her. But as Guðrún spent more time as a wife, she realized that she could appeal to a wider range of men for aid, and perhaps apply a wider range of tactics. At first she turned, albeit unsuccessfully, to her second husband’s chieftain for support. She then immediately turned to her father-in-law, where she appealed to his fatherly instincts, and she was successful. He provided Guðrún with time out of her home and away from her husband, which gave her the opportunity to choose a lover. There is a suggestion of deliberate and careful choice here. She did not settle upon the first man who came along. The saga notes that she and Hákon had often seen each other before, perhaps indicating that Guðrún took her time weighing up his qualities, as well as those of other men. It is surely significant that she chose a chieftain’s nephew as lover. Given that she plotted her second husband’s death—and she might very well have had this in mind when she took a lover—Hákon was a man who would have powerful backing if he killed her husband. His kin were much more distinguished and far more powerful than Hrafn’s, and the repercussions of his actions would be less drastic than if she chose a lower-ranking man. Experience and the careful choice of a well-connected lover seem to have made a difference in Guðrún’s case, but so too did the possibility and acceptability of such an action in Icelandic society. Sexual power gave her another way of operating in this world of powerful men. And once again the balance between the power of chieftains—Grímr and Hákon’s uncle—was a factor. Guðrún is the only Icelandic widow known to have been forced into remarriage. Of the sixteen widows who remarried, there is, however, evidence that one was not consulted (Ingibjörg Þorgeirsdóttir) and that three of the unions were politically motivated (those of Ingibjörg Sturludóttir, Guðrún Bjarnadóttir and Þuríðr Gizurardóttir). Yet this does not mean that any of the four widows concerned were coerced. Ingibjörg Þorgeirsdóttir’s father was a powerful chieftain who married her to an up-and-coming chieftain in his district. It provided her with a more influential husband than her first, and her young son from her first marriage with a powerful protector and ally. There is no indication that Ingibjörg, although not consulted, disapproved of her father’s choice for her. Sturlu saga even notes that she acted jointly 188 chapter six with her husband on her brother’s behalf in a dispute some years later.38 Ingibjörg Sturludóttir was married at the behest of her former father- in-law, who was the most powerful man in Iceland at the time.39 Her remarriage secured an important alliance for her father, but too little is known about the remarriage to determine if she consented or not, or was even consulted. Guðrún Bjarnadóttir was very wealthy when she remarried, and had a young daughter as heir. As with Ingibjörg, there is no indication of consent, refusal or consultation. However, she married a wealthy man whose prospects for power looked very good, and who was in a position to protect her and her daughter’s inheritance.40 Guðrún might not have remarried unwillingly. Þuríðr Gizurardóttir’s remarriage benefited her and her son, and she probably approved of her second husband. Her son Kolbeinn was eleven when his father died in 1184.41 The legal statements stipulated that Þuríðr, as Kolbeinn’s surviving parent, had care of his person, and, as his closest adult heir, had care of his property with the right to the yield from it as her own.42 There is no indication that this did not occur in practice. The sagas do not tell of any interest that Þuríðr’s father, brother or in-laws took in her son, his property or his district until over a decade later.43 Kolbeinn was accepted as chieftain by his father’s followers within a year of his father’s death.44 Grágás states that a boy as young as twelve could inherit a chieftaincy if men per- mit.45 The legal statements do not specify who these men were, but in Kolbeinn’s case they appear to have been his father’s followers. Guardianship arguably gave Þuríðr control over her dead husband’s property and chieftaincy, suggesting that she would not have needed to capitulate in remarriage. Nevertheless, she might have been anxious for a remarriage which protected her son’s interests, and Kolbeinn’s followers might also have desired this. Having accepted Kolbeinn as their new chieftain, it was in their interest to prevent his loss of power. A suitable husband for Þuríðr might further this aim. Þuríðr

38 SS, i, 72–3. 39 SS, i, 526–7. 40 SS, i, 232. 41 SS, i, 229. 42 Grágás, Ib, 5; Ia, 230–1. (See also below, pp. 195–6.) 43 SS, i, 233. 44 SS, i, 161. 45 Grágás, Ia, 142. power 189 could arguably rely on their support should an unacceptable match be proposed. There is another reason why Þuríðr was likely to have consented to her second marriage. At widowing, she was a wealthy woman with a young son as heir to an established chieftaincy. Shortly thereafter, her son was recognized by his father’s followers as successor. Þuríðr was very attractive as a prospective wife. A marital connection to her son, through her, was potentially a significant advantage for a new husband and his kin. It is unlikely that Þuríðr’s only suitor was Sigurðr Ormsson, the man she married. Sigurðr was eminently suitable to protect Kolbeinn’s interests. He had no children of his own who could threaten Kolbeinn’s position. From 1187, he took an active part in aiding his stepson’s bid for authority. He administered Kolbeinn’s chieftaincy when Kolbeinn went abroad in his teens, thereby preventing others from encroaching on his stepson’s power.46 He and Þuríðr together made an important alliance for Kolbeinn when they married his sister Halldóra to a member of the powerful Sturlungar family (see above, pp. 101–3).47 And he managed the finances of a bishopric jointly with Þuríðr while Kolbeinn was still a young man, as a means of keeping the bishop under Kolbeinn’s control, giving up his own chieftaincy in the process.48 It seems probable that Þuríðr would have both approved of and condoned this choice. If it was a mother’s aim to preserve and enhance her children’s future, Þuríðr’s remarriage certainly succeeded. Although there is little evidence for the coercion of Icelandic widows into remarriage, it is clear that the interests of powerful men might play a large part in their marital careers, though sometimes to a widow’s advantage. In Yorkshire the number of widows’ remarriages which can be shown to have benefited the men involved in their making is much larger. Of the twenty-three marital unions of widows, twelve were to the advantage of the men involved. The two concerning Hawise have already been discussed above. Of the remaining ten, nine remarriages benefited lords connected with the widows. Alice (wife of Richard de Percy) was the widow of Walter d’Argentom, a tenant of Alan de Percy I. After Walter’s death, she married Alan’s younger brother,

46 SS, i, 164. 47 SS, i, 234–5. 48 SS, i, 155–7, 239. 190 chapter six

Richard de Percy.49 As widow of Herbert de St. Quintin, Agnes de Arches held dower land of the honour of Holderness of the counts of Aumale.50 Her second husband, Robert de Fauconberg probably was, like Herbert de St. Quintin, an important tenant of the same honour.51 Both of these remarriages kept lands held by the widows under the control of the same lord. The widowed Juetta de Arches, heiress to the Arches fee held of Roger de Mowbray, married a loyal follower of her own lord. It has been suggested that Roger used this marriage to reward one of his loyal and frequent companions without diminishing his own resources.52 The king was lord of some of these widows. He gained financially through fines from the remarriage of Rohaise de Clare and the two remarriages of Sibyl de Valognes.53 He also gained politically through the remarriage of Cecily de Rumilly I, her daughter Alice de Rumilly I and her granddaughter Alice Paynel. Henry de Tracy married Cecily de Rumilly I after the death of her first husband William Meschin. As discussed earlier (see above, p. 108–10), Cecily’s daughter Alice de Rumilly I married William fitz Duncan, nephew of King David of Scotland, probably in 1138. Through the union William consolidated his control over Skipton and Copeland, two important lordships in the north of England. Dalton has argued that William fitz Duncan granted some of his mother-in-law’s lands of her honour of Skipton to magnates already holding of him in Copeland (by right of his wife) and elsewhere in Cumbria, thus establishing some of his own men as important tenants on Rumilly lands.54 It is not unreasonable to suggest that Cecily’s remarriage may have been arranged by Stephen as an attempt to offset the Scottish presence which her daughter’s marriage represented in Yorkshire. Although Stephen had defeated David in 1138 at the battle of the Standard and the two kings had come to terms at Durham in April 1139, Stephen may have had his doubts about David’s faithfulness to their agreement, and David’s presence remained a potential threat.55 Henry de Tracy, probably a relative of

49 Whitby cart., ‘Memorial’, p. 7 and no. 74, p. 69. Reprinted in EYC, ii, no. 900, p. 243. 50 EYC, iii, nos. 1331–4, pp. 53–5, and p. 109. 51 EYC, iii, p. 34; CP, xi, p. 368. 52 Mowbray Charters, p. xxxix. 53 PR 9 Hen II, p. 68; PR 12 Hen II, p. 41; PR 28 Hen II, p. 46. 54 Dalton, Conquest, 216–8. 55 Crouch, King Stephen, 90. power 191 the king’s cousin William de Tracy, was established by Stephen as a regional commander at Castle Cary in the southwest after it had been confiscated from Ralph Louvel in 1138, and he remained loyal.56 A union between him and Cecily may have split her loyalty, since her husband and her son-in-law served rival lords. Unfortunately, dating the marriage is difficult; the date range is as wide as 1135 to 1153.57 It is possible that Henry was married to Cecily before he was given command at Castle Cary and was made lord of Barnstaple; the evidence for this does not date before 1139.58 Marrying him to the Rumilly heiress who was in control of her Skipton lands before 1138 and then establishing him in Devon seems odd. It is more likely that the union took place after 1138, especially as Henry had probably been married earlier, having had a son Oliver who succeeded him in 1165.59 A marriage after 1138 may have been intended to give Stephen an ally in the north (if sometimes at a distance, for Henry was known to have been in the southwest in 1139, 1143 and 1147), someone who may have had an insider’s knowledge of William fitz Duncan’s plans.60 Whenever the marriage took place, it brought a close and faithful ally of Stephen into the baronial family who controlled the honours of Skipton and Copeland. It is perhaps significant that Cecily was at least thirty-five at the time of her remarriage and near the end of her childbearing years. As Henry de Tracy already had a son and heir and perhaps other children, having more offspring might not have been a pressing issue for him. Cecily’s age suggests that this was a political marriage in response to an unsettled situation in the north of England, and may be an argument that the marriage was not her own choice, though there is no direct evidence.

56 Crouch, King Stephen, 79, 102, 244. 57 Henry de Tracy’s family cannot be traced in England before 1135. Green, Aristocracy of Norman England, 135. Lewis C. Loyd, The Origins of Some Anglo- Norman Families, eds C.T. Clay and D.C. Douglas, Harleian Society, ciii (Leeds, 1951), 104–6. 58 It has been suggested that Henry de Tracy acquired Barnstaple through marriage to one of the sisters and heirs of Alfred fitz Judhael, who held Barnstaple in 1136. Green, Aristocracy of Norman England, 380; EYC, vii, p. 6 & n. 8. It is also possible that Alfred was dispossessed of the lordship of Barnstaple after he supported Baldwin de Redvers in his revolt against Stephen in 1136, which was subsequently given to Henry to Tracy by 1139. Green, ‘Aristocratic Women’, 75. 59 EYC, vii, p. 6. 60 For Henry’s presence in the southwest, see EYC, vii, p. 6. 192 chapter six

The marriage of Cecily’s widowed daughter Alice also benefited the king—in this case Henry II—when she was married to Alexander fitz Gerold in 1155 or 1156. Alexander was a relative of Henry II, and it has been suggested that the king was responsible for this marriage, which advanced Henry’s aim to prevent further links between the Rumilly family and the Scots.61 As in her mother’s case, there is no evidence to suggest whether or not Alice consented. Alice Paynel’s first and second marriages also benefited the men involved in their negotiation. Alice was given in marriage by King Stephen to both her first husband between 1145 and 1148, and her second husband, Robert de Gant, younger brother of Gilbert, earl of Lincoln, in 1153.62 Both men were loyal supporters of Stephen, and Alice was used as a pawn in his political machinations.63 Yet Alice herself benefited from these marriages. She inherited and retained lands which she may not otherwise have received or kept if the king had not chosen her husbands. The benefit of the men involved was not necessarily against the interests of the woman concerned. In the case of the final widow, Agnes d’Aumale, it was not her lord, but a member of her natal kin, who benefited from her remarriage. Agnes’ brother William, count of Aumale and earl of York until 1155, married her to his ward Adam de Brus II sometime between 1151 and 1156.64 William was in a position to marry his sister as he wished because Stephen had given him considerable latitude after 1138 to offset the influence of King David and those Yorkshire barons, like Eustace fitz John and at times Robert de Brus, who supported him.65 The marriage should have been a good one for both Agnes and Adam, since Adam was the wealthy son and heir of a tenant-in-chief, and Agnes was the sister of an earl and the widow of an earl’s son. But a good marriage, with its affinity to the family of an earl, may not have been sufficient compensation for Adam, who lost control of many important lands to William, lands which the Brus family did not regain until the reign of

61 Dalton, Conquest, 229. 62 EYC, vi, pp. 31–3, nos. 51, 80, pp. 133, 170–1; Dalton, Conquest, 175. 63 EYC, vi, p. 33. Robert de Gant apparently rebelled against King Stephen in late 1153 or early 1154 after his marriage to Alice, but he seems to have been loyal to Stephen until this point. Crouch, King Stephen, 287. 64 EYC, ii, pp. 12–3. 65 Dalton, Conquest, 149–55, 208–9. power 193

King John.66 His marriage as a ward to Agnes may have brought him further under William’s influence and prevented him from reclaiming the Brus lands. The consequences for Agnes were that she, too, lost out. Her husband could not recover his father’s lands, and thus her son by him had a costly fight for his inheritance. How much of this Agnes could have anticipated at the point of marriage is debatable. What is clear is that her brother’s substantial political clout allowed him to use both her and his ward as pawns in his own plans. Agnes’ own plans and strategies do not seem to have entered into all this, and the same can be said for those of her young husband. Detailed consideration of the remarriages of the Yorkshire widows corroborates the contention made in chapter five that lordship and kinship were often separate in Yorkshire (see above, pp. 154–5). Only one family member appears to have been actively involved in the making of these marriages. The lords of the widows or of their dead husbands were the main beneficiaries, and only Agnes d’Aumale’s brother is known to have gained substantially. However, it cannot therefore be assumed that the widows themselves were coerced, nor that they or their kin necessarily lost out. Some women, such as Cecily I and Juetta, certainly appear to have been pressured by lords to accept a second marriage which did not necessarily benefit their kin, and some, such as Agnes d’Aumale, lost out themselves. But the high payment that Sibyl’s second husband made to the king to marry her brought her a high-ranking, powerful and wealthy husband. The marriages of Alice Paynel, although she was used by the king as a pawn and to the disadvantage of her father and brothers, brought her great wealth and two good marital unions. Both Sibyl and Alice might have remarried willingly. That lords benefited from these remarriages does not mean that lordly and family interests were always at odds over the making of unions for their widowed kinswomen, especially when family interests need not be the same for the entire family and a woman’s own interests might be different. Alice Paynel’s interests were served by her marriages, but not those of her two eldest brothers. Cecily I’s remarriage to Henry de Tracy brought an ally into the family for her daughter Matilda, who was married to a supporter of King Stephen. The current husbands of both her sisters were allies of the Empress,

66 EYC, ii, pp. 12–3; Dalton, Conquest, 166. 194 chapter six and until her mother’s remarriage, her husband had been alone in his support of the king. Here political divisions between kin show how difficult it is to speak too generally of ‘family interests’, and simply to oppose them to lordship. Individual circumstances—social, familial, economic and political— had as much impact on the interaction between lordly and family interests in widows’ remarriage as a general notion of tension inherent in the dealings between the two.67 It is significant that many of the marriages which involve a political benefit for the king occurred at times or in regions where he was politically insecure. The remarriages of Cecily I, her daughter Alice, and Agnes d’Aumale all occurred as a direct or indirect result of either Stephen’s or Henry II’s position vis-à-vis the Scottish king. It has already been noted that Stephen and Henry II probably arranged the marriages of Cecily and her daughter to consolidate their position against David in the north. William count of Aumale was given latitude by Stephen to marry his sister as he wished. Here again the interests of some kin—Agnes’ brother—and lord combined. The marriages of Alice Paynel were made to strengthen the power of two of Stephen’s loyal supporters at the expense of those of his rival Matilda. These widows were arguably among those who had the least room for manouevre in their remarriages. If the king is seen generally as a potential aid to a widow, in these instances the women could not appeal to him in opposing a choice made by their family, since the king had chosen their husbands. In the end the issue of personal consent, let alone plans and strategy, in the case of the Yorkshire widows is difficult to determine. There were certainly those whose marriages benefited a dead husband’s lord, but also arguably benefited the widow herself, in the sense that they were good marriages, as in the case of Alice, widow of Walter d’Argentom, Agnes de Arches and Sibyl de Valognes. There is no indication of lordly control over the remarriages of Avice Meschin in about 1135, Alice de St. Quintin’s between 1148 and 1163, Alice de Rumilly II’s in the early 1190s, Agnes de Flamville’s in 1202, Alice de Curcy’s in the last decade of the twelfth century or Isabel de Brus’s in the early thirteenth. None of these remarriages, apart from Avice

67 Holt has noted that tension over who had the right to bestow a kinswoman in marriage was not necessarily present, and that there could be ‘reasonable give and take between king and baron, lord and man’. Holt, ‘Feudal Society, iv’, 8. power 195

Meschin’s and possibly Alice de St. Quintin’s, were made during periods of obvious political instability. That is not to say that these widows had free choice, or even that they were not forced by their kin, natal or marital, to remarry. There is no evidence of such coercion, but the sources would not necessarily record it. Coercion itself might be problematic. As Menuge points out, the lines are blurred ‘between the so-called consent of the individual, and the wishes of the family and guardian. Consent is relative; it does not mean free choice. It does not mean autonomy’.68 In some cases fining with the king to avoid remarriage (for example, Hawise and Alice II in the end) allowed a woman some possible control and underlines the importance, as in Iceland, of a powerful man as a protector. Unfortunately, such men could, as in Iceland, also be the woman’s problem. Cecily I, Alice I, Agnes d’Aumale and Alice Paynel, whose marriages were made at the behest of the king, did not have this option.

Wardship and Transference of Property and Authority to the Next Generation

Control of minors impacted on the influence a widow had over the future of her children. If a widow could gain guardianship of her minor children, she increased her chances of taking part in marriage negotiations for them. She might also improve the prospect of admin- istering their inheritance until they came of age. The issue of wardship is thus crucial to any discussion of a widow’s power. Agnes Arnórsdóttir has argued that, in Iceland, high-ranking widows often had custody of their children, which brought control over the paternal inheritance of those children.69 She does not, however, develop this point, and most other historians of Commonwealth Iceland assume a widow’s custody without discussing the issue. There is reason for this assumption. The legal statements are clear about a widowed mother’s rights to guardianship of her offspring. Grágás stipulates that if in marriage a father dies before a mother, the mother gets care of the minor children until they are sixteen, and she could take

68 Noël James Menuge, Medieval English Wardship in Romance and Law (Cambridge, 2001), 99. 69 Agnes Arnórsdóttir, ‘Kvinner og “krigsmenn” ’, 168. 196 chapter six the cost of their maintenance from their inheritance.70 The widowed mother was also to have control of all property of her husband’s minor heirs, if they had no brother sixteen or older, retaining the yield from it as her own. Once her husband’s eldest son reached sixteen, he was to take over administration of the property.71 As a mother, a widow was one of three people who could not be relieved of such custody (except by a brother of the minors when he came of age).72 Such legislation suggests that a widow had, in theory, considerable power over her children’s future. Residence with her and control over property gave a widow economic independence, allowed her wide latitude to manage her children’s finances as she thought best, and provided her with the potential to influence her offspring’s marriages. The saga evidence appears to support the view that a widow had custody of her children. Of the twenty-two widows who had either minor or unmarried offspring at the end of a relationship, only one child did not remain with his mother after his father’s death, while the residence of three is uncertain.73 Úlfheiðr Gunnarsdóttir’s son Guðmundr was taken to live with his paternal uncle at the age of five. The critical point here seems to be that Guðmundr’s parents, Úlfheiðr and Ari Þorgeirsson, had not married. The other seventeen widows kept their children with them, either remaining at their dead husband’s farm and managing that property, or taking the children and their wealth to live with a second husband at his farm. However, two further widows, whose eldest son was on the cusp of adulthood, each had a younger son who did not remain with her after his father’s death. Guðný Böðvarsdóttir’s youngest son Snorri, at three, had already been fostered before the death of his father by the most important chieftain in Iceland, and he remained in his foster home. Álfheiðr Njálsdóttir’s middle son Guðmundr was fostered by his paternal uncle at the age of seven when her husband died. Both Guðný and Álfheiðr’s eldest sons, as well as the other children, remained at the family farm with their mothers.

70 Grágás, Ib, 5. The same law also states that if a mother died, the father had care of the children. 71 Grágás, Ia, 230–1. 72 Grágás, Ia, 231. The other two were a father and a brother. A third party could offer to buy custody from all others who had care of minors. 73 The three who might not have lived with their mothers were Sigríðr, Yngvildr Þorgilsdóttir’s infant daughter from her liaison with Þorvarðr Þorgeirsson; Eyjólfr, Herdís Hrafnsdóttir’s young son from her first marriage; and Guðrún, Snælaug Högnadóttir’s young daughter from her liaison with Hreinn Hermundarson. power 197

The evidence also supports the view that a widow’s custody brought control over her children’s paternal inheritance and potential involvement in their marriages. The cases of just four of numerous widows indicate this. Hallbera Snorradóttir, together with her teenage son, sold her husband’s farm, Múli, after she was widowed. She then bought Tunga in Svínadalur, where they both lived for a period.74 Guðný Böðvarsdóttir administered her husband’s main estate, Hvammur, when their children were young, which she retained even after their sons had reached adulthood.75 She arranged the marriage of her eldest son, Þórðr. He married the only daughter and heir of the chieftain Ari Þorgilsson, whom Guðný had taken as her lover shortly after her husband’s death.76 Guðný also had control of her youngest son’s inheritance, even while he was being fostered outside the family home.77 Þuríðr Gizurardóttir’s actions and control over her son, his paternal property and his chieftaincy have already been noted (see above, pp. 188–9), and her participation in her daughter Halldóra’s marriage has also been discussed (see above, pp. 101–3). Yngvildr Þórðardóttir entered a legal partnership ( félag) as a widow, taking her two daughters to live with her second partner in his household. Shortly thereafter her elder daughter married, and Yngvildr made the invitation to the most important guests at the feast.78 Yet not all widows were effective in helping to secure their children’s inheritance. All the widows with grown sons had at least one son who inherited his father’s lands and chieftaincy. It is likely that in these cases, a widow needed to do little to secure a transfer of property and authority, as her adult sons could make alliances and manage lands for themselves. A widow left with minor offspring could be in a more precarious position. Of the twenty-two widows in this group, there is sufficient information about the property of seventeen.79 Only one, Jóreiðr Hallsdóttir, had a daughter but no sons; she was discussed above (see pp. 180–3). The other sixteen had young sons. Eight minor sons inherited all of their paternal property as adults.

74 SS, i, 27. 75 SS, i, 229–31, 237–8. 76 SS, i, 229–31. 77 SS, i, 237. 78 SS, i, 23. 79 Too little is known about the property of the children of Guðrún Brandsdóttir (Kolbeinn kaldaljós and Halldóra), and of the daughters of Yngvildr Þorgilsdóttir (Sigríðr), Yngvildr Þórðardóttir (Helga and Hallfríðr), Álof Þorgeirsdóttir (Guðleif ), and Snælaug Högnadóttir (Guðrún) to include them in this discussion. 198 chapter six

A further four received only part of what their fathers had possessed when they died. Three did not inherit from their fathers, and the fate of one is unknown. The numbers of minor sons who later inherited a chieftaincy are more evenly balanced: five did, but six did not. When the numbers are broken down into the periods that roughly correspond with the political changes in Iceland, a pattern appears. Generally, those widows whose husbands died prior to 1220 had sons who inherited their father’s property and chieftaincy after they reached adulthood. Only Úlfheiðr Gunnarsdóttir’s son Guðmundr did not inherit paternal wealth. If Guðmundr’s father Ari had survived his own father Þorgeirr, and had Ari then come into possession of his paternal wealth, Guðmundr might have inherited. Had the property already been in Úlfheiðr’s hands while Ari was alive, she might have been able to retain it. But as Guðmundr’s parents had not married, his paternal uncles made use of his illegitimacy to deprive him of their brother’s share a few years after Ari’s death. If Úlfheiðr had had sufficiently powerful kin, this tactic almost certainly would not have worked.80 The one example of a widow’s sons who did not inherit their father’s chieftaincy before 1220 is that of Ingibjörg Guðmundardóttir’s sons. It is significant that neither Úflheiðr nor Ingibjörg had surviving powerful kin, either natal or marital. Despite this, Ingibjörg’s sons did manage to acquire their father’s land. The children of the five widows whose husbands died between 1220 and 1240 had varied success in inheriting. Steinunn Hrafnsdóttir’s son inherited both lands and a chieftaincy. Her sister’s son did not inherit a chieftaincy, and it is uncertain if he inherited any property. The last three had sons who, although they inherited both lands and a chieftaincy, only did so after a struggle, and they found their wealth and/or authority reduced from what their fathers had had. The children of the four widows whose husbands died after 1240 all failed to inherit chieftaincies. Only Randalín Filippussdóttir’s and Jórunn Kálfsdóttir’s sons inherited paternal property, and that wealth was only a small portion of what their fathers had possessed.

80 The only son of one of Guðmundr’s uncles was also illegitimate (Ögmundr Þorvarðsson sneis), but no one deprived him of his paternal inheritance. SS, i, 117, 243. There are other examples of illegitimate sons inheriting, despite legitimate heirs. See, for example, Órækja Snorrason (SS, i, 454, 465), Tumi Kolbeinsson (SS, i, 229) and Þórðr Sturluson’s sons (above, pp. 100–1, 117–8). power 199

Table 6.1. Transference of property and authority widow with year property chieftaincy support young son(s) relationship transferred transferred from ended Björg1 1117–1118 n/a chieftain Hallbera 1118 n/a chieftain and Snorradóttir2 natal kin Ingibjörg 1145–1148 n/a natal kin Þorgeirsdóttir3 Úlfheiðr 1166 * X n/a no powerful Gunnarsdóttir4 natal kin Þuríðr 1184 second husband Gizurardóttir5 and natal kin Arnþrúðr by 1190 n/a natal kin Fornadóttir6 Ingibjörg 1212 X no powerful Guðmundardóttir7 natal or marital kin Hallveig 1221 in part lesser marital kin Ormsdóttir8 chieftain Herdís 1222 unknown X unknown Hrafnsdóttir9 Þórdís 1228 lesser lover, chieftain Snorradóttir10 chieftain Steinunn 1234 chieftain Hrafnsdóttir11 Solveig 1238 in part lesser marital kin Sæmundardóttir12 chieftain Þuríðr 1244 X X marital kin Ormsdóttir13 Jórunn 1246 in part X chieftain Kálfsdóttir14 Ingunn 1252 X X marital kin Sturludóttir15 Randalín 1255 in part X marital kin Filippussdóttir16

* Indicates liaison instead of marriage. n/a indicates that no chieftaincy was held which might be passed from parent to child. Source: SS,—1 i, 19–20; 2 i, 20, 27; 3 i, 66, 76; 4 i, 118, 122–3; 5 i, 161, 164, 229; 6 i, 139–40; 7 i, 257-9, 288; 8 i, 270–1, 299, 302, 304, 444, 450, 452; 9 i, 264–7, 305, 321, 448; 10 i, 302, 304, 322–3, 358, 360–1, 363–5, 471, 528, ii, 1–2, 10, 28, 67, 281–2; 11 i, 302, 447, 477; ii, 50; 12 i, 299–300, 438–9, 446–7, 472, ii, 86; 13 i, 447, ii, 49; 14 i, 443, 512, 525, ii, 81, 83; 15 ii, 86; 16 i, 472–5, 517. 200 chapter six

There were several strategies available for a widow to help her sons, if her circumstances enabled her to take advantage of them. First, a widow could fall back on her natal kin for support. This assistance could be either direct protection—in battle, in court or through management of her son’s inheritance and chieftaincy—or aid in helping the widow acquire another alliance through marriage which would provide her and her children with a protector. Second, a widow might approach her in-laws for support, who might also choose to help a widow remarry. Third, a widow could turn to someone who was not a relative, such as a chieftain or lover, for protection or an alliance. It was possible to combine one or more of these strategies. Soliciting support from natal kin was the safest option for most widows. Nearly all widows who had influential enough families utilized this aid and succeeded in transferring their husband’s property to their sons. A widow’s natal kin would have found it very difficult, if not impossible, to deprive her son of his paternal inheritance, as they had no legal claim to it. In fact, it was in their interest to ensure that their kinswoman’s son did inherit, since a wealthy or powerful grandson or nephew was a beneficial ally. One way in which natal kin could help a widow was to find another husband for her who would protect her and her sons. Between 1145 and 1148, Ingibjörg Þorgeirsdóttir’s father married his widowed daughter to Hvamm- Sturla Þórðarson, who protected the property of Einarr, her young son from her first marriage. Ingibjörg died in 1160, when Einarr was fifteen, but Hvamm-Sturla continued in his support of his stepson. He handed over to Einarr his rightful inheritance within the next few years, establishing him at the farm at Sælingsdalstunga and supporting him in his marriage negotiations.81 Securing a remarriage was not the only way in which a widow’s natal kin could help her. Direct action could be taken to support or protect a widow, as in Arnþrúðr Fornadóttir’s case. The church establishment at Vellir had been taken on by Arnþrúðr’s second husband Eyjólfr on the condition that it should descend in inheritance to his sons by her.82 When Eyjólfr died in about 1190, Arnþrúðr’s sons had not yet

81 SS, i, 76. 82 ‘Eyjólfr, faðir þeira, hafði búit á Völlum ok hafði svá tekit staðinn handsölum, at í erfð skyldi hverfa.’ ‘Eyjólfr, their father, had his household at Vellir and had taken legal control of the staður on condition that it should be passed on as inheritance.’ SS, i, 210. power 201 become fully independent adult men, and she asked her kinsman the priest Guðmundr Arason (later bishop of Hólar) to come to Vellir to help manage her household.83 With his help, Arnþrúðr ran the wealthy staður for a time. Several years later Arnþrúðr and her sons were forced to move to another property, and Guðmundr was powerless to prevent their removal.84 However, Arnþrúðr’s sons never relinquished their claim to Vellir, which they actively renewed as adults in 1200 after one of them attacked the current tenant. They asked their mother’s kinsman Ögmundr sneis for aid, and, as a chieftain, he had the necessary power to protect them, as well as to forcibly occupy and defend Vellir on their behalf. The eventual outcome of this aid was the success of Arnþrúðr’s eldest surviving son in regaining control of Vellir.85 Soliciting support from in-laws was more risky than turning to natal kin. Unlike a widow’s natal kin, her in-laws had a claim to the inheritance of her son. A widow’s husband had been part of his sons’ natal kin group, and after sons, a man’s brothers were legally entitled to inherit. Paternal uncles of a widow’s son therefore had a very strong claim, and it was not impossible that they would wish to exploit the vulnerability of a young nephew and usurp his inheritance, as some paternal uncles did. This occurred several times in the 1240s and 1250s, when the young sons of Þuríðr Ormsdóttir, Ingunn Sturludóttir and Randalín Filippussdóttir lost wealth and chieftaincies to their husbands’ brothers. Randalín’s case is typical. When her husband died in 1255, she had three kinsmen who were chieftains. Her father’s brother and his son were both influential in the southwest of Iceland, while her husband’s brother was powerful in the Eastern and Northern Quarters. She turned for help to her brother-in-law Þorvarðr, probably because her uncle and cousin were too enmeshed in their own fight for political survival to be of much use to her son.86 Þorvarðr himself was also struggling for power, albeit as a major challenger at a national level rather than as a supporting player.87 He allowed Randalín and her children to remain at the farm she had shared with her husband in the East Fjords and protected them, but he could not afford to allow

83 SS, i, 139. 84 SS, i, 139–40, 210. 85 SS, i, 210–1. 86 SS, i, 495–6, 501–2, 525–7. 87 SS, i, 501–3, 516–22. 202 chapter six her son to inherit most of his father’s wealth or chieftaincy.88 Þorvarðr needed the power and wealth he derived from his nephew’s chieftaincy if he was to remain a major contender for power at the highest level. However, not all widows lost out when they turned to marital kin for aid. Shortly after the death of her husband Sturla in 1238, Solveig Sæmundardóttir gave over her husband’s property to his paternal uncle Snorri Sturluson when she went to Norway with her children.89 Later, Sturla’s brother Þórðr kakali supported her and arranged the marriage of one of her daughters.90 Solveig’s son later inherited a portion of his father’s property and he became a chieftain, taking over from his paternal uncle Þórðr, although his wealth and authority was not as great as his father’s had been.91 A widow’s final option, to ask for assistance from a chieftain or lover, could be as uncertain as seeking aid from marital kin. A chieftain had a duty to protect the interests of his supporters and their families, including widows and their young sons, but not necessarily without compensation for his efforts. A chieftain based the compensation he demanded on what would suit him best politically, and after 1220 it could lead to the loss of wealth or, in a few instances, a chieftaincy, as occurred to Jórunn Kálfsdóttir’s sons in the 1250s.92 In two cases, however, property and chieftaincies were not demanded as compensation. Rather, the widows’ sons in question were allowed to inherit their lands and chieftaincies in return for their loyalty. Þórdís Snorradóttir was one of these widows. Her case needs to be examined in detail to appreciate the extent to which an Icelandic widow’s attempts to aid her son’s acquisition of paternal inheritance might become a part of her general strategies. Her father Snorri Sturluson was the most powerful man in Iceland during the 1220s (see above, p. 103). He used Þórdís, as he did his other children, to make a profitable political marriage for himself when he wed her to Þorvaldr Vatnsfirðingr in 1224.93 She was between fourteen and twenty years of age; Þorvaldr was at least forty-six and possibly older, having already

88 SS, i, 474, 517. 89 SS, i, 447. 90 SS, ii, 70. 91 SS, ii, 86. 92 SS, i, 525–6; ii, 81, 83. 93 For a discussion of Snorri’s use of his children in marital alliances, see Nordal, Ethics, 65–6, 110–1; Jochens, ‘Wealth and Women’, 455–63. power 203 had three legitimate children and five illegitimate sons.94 Þorvaldr was very powerful and the only chieftain in the West Fjords at the time, having killed his rival chieftain in that region, Hrafn Sveinbjarnarson, in 1213.95 However, four years after his marriage, in 1228, Þorvaldr was killed by Hrafn’s sons, leaving Þórdís with a young daughter and an infant son, Einarr.96 She also had five illegitimate stepsons, the eldest of whom had recently reached adulthood and took over his father’s chieftaincy. Þórdís’s situation was precarious in 1228, and she was vulnerable. Her son Einarr was an infant with many years ahead before he would be in a position to control his paternal inheritance. His illegitimate elder half-brothers, who had the support of the local farmers, were well-placed to take over from their father, and their illegitimacy did not affect their position.97 Þórdís herself was still a young and fertile woman with powerful kin who could profit through her remarriage. Snorri ordered his daughter to return home in 1228, probably for this purpose.98 He might also have wanted to use Einarr to put forward a legal claim to his grandson’s inheritance in the West Fjords. But Þórdís refused to be a pawn any longer. She had seen her father’s acquisitive- ness and avarice in all his dealings, even with his own brothers and nephews (see above, pp. 181–3), and she must have feared for her son’s future material well-being. There was little she could do while Einarr was so young and his half-brothers were in control, and she remained out of the political struggles immediately after her husband’s death. But she could at least remain out of her father’s reach. She set up her own household with her children at Mýrar, a remote farm in the West Fjords that had been her husband’s.99 Snorri had little authority in the region and few followers, while many men remained loyal to Þorvaldr’s sons, and Þórdís was successful in remaining out of her father’s reach. In this case the loyalty of followers was critical.

94 In 1198 Þorvaldr took in a man who had killed someone, suggesting he had his own household by then. It has been argued that young men were established in their own households at about the age of twenty. Jochens, ‘En islande médiévale’, 98. If Þorvaldr had been as young as twenty in 1198—and he might have been considerably older—he would have been forty-six in 1224 when he married Þórdís. 95 SS, i, 226. 96 SS, i, 321–3. 97 SS, i, 323. 98 SS, i, 323. 99 SS, i, 323. 204 chapter six

However, the situation changed in March 1232 when her two eldest stepsons were killed. As an independent woman in charge of her own household, Þórdís had the opportunity to begin an extra-marital relationship. Perhaps in the hope of achieving a degree of influence in her husband’s district, Þórdís took as lover at about this time the most powerful man in the West Fjords, Oddr Álason; Oddr was allied to her father’s powerful kinsman and sometime rival, Sturla Sighvatsson (see above, pp. 181–3).100 Her stepsons’ deaths left a power vacuum in the West Fjords, and there was no one influential enough to oppose her father immediately. Snorri supported Þorvaldr’s eldest remaining son Illugi, and he allowed Þórdís to manage her dead husband’s estates from Þorvaldr’s main farm at Vatnsfjörður.101 But it is probable that Snorri had an ulterior motive for this generosity. Snorri almost certainly did not wish to upset his nephew Sturla, whose support he needed at a court case later that year. Þórdís had chosen her lover carefully, as Oddr was Sturla’s leading supporter in the west. If Snorri had demanded that his daughter return home or placed his own man at Vatnsfjörður at the death of her stepsons, Sturla would have thought that his uncle was interfering. But once Snorri had obtained the required support from Sturla, he was free to act. In the spring of 1233 Snorri forced his daughter’s removal from Vatnsfjörður, demanded that she return to her natal home and installed his son Órækja Snorrason (Þórdís’s half-brother) as chieftain.102 This act angered not only Þórdís, but Sturla’s supporters as well, since Órækja had no claim to Þorvaldr’s chieftaincy. And although Þórdís did not return home, instead going to Mýrar once again, she was powerless to prevent Þorvaldr’s chieftaincy falling into the hands of her half-brother. Her son, then six years old, was still too young to act as a focal point for resistance to her father. She might have been able to turn to her cousin Sturla for aid, as Snorri’s most powerful rival in the West Fjords, but he had been summoned to Norway.103 Sturla had left his supporter, and Þórdís’s lover, Oddr to look after his interests in the west, but Oddr was not powerful enough in his own right to stop Snorri. So Þórdís again adopted the strategy of allowing others to play the political game at national level. The difference this time was that,

100 SS, i, 360–1. 101 SS, i, 358. 102 SS, i, 361. 103 SS, i, 360. power 205 due to the political situation, she was in a strong enough position to seek local support from Oddr, a man powerful in his own district. That support can be glimpsed in the sagas. Íslendinga saga tells of a rumour that Þórdís, together with Oddr, plotted to kill her half-brother and enemy Órækja late in 1233.104 Whether or not this rumour was true, the saga implies that such an event was believed possible. Therefore, Þórdís must have been seen to be in an influential enough position to plot against Órækja’s life, probably as a result of her alliance with Oddr. Þórdís’s behaviour in this case was no different to that of most thirteenth-century chieftains. But Þórdís’s security and period of activity did not last long. After the rumoured attempt on Órækja’s life, her half-brother had Oddr killed in 1234.105 Þórdís had not gained enough influence in the few years that she had been Oddr’s lover to enable her to continue her quest for influence in the West Fjords, and Einarr was still far too young to be able to act as a focus for any men who wished to support her against her enemies. Þórdís therefore returned to Mýrar and with- drew completely from the political scene in 1234. She concentrated on raising her children—waiting for the appropriate point at which to re-enter the power game—while the major players, including Sturla, Snorri, Órækja and Kolbeinn ungi, fought for dominance. That time came in 1242, beginning Þórdís’s last period of activity, when she came to be a dominant force in the West Fjords. Her son, now sixteen, was of an age at which he could begin to lead men and serve as a focal point for potential supporters, albeit not without the aid of another, older, individual, in this case his mother. In 1242, Einarr was singled out by name as one of the most prominent men in the district, and it is clear from the sagas that his mother was still an important influence in his life, guiding and advising him.106 In addition, Sturla had been killed in 1238, Snorri in 1241, and Órækja had been exiled in 1242. With these men now gone, only one person remained in the West Fjords who could pose a real threat to Einarr’s claim to power. This was Hrafn Oddsson, her lover’s eldest son by his wife. However, Hrafn was still young—about the same age as her son—and his closest kinsmen had also been killed recently. Þórdís was

104 SS, i, 364, 367. 105 SS, i, 364–7. 106 SS, ii, 10. 206 chapter six quick to take advantage of this opportunity. She, together with Einarr, immediately sought out the man who had killed her father and exiled her half-brother, in order to pledge their support to him; that man was Kolbeinn ungi, the most powerful man in the north of Iceland, and the rival of Hrafn’s kin and allies.107 This choice by Þórdís underlines the fact that kin was not the only, and sometimes not even the most important, factor which can explain choices made by widows. Here was a woman who turned her back on her kin because she thought she was best served by a different alliance. Agnes Arnórsdóttir argues that Þórdís probably had no alternative but to negotiate with Kolbeinn and pledge her support, but this view does not to take into consideration fully the political and personal circumstances in which Þórdís found herself.108 Rather, her choice should be seen as a positive one. There were no other claimants for power in Vatnsfjörður still alive in Iceland. Einarr was the legitimate heir to his father’s chieftaincy. Mother and son were thus influential enough to gain the backing of most farmers in their region of the West Fjords. There is no indication that they were forced to offer support to Kolbeinn. The sagas report that Þórdís immediately sought out Kolbeinn to pledge her support to him when the opportunity arose. Had she been reluctant, she would hardly have rushed to a meeting with him. In addition, when Þórdís’s cousin Þórðr kakali returned to Iceland a few months after she had pledged allegiance to Kolbeinn, Þórdís could easily have changed to his side. She had seen her own kin shift their allegiances several times, after all. But it is significant that Þórðr was even more closely linked to Hrafn than to her, and Þórdís and Einarr remained loyal to Kolbeinn until his death. The wording of the sagas makes it clear that it was both Þórdís and Einarr who had power in the West Fjords. When mother and son went to meet Kolbeinn, they received an honourable welcome and good gifts. ‘And at their parting, they all agreed to everything that Kolbeinn desired or requested.’109 The gender of the pronoun they (‘þau’) in this case includes Þórdís; the masculine ‘þeir’ is not used. When Kolbeinn pressed the farmers of the West Fjords for support shortly after Þórdís and Einarr had pledged him their assistance, she

107 SS, ii, 1–2. 108 Agnes Arnórsdóttir, Konur og vígamenn, 141–2. 109 ‘Ok at skilnaði þeira játuðu þau öll því, er Kolbeinn vildi eða beiddi.’ SS, ii, 2. power 207 and her son successfully influenced the farmers to aid Kolbeinn. Þórðr saga kakala tells us that ‘all the farmers wanted to do as both Einarr and Þórdís wished’.110 Þórdís and Einarr even threatened the property and lives of farmers in the north of their district if they refused to swear an oath to Kolbeinn in 1244, in the midst of the war between Kolbeinn and Þórðr. And the threat was not an empty one; those who stayed at home and did not pledge their support had their farms laid waste.111 Clearly, Þórdís was respected by many of the men in the west, her advice was important, and she had the power to compel farmers in her district to do as she ordered in the early 1240s. After 1244, Þórdís then disappears from the sagas, almost certainly because her son was then fully grown and could act on his own, secure in his position of authority. The support that Þórdís was able to bring to Kolbeinn was of the utmost importance to him. The West Fjords were vital in the contest for supremacy in Iceland between Kolbeinn and his rival Þórðr Sighvatsson kakali, who returned to Iceland in 1242. Þórðr was the only remaining adult brother of Sturla, Þórdís’s earlier ally, and his power base should have been in Eyjafjörður, where his father Sighvatr had had power.112 But that area was in the north, and Kolbeinn had already managed to subjugate it. In addition, Þórðr’s brother-in-law Hálfdan, who should have supported him ardently, refused to take part in his struggle with Kolbeinn; Þórðr’s younger brother Tumi, his mother, one of his sisters and his sister’s husband Styrmir had had their property confiscated by Kolbeinn and were forced to move from home.113 So Þórðr had to look elsewhere for support, and the West Fjords was the most important area left from which he could gain allies. Kolbeinn knew that if he himself could gain control of the area, Þórðr would have little chance to build up his power base, and thus little chance to become a significant threat. Þórdís’s influence over the farmers of the West Fjords was therefore crucial should Kolbeinn be able to secure her support. Kolbeinn needed Einarr to inherit his paternal property and authority to support him effectively, and thus he promoted Einarr’s interests.

110 ‘vildu allir gera vilja Einars ok Þórdísar.’ SS, ii, 2. 111 SS, ii, 67. 112 Sturla, his father and three of his brothers had been killed at the battle of Örlygsstaður in 1238. SS, i, 434–9. 113 SS, i, 440. 208 chapter six

And here is where the second widow and her son enter the story. Steinunn Hrafnsdóttir was the daughter of the rival chieftain killed by Einarr’s father Þorvaldr in 1213. Her father had been the only other chieftain with his power base in the West Fjords in the thirteenth century, and his chieftaincy lapsed with his death. His sons had not been able to resurrect it, yet his descendants did not relinquish the claim to it. In 1238, Steinunn’s brothers, the last of her influential adult male kinsmen, had been killed by Kolbeinn at the battle of Örlygsstaður.114 In 1240, when her eldest son Hrafn was fifteen, she married her eldest daughter to Svarthöfði Dufgusson, a close kinsman and loyal ally of Sturla and his brother Þórðr kakali.115 Although Sturla was dead and Þórðr was abroad, an alliance with their family was still the best prospect to avenge her brothers’ killing, and perhaps to resurrect her father’s chieftaincy and power for her son. This alliance might, in part, have prompted Þórdís’s support for Kolbeinn in 1242, an event which placed Hrafn at a disadvantage in the West Fjords. Prior to Kolbeinn’s alliance with Þórdís, Hrafn’s only rival was a boy about his age, albeit with a politically aware mother who had local support. But Hrafn’s followers were as loyal to his family as Einarr’s were to his, and his sister’s marriage could benefit him. Once Þórdís enlisted Kolbeinn’s aid, however, the stakes were raised. When Þórðr returned to Iceland shortly thereafter, he sought out Hrafn, who, despite his youth, promised him his own support, as well as that of his followers.116 Þórðr’s soliciting of aid from Hrafn acknowledged Hrafn’s claim to power in the West Fjords. Like Kolbeinn, Þórðr needed to promote Hrafn’s interests if he himself was to derive the maximum benefit from his support. While Steinunn might not have played an active role in this latest alliance, it seems that the marriage she arranged between her daughter and Þórðr’s kinsmen was guiding her son Hrafn towards this course of action. When Kolbeinn died in 1245, Þórðr became the most powerful man in the north of Iceland, and Einarr lost his most powerful ally. Nevertheless, the strategies of the widows paid off in the end, as both Einarr and Hrafn inherited and retained their lands and chieftaincies, even though Einarr was never quite as powerful as his father had been,

114 SS, i, 434–9. 115 SS, i, 447. 116 SS, ii, 9–10. power 209 and he, unlike Hrafn, played a secondary, rather than a leading role in national politics. There is a chronological pattern to the strategies employed by Icelandic widows with young sons. Widows generally sought support from their natal family first, especially if they had powerful kinsmen. The widows known to have utilized assistance from their birth families were all widowed prior to 1220, as in the cases of Ingibjörg Þorgeirsdóttir and Arnþrúðr Fornadóttir. Two sisters widowed between the 1220s and 1240 (Herdís and Steinunn Hrafnsdóttir) might have taken this course of action before the death of their brothers, but there is no indication in the sagas of action before 1241. Then, Steinunn married her daughter into a family of chieftains. No women widowed after 1240 were able to obtain support from natal kin. Widows generally relied on marital kin from a first marriage only when they had no natal kin powerful enough to support them, and their success was mixed. No widows with young sons chose this option prior to 1220. The women widowed in the 1220s and 1230s who relied on marital kin succeeded in transferring their husband’s property and chieftaincies to their sons, but not without difficulty. Finally, women widowed after 1240 did not manage to transfer their husband’s chieftaincies at all, and very little of their property. This chronological pattern complements the one concerning aid from natal kin, as its mirror image. Marital kin had a much greater stake than natal kin in acquiring for themselves the lands and chieftaincies of the widows’ sons, and they often took advantage of the boys’ youth to deprive them of part or all of their inheritance. This was especially the case after 1250 when there were few men remaining who could compete for power. Those who were, needed to obtain as much wealth and authority as possible, derived from property and chieftaincies, to continue their struggle, and they took advantage of the weak position of the young sons of their widowed kinswomen by marriage to enrich themselves. Widows appear to have turned to chieftains when they had no other suitable options. The early twelfth-century widows Björg and Hallbera Snorradóttir were not of chieftain rank, and they had few influential kinsmen. Their best ally was a chieftain. Þórdís Snorradóttir and Steinunn Hrafnsdóttir also relied on chieftains in the 1230/40s, who best represented their interests. They were both successful because, as a result of the concentration of power, the chieftains needed the support of their sons in return. In the 1250s, however, chieftains only 210 chapter six provided protection for widows’ sons at a high cost. For example, Jórunn Kálfsdóttir’s and Randalín Filippussdóttir’s sons lost considerable wealth and their father’s chieftaincies in return for the support of a powerful chieftain. Agnes Arnórsdóttir argues that women had power because they influenced the men in their family, and the examples of widows’ sons who received aid from their natal kin support this contention.117 But the case can be made even more strongly. Some widows not only influenced men within their kin group, but also men outside of it, as in the case of widows who effectively solicited support from chieftains. Þórdís Snorradóttir’s case perhaps indicates the range of possibilities which might have been available to Icelandic widows, depending on circumstances. She was unusual in her sustained attempt at freedom from her father’s authority, which she might have believed was the best way to protect her young son’s future. She tried several strategies. First, Þórdís used her marital property to keep herself and her son physically out of his control. Then she took a lover to try to gain influence in her husband’s district. When that failed because he was killed, she returned to her first strategy of remaining out of her father’s reach, waiting until her son was old enough to take part himself politically in the struggle for power in the west. When her son reached his teens, Þórdís once again entered politics, this time choosing a powerful chieftain as her supporter and ally. Different circumstances opened various possibilities, and Þórdís, as well as Þuríðr Gizurardóttir and Hallbera Snorradóttir, were all able to utilize a range of these to their own and their children’s advantage, from both within their kin group and without. The shifts in widows’ strategies and success here appear to reflect, once again, the changing structure of political power in thirteenth- century Iceland within which they, and their menfolk, operated. In Yorkshire an entirely different situation seems to have applied.118 By the end of the twelfth century in England, a minor heir, as well as his or her lands, was in the custodianship of the heir’s lord, who had the right to take the profits from the land as long as the heir was maintained. The heir ‘might have many nonfiduciary guardians—several as custodians of the land and one as custodian of the body’, the latter of

117 Agnes Arnórsdóttir, ‘Kvinner og “krigsmenn” ’, 76–9. 118 See Sue Sheridan Walker, ‘Widow and Ward: The Feudal Law of Child Custody in Medieval England’, in Women in Medieval Society, ed. S. Mosher Stuard (Philadelphia, 1976), 159–72; Menuge, Medieval English Wardship, especially 101–27. power 211 whom also had the lucrative right to arrange the heir’s marriage.119 If any land, no matter how small the amount or how recent the enfeoff- ment, was held by military tenure of the king, he had the wardship of the heir and lands held in chief; this was known as prerogative wardship. But other lords could have custody of the heir’s lands held of them.120 Since custody could be bought and sold, a third party might be guardian of the body of an heir and/or all or part of the heir’s lands. The heir could even be given into the possession of one who had no rights of wardship, as in the case of de facto guardianship.121 Yet none of these custodians was, by legal right, the child’s mother, although a mother might buy custody from the heir’s lord or claim de facto guardianship by right of nurture. In Yorkshire, twelve widows had at least one minor son or unmarried daughter at a first or subsequent widowing.122 Only one widow is known to have obtained guardianship of a minor heir. Gundreda de Warenne’s third husband Geoffrey Hose died in 1192 or 1193, leaving as heir a son no older than thirteen, also called Geoffrey Hose. At that time Gundreda’s brother paid for custody of the younger Geoffrey’s lands in Wiltshire.123 Circumstances changed in 1198 when Robert Tresgoz acquired custody of Geoffrey.124 By June 1199 Gundreda successfully fined with King John for custody of her son, proffering 200 marks for wardship of Geoffrey, his marriage and his lands until he came of age.125

119 Walker, ‘Widow and Ward’, 159. 120 For a discussion of multiple guardians and prerogative wardship, see S.F.C. Milsom, ‘The Origins of Prerogative Wardship’, inLaw and Government in Medieval England and Normandy, eds G. Garnett and J. Hudson (Cambridge, 1994), 223–44. 121 For a discussion of de facto guardianship, see Walker, ‘Widow and Ward’, 161–4: Menuge, Medieval English Wardship, 103–5. 122 Three, possibly four, of the widows had children from more than one marriage who were young when their father died (Avice Meschin and possibly Alice de Curcy— first and second marriages; Sibyl de Valognes—first and third marriages; Gundreda de Warenne—second and third marriages). See appendices 2, 5 and 6. Note that Agnes de Arches’s daughter Alice de St. Quintin was young and unmarried when her father died, but she was not his heir. 123 PR 5 Ric I, p. 83. 124 PR 10 Ric I, p. 69. 125 Cartae Antiquae, Rolls 1–10, printed from the original manuscripts in the custody of the Right Honourable the Master of the Rolls, ed. L. Landon, PRS, new series, xvii (London, 1939), no. 91; Rot. de Fin., 172. She completed payment in 1202. PR 4 John, p. 124. 212 chapter six

Gundreda’s personal circumstances placed her favourably to obtain wardship of her minor heir in 1199. She was at least fifty-one at that date.126 Not only had she acquired considerable life experience, but she was also no longer capable of producing further children who might threaten Geoffrey’s inheritance, even in the unlikely event that she remarried. She had accumulated lands over time, including dowry and dower, which enabled her to make a suitable proffer for guardianship.127 She had no children by her first husband. William de Curcy IV, her son by her second husband, had died in about 1194. Her daughter Alice de Curcy, who inherited the important and substantial Curcy tenancy-in-chief from her brother, was already married to the king’s chamberlain, Warin fitz Gerold, and the couple might have been powerful allies for Gundreda.128 There is no indication that Gundreda made an attempt to obtain Geoffrey’s wardship earlier. Perhaps Gundreda had been satisfied with her brother as guardian of her young son, and only sought custody when it passed out of the family to Robert Tresgoz. Gundreda’s favourable circumstances made her a suitable guardian when she fined in 1199. On the other hand, the sources are unlikely to record an earlier unsuccessful attempt at custody. Perhaps Gundreda had tried to acquire wardship under King Richard, but was only successful after the accession of King John. Certainly the date of the granting of custody—11 June 1199—would suggest that John used her proffer to benefit himself financially at a difficult time. John had been involved in a succession dispute with his young nephew Arthur since the death of the king, his elder brother Richard, on 6 April 1199. He was also con- tending with King Philip of France’s recent invasion of Normandy.129 The money might have played a small part in John’s strategy to acquire continental allies. Although Gundreda was a suitable guardian shortly after her third husband’s death, she might have had to wait for favourable political circumstances to obtain wardship of her son.

126 EYC, viii, p. 31. 127 Her dowry was in Little Fakenham. Mon. Angl, vi, p. 214; Book of Fees, i, p. 282. Dower from her first marriage was in Dersingham. EYC, viii, pp. 28–9; Book of Fees, i, p. 278; PR 6 Hen II, p. 11; Red Book, i, pp. 360–2. Dower from her second marriage was in Nuneham Courtenay. Excerpta è rotulis finium in Turri Londinensi asservatis, Henrico Tertio Rege, A.D. 1216–1272, Public Record Commission, xxi, 2 vols (London, 1835), i, 123. 128 Fines, Richard, no. 80, pp. 55–6; EYC, iii, p. 471; HKF, vol. 1, p. 108. 129 John Gillingham, The Angevin Empire, 2nd edn (London, 2001), 86–7. power 213

There is no evidence that the other eleven widows influenced or controlled the marriages or succession of their children who were also heirs of a dead husband, nor that Gundreda did in the case of her son from her second marriage. It has already been noted that the marriage and paternal inheritance of Avice Meschin’s daughter Alice Paynel between 1145 and 1148, and of Cecily II’s daughter Hawise in 1180, were arranged by the king (see above, pp. 97–9, 183–5, 192). In the early 1150s Alice de Rumilly I’s son William de Egremont, and on his death in the late 1150s his three sisters, were in the wardship of the king; Alice’s daughters were married at the will of the king in the late 1150s or early 1160s, perhaps to prevent further alliances between the Scots and the Rumilly family.130 Juetta de Arches’s son from her first marriage, Adam de Brus II, became a ward of William count of Aumale, who married him to his own widowed sister Agnes between 1151 and 1156. Adam’s substantial loss as a result of this marriage benefited William financially (see above, pp. 192–3, and below, p. 216). Agnes d’Aumale’s son from her first marriage, William de Roumare III, was brought up at the court of Henry II and appears to have been in possession of his inheritance by 1166.131 The guardian of Everard de Ros II, son of Sibyl de Valognes by her first husband, was Ranulf de Glanvill, who in 1166 held his lands in custody during his minority.132 Everard appears to have been in possession of his inheritance by 1168, and he was married by 1171, perhaps earlier.133 William de Curcy IV, Gundreda’s son from her second marriage, was a ward of the king in the custody of Robert le Poher until he came of age in 1189, when he inherited.134 There is no indication that he married before his death in 1194 or 1195. The custody of Joan, Alice de Curcy’s daughter from her first marriage, was granted to Hugh de Nevill the forester in 1195 or 1196; he married her himself shortly thereafter and acquired her paternal inheritance with her and later a moiety of her mother’s lands.135 William de Percy III, eldest son of Isabel de Brus by her first husband, was in the custody of William Briwere in 1200 shortly after his father’s death. He was married to Joan Briwere, one of

130 Bain, Calendar of Documents . . . Scotland, vol. 1, pp. 153–4, no. 864; Chronicon Cumbrie, in St. Bees, 494; Dalton, Conquest, 229. 131 CP, vii, p. 671. 132 Red Book, i, pp. 432–3. 133 PR 14 Hen II, p. 89; RD, 1. 134 PR 33 Hen II, p. 161; Red Book, i, p. 63; RD, 73. 135 Rotuli Curiae Regis, i, p. 380; Rot. Chart., 54. 214 chapter six his guardian’s daughters. He had trouble recovering a substantial portion of his paternal grandmother’s lands, but this was a consequence of his grandmother’s actions, not his custodian’s.136 Alice de Gant, daughter of Rohaise de Clare and Gilbert de Gant, earl of Lincoln, was no more than fourteen when her father died in 1156. It is likely that she was in King Stephen’s wardship and that he married her to Simon de Senlis III shortly thereafter.137 Details of the wardships of several of the widows’ heirs are unknown, including Robert fitz Robert, son of Alice de St. Quintin by her first husband; William de Curcy III, Avice Meschin’s son from her first marriage; Matilda, Alice and Gunnora d’Aubigny, Sibyl’s daughters from her third marriage; and William de Forz II, Hawise countess of Aumale’s son by her second husband. The evidence suggests that a twelfth-century Yorkshire widow had little influence on the future of her children if they were heirs. Only Gundreda de Warenne can be said, with certainty, to have had control over the property and marriage of her son Geoffrey, her third husband’s heir. But she did not have custody of her second husband’s heir, William de Curcy IV. Cecily de Rumilly I might have had some input into the marriage of her youngest daughter Alice I, but her influence is not certain (see above, pp. 108–11). Some widows’ children, such as Alice Paynel, Hawise countess of Aumale, Everard de Ros II and Robert fitz Robert, made very good marriages, both socially and financially, but that does not imply that the widows had any involvement in their making. As a result of prerogative wardship, most of these children became wards of the king, and a widow might have had even more difficulty in securing a wardship if he was her rival. The marriage of a widow’s daughter seems particularly vulnerable to interference from a lord or guardian, as in the case of Alice Paynel, Hawise, Alice I’s daughters and Joan. But sons were not exempt from this interference, as the marriages of Adam de Brus II and William de Percy III indicate. Le très ancien Coutumiers is a late twelfth- or early thirteenth-century account of past Norman law, which Menuge argues has relevance for

136 See EYC xi, pp. 5–7, for a brief discussion of this dispute. 137 Dalton, Conquest, 165, 291. Alice was certainly married to Simon de Senlis III by 1160, indicated by Alice’s charter of this date in which he is named in the pro anime clause as ‘my husband earl Simon’ (‘sponsi mei Simonis comitis’). K.S.B. Keats-Rohan, Continental Origins of English Landholders 1066–1166: A Prosopography of Post- Conquest England Complied from the Sources, COEL Interactive Database, CD-Rom (COEL Enterprises Ltd), entry number 837. power 215

England because ‘much of early English wardship practice was drawn from the Norman’.138 It contends that the danger of leaving an heir with its mother arises from her remarriage and subsequent children. The text states that a widowed mother will remarry, she will reproduce, and both stepfather and half-siblings are threats.139 But this passage sees remarrying widows as fertile. No mention is made of those too old to produce children; it is even implied that they had no reason to remarry. And perhaps here is the answer. The treatise is silent on the subject of an older widow, because she could have been a suitable and safe guardian. She could not produce more children who would threaten the heir’s inheritance, and remarriage was unlikely. But the treatise is concerned, as Menuge points out, with the promotion of the feudal overlord as the preferred guardian.140 Drawing attention to the possible suitability of an infertile, unmarried widow as guardian would not further its goal. But perhaps this is exactly why so few widows obtained guardianship. Nine of the twelve twelfth-century widows who did not secure custody of an heir were definitely still fertile when their husbands died, and all went on to produce children from a subsequent marriage.141 Two of the remaining three were young enough to have been fertile, and the third might have been.142 All but Cecily de Rumilly II remarried. The majority of the Yorkshire widows were thus fertile and remarried, which threatened the heir. But once they were definitely too old to reproduce, and remarriage was unlikely, they became more suitable. The third marriages of Sibyl and Gundreda produced children; the widows were definitely infertile when their third husband died leaving them with minor offspring.143 Neither remarried again. Gundreda obtained wardship; Sibyl may have done.

138 Menuge, Medieval English Wardship, 16, n. 67. 139 Le très ancien Coutumiers, in Coutumiers de Normandie, ed. E.J. Tardif, 2 parts, (Rouen, 1881), part 1, pp. 1–57, at 10–1. 140 Menuge, Medieval English Wardship, 106. 141 These widows were Avice Meschin, Juetta de Arches, Agnes d’Aumale, Rohaise de Clare, Alice de Curcy, Isabel de Brus, Hawise countess of Aumale, Sibyl de Valognes and Gundreda de Warenne. Sibyl and Gundreda did not secure custody of their eldest son from a first or second marriage. Both subsequently remarried and produced further children. 142 Cecily de Rumilly II was between twenty-four and forty at her husband’s death, Alice de St. Quintin between twenty-two and thirty-two, and Alice I between twenty- six and forty-seven. See appendix 2. 143 Sibyl was at least forty-seven, Gundreda at least forty-four. 216 chapter six

The practice of wardship might have aided the smooth transition of inheritance from a widow’s husband to his heir by her.144 If a lord took homage from a man’s infant heir and delivered the inheritance to a third party, the transfer was complete. The lord had his tenant and the inheritance was secured for the heir at his majority. Only one heir had difficulty in obtaining his inheritance from his guardian when he came of age. Agnes d’Aumale’s husband Adam de Brus II could not recover the important manor and forest of Danby, as well as other lands, from his guardian and wife’s brother William count of Aumale. It took nearly half a century for Danby to be returned, Adam and Agnes’ son Peter recovering it in 1200 for the huge sum of £1000, in addition to returning the lands his father had been given in 1184 as compensation for the loss.145 The other heirs all seem to have inherited as a matter of course. Even daughters gained their lands, although there might have been some flexibility in how those lands were divided between them. But this does not mean that widows had any control. On the contrary, it was the custom of wardship and preference for lineal heirs which appear to have preserved paternal inheritance for a widow’s son or daughter, rather than a widowed mother’s actions. However, charters and royal records are perhaps not the best sources to reveal the participation of widows in their children’s marriages or their attempts to ensure a transfer of inheritance to their offspring. The Yorkshire widows might have played a larger role than these sources indicate, or indeed than any surviving source might indicate. Nevertheless, the available evidence does suggest that any role they did play was limited, corroborating Walker’s finding that ‘among the major feudatories, it was rare for the child heir to be left in the care of the mother’.146

Property Transactions and Management

Chapter four established the kinds of property that a widow might have held—inheritance, dowry, brideprice / dower—and the previous section in this chapter has discussed a widow’s opportunities to manage her young children’s inheritance. This section will focus specifically on what widows did with that property. However, a comparison

144 Milsom, ‘Prerogative Wardship’, 237. 145 Rot. Chart., 86b, 101; Rot. de Fin., 109. 146 Walker, ‘Widow and Ward’, 166. power 217 between Iceland and England is more difficult for this topic than most others. The contemporary sagas are historical documents primarily attempting to record the significant events of Iceland’s recent past in order to preserve a sense of Icelandic identity after the loss of the country’s independence to Norway in 1264. They therefore are not often concerned with property or its management, except when these things impacted on national, or in some cases regional, politics and the most important chieftain families. On the other hand, the Yorkshire charters were formulated first and foremost with property transactions in mind. They were drafted to record a transfer of land from one party to another, though usually with the Church as beneficiary. It may be that as a result the picture concerning what widows in Iceland could, and did, do with their property is incomplete, whereas the corresponding picture for Yorkshire widows is fuller, but somewhat distorted in favour of religious patronage. As noted earlier, much of the discussion about a woman’s power in Iceland has focused on a division between public and private spheres (see above, pp. 177–8). Gunnar Karlsson recognizes that women had an important role to play in society, acting as conduits of wealth between kin groups. He claims that they were essentially powerless.147 He employs a traditional definition of power—that which equates it with the holding of public office—and thus he can only conclude that women were powerless during the Commonwealth. Others have argued that women were not necessarily powerless, because their ability to inherit land or transfer it between kin groups or generations did give them some influence.148 The few pages devoted to the latter topic generally conclude that a widow could have power because the laws accorded her the right to act occasionally in the public sphere as a man. But these analyses generally continue to focus on a misleading division of public and private spheres, and they almost universally fail to set widows within the context of their circumstances or to concentrate on a widow’s control of land in practice.149

147 Gunnar Karlsson, ‘Kenningin’ 63–70. 148 For female inheritance, see Nordal, Ethics, 33–41; Agnes Arnórsdóttir, Konur og vígamenn, 85–98. 149 Jochens, Women in Old Norse Society, 61–4; Anna Sigurðardóttir, ‘Islanske kvinders stilling’, 96–7. Miller notes that women could manage farms, but he does not discuss this point in any detail. Miller, Bloodtaking, 27, 136. Agnes Arnórsdóttir is an exception. She mentions that circumstances, such as age, could influence the room 218 chapter six

There were several ways an Icelandic widow could have power derived from or related to property. By far the most common was through the administration of her children’s inheritance. This included the day-to-day running of a farm or farms, which could have involved buying and selling of household goods and livestock, hiring labourers and the production of vaðmál, a standardized woollen cloth used for clothing, bedding, sacks, export and as currency.150 In a society where ‘the household farm was the basic unit of production as well as the basic unit of residence’, such administration, especially of large estates, might bring considerable power and authority.151 In 1190 Arnþrúðr Fornadóttir invited her kinsman, the priest Guðmundr Arason, to help her manage Vellir, her sons’ paternal inheritance (see above, p. 200–1). Vellir was a wealthy ecclesiastical residence which would have provided considerable revenue. Since the sagas state that Guðmundr was notoriously bad at financial management, Arnþrúðr might have requested his presence less for his economic acumen than for the legitimacy that he, as a member of the Church, would have lent to their joint management.152 At certain times between 1228 and 1244, Þórdís Snorradóttir administered the main estates at Vatnsfjörður during her son’s minority (see above, pp. 207–7). She almost certainly saw to the daily management of the farm. The sagas also state explicitly that she wielded some political control over the local farmers, even those who opposed her. There is less information about the other widows, but it is probable that in most cases these women also managed their young children’s land and movables until they reached adulthood.153 Almost nothing is known, for example, about Randalín Filippussdóttir’s control over the small inheritance that her son and daughter received. But Íslendinga saga implies her administration of it, stating that in 1255

for manoeuvre that widows had. But the point is not developed, and her examination of widows is brief. Agnes Arnórsdóttir, Konur og vígamenn, 139–43. 150 Miller, Bloodtaking, 119–20; Jochens, Women in Old Norse Society, 134; Ólafía Einarsdóttir, ‘Kvindens stilling’, 229. For a discussion of household activities and its administration, see Jochens, Women in Old Norse Society, 115–40. 151 Miller, Bloodtaking, 78. 152 SS, i, 153–6. 153 The other widows and households / farms include Ingibjörg Guðmundardóttir and Hrafnagil (SS, i, 288); Hallveig Ormsdóttir and Breiðabólstaður (SS, i, 271, 412); Steinunn Hrafnsdóttir and Eyrr (SS, i, 447); Solveig Sæmundardóttir and Sauðafell (SS, i, 446–7); Álfheiðr Njálsdóttir and Svínafell (SS, ii, 89–91); Steinunn Brandsdóttir and Snóksdalur (SS, i, 264–5, 357); Jórunn Kálfsdóttir and Viðimýrr (SS, i, 493; ii, 74); Þuríðr Ormsdóttir and Sauðafell (SS, ii, 49). power 219 she ‘kept the household at Valþjófsstaður. Her children by Oddr grew up there with her’.154 According to the laws, a widow could have had the power to sell, buy or transfer land as a gift (see above, pp. 79–80), although only two widows in the contemporary sagas are known to have conducted such transactions.155 Within a year of being widowed in 1118, Hallbera Snorradóttir and her son sold her husband’s farm at Múli, using the money from the sale to buy the nearby farm at Tunga.156 The saga does not give further details. It is not clear why the author decided to include this information, since neither property features again in the narrative. It is not possible to determine if this was a rare occurrence, but it cannot be ruled out that other widows made similar transactions, at least involving small farms, which have gone unrecorded because they were not sufficiently important to note. Jóreiðr Hallsdóttir provided her granddaughter with a dowry from her property in 1253, which she had protected from threat when she successfully resisted remarriage in 1225. It amounted to forty hundreds, including the farm at Sælingsdalstunga and ten hundreds worth of movables.157 It is unclear whether this property was her inheritance, dowry or brideprice, or her daughter’s paternal inheritance not yet passed on. Again, this might not have been a lone example, especially since dowries are rarely mentioned in the sagas. However, no evidence suggests that these kinds of property transfers were common. Permanent alienations were not the only possible means of transferring property. A widow could also give over management of a farm for a period of time. Within a few years of becoming widows, two women handed control of their husband’s main farm to an administrator while they travelled to Norway. In 1186 Guðný Böðvarsdóttir left Hvammur in the hands of Oddr dignari, a man not otherwise mentioned in the contemporary sagas. She took possession again on her return two years later, apparently without difficulty.158 In 1240 Solveig Sæmundardóttir

154 ‘helt búi sínu á Valþjófsstöðum. Öxu þar upp börn þeira Odds með henni.’ SS, i, 517. 155 Agnes Arnórsdóttir notes another case where the widow Halldóra Tumadóttir and her young son Tumi ‘sold’ their property, but in this instance coercion was involved. Agnes Arnórsdóttir, Konur og vígamenn, 141. See below, pp. 222–3, for further discussion. 156 SS, i, 27. 157 SS, i, 480. 158 SS, i, 231. 220 chapter six left control of Sauðafell to her dead husband’s uncle, Snorri Sturluson. She returned in 1242 with her children and brother-in-law; although there is no indication of Solveig’s place of residence, first her husband’s brothers and later, after their marriages, her daughters had possession of Sauðafell.159 These transfers of management indicate that Guðný and Solveig already had control of these important farms as widows. Guðný went to Norway with her lover Ari when he married his daughter and heir Helga to her eldest son Þórðr, who was still a very young and inexperienced man. At their departure, Ari made over his property to his new son-in-law, thereby improving his position vis-à-vis his illegitimate, older, experienced half-brothers.160 But these brothers still posed a threat to Guðný’s, and later her sons’, possession of Hvammur. Their claim to the farm, although weaker, was valid, and Guðný’s absence might present the opportunity to make good that claim. Placing Hvammur in Oddr dignari’s hands was probably an attempt to prevent this. Solveig went to Norway to join her young son and only adult brother-in-law Þórðr kakali after her husband, three of his brothers and his father had been killed at the battle of Örlygsstaður. She had few influential allies still alive in Iceland, and she might have thought her best hope of support, and her children’s best protector, was Þórðr. But while abroad it was necessary to protect her marital property and ensure its continuance within the family. Her husband’s kinsman Snorri was powerful enough to do this, and she, like Guðný, seems to have succeeded. It therefore appears that temporary transfers were part of a strategy, a means to an end, in this case as an attempt to ensure the future property and security of their offspring. Women were not only on the giving, but the receiving end in transfers of land and authority. In their absence in the early thirteenth century, Guðný Böðvarsdóttir’s sons Þórðr and Snorri Sturluson had placed the management of their estates in the hands of their mother. It is especially noteworthy that when Snorri went abroad, he gave his movable wealth into his brother’s keeping, ‘but he placed Guðný, his mother, in charge of his household at Reykjaholt’.161 These were two very powerful men, the running of whose estates was no inconsider- able task. The position of authority she would have gained as a result,

159 SS, i, 447, 472; ii, 49, 70, 150, 194–5, 223. 160 SS, i, 231. 161 ‘en fyrir búit í Reykjaholti setti hann Guðnýju, móður sína.’ SS, i, 271. power 221 although temporary, was probably one of considerable power. There is no indication of how she used that power, but her sons clearly trusted her to act in their best interest. Kolbeinn Tumason similarly placed a great deal of trust in his mother Þuríðr Gizurardóttir, as well as his stepfather Sigurðr Ormsson. When the bishopric at Hólar became vacant in 1202, Guðmundr Arason was pressured into accepting the position, in part because Kolbeinn believed he could best bring the see under his control with Guðmundr as bishop. Kolbeinn then persuaded Guðmundr to relinquish the financial management of Hólar, arguing that it was thought by many that Guðmundr himself should not be permitted to control the see, and ‘that it could not be better looked after than if it was handed over to Sigurðr and Þuríðr’.162 In this case, not only did a woman gain a powerful position as head of an important household, but she actually ran one of the two ecclesiastical sees in Iceland, albeit together with her second husband. These widows’ strategy was clear. There is little doubt that each of these two widows were wielding power in order to support and further the interests of their grown and influential sons, and their earlier actions serve to confirm this (see above, pp. 188–9, 197, 219–20). They might have been among the few widows with the strength of character to act in this manner, but they indicate that certain opportunities were available if the circumstances, such as personal connections to powerful men, were right. The final manner in which an Icelandic widow could wield power through property was to establish a household of her own. This possibility, like most of the others, does not appear to have been common. Þórdís Snorradóttir’s establishment of a household at her husband’s farm at Mýrar has already been discussed (see above, pp. 202–5). Yngvildr Þorgilsdóttir is the only other example. How she was able to establish a household at Ballará is unknown. The chieftain Hvamm-Sturla Þórðarson was married to the sister of her lover, Þorvarðr Þorgeirsson. Hvamm-Sturla is known to have aided Yngvildr after she bore Þorvarðr a child, and Ballará was later in the possession of one of Hvamm-Sturla’s followers.163 It is not impossible that Hvamm-Sturla made the farm available to Yngvildr before the birth.

162 ‘þótti mönnum eigi mega betr fyrir sjá staðarforráðum en selja í hendr Sigurði ok Þuríði.’ SS, i, 156. 163 SS, i, 73–4, 88–9. 222 chapter six

Hvamm-Sturla was the enemy of Yngvildr’s brother Einarr, who was opposed to his sister’s relationship with Þorvarðr. If he made the farm available to Yngvildr, Hvamm-Sturla would have been undermining Einarr’s authority as head of his kin group. Yngvildr’s retreat to the remote Ballará made it difficult for Einarr to claim compensation for the fathering of a child on his sister, because it was difficult to establish paternity.164 So while Yngvildr was in a weak position vis-à-vis her relationship, she was perhaps able to use the political rivalry between her brother and Hvamm-Sturla to further her own ends. She desired to continue unhindered an extra-marital relationship with a man of her choice.165 Although Hvamm-Sturla’s motive for providing Ballará was different, a household of her own also furthered Yngvildr’s goal by giving her a home away from her brother where she could act freely. The mere holding of property was no simple guarantee of power, as the fact of its loss indicates. Halldóra Tumadóttir’s powerful husband Sighvatr Sturluson and four of her sons were killed in 1238 in one of the the most important battles of thirteenth-century Icelandic history. Their killer, Kolbeinn Arnórsson ungi, compelled Halldóra and her young son to move from the family farm at Grund in Eyjafjörður to one where he could keep a close watch on them. Kolbeinn simultaneously forced Sighvatr’s daughter Sigríðr and Sigríðr’s far less influential husband to establish a new household of their own at Grund.166 Agnes Arnórsdóttir has argued that Halldóra sold Grund, implying a degree of control over the transfer of land. Although Þórðar saga kakala uses the word ‘keypti’ about this farm, meaning ‘bought’, no sale actually took place.167 A reference to the same transaction in another saga makes it clear that Kolbeinn confiscated Grund. ‘Kolbeinn held a court of confiscation . . . which judged that all the wealth that Sighvatr had owned, both land and movables and even Grund, was forfeited.’168 The relocations were unsuccessfully resisted by Sighvatr’s family, and Kolbeinn’s political motives are evident. Halldóra was powerless as a result of her circumstances. She only had two sons left alive at this point, one too young to be of assistance, the other, Þórðr kakali, in

164 SS, i, 72–3. 165 The sagas present Yngvildr and Þorvarðr’s liaison as a love match. SS, i, 72–3. 166 SS, i, 440. 167 SS, i, 4–5. 168 ‘lét Kolbeinn heyja skuldadóm . . . var þá dæmt af örfum allt fé þat, er Sighvatr hafði átt, bæði lönd ok lausafé ok jafnvel Grundarland.’ SS, i, 440. power 223

Norway. Kolbeinn was her brother’s son, so it was her natal kin who had killed her husband, leaving her with no powerful kin to solicit for support. Furthermore, the battle which ended her husband’s life added to his enemy’s power, and it was crucial that Kolbeinn take every opportunity to prevent Þórðr from gaining support to retaliate should he return to Iceland. Kolbeinn needed Halldóra out of her husband’s district of Eyjafjörður, so that neither she nor her other son Tumi could act as a focal point for resistance to Kolbeinn among Sighvatr’s followers there. The saga evidence, although thin, suggests that Icelandic widows did have opportunities for power over property. It also suggests that that property came under their control via their marital kin, most often in the form of their children’s paternal inheritance. It was this property which was most often managed or transferred by them, although there might have been an instance or two of dowry or inherited land involved in these transactions. It is somewhat surprising that widows did not conduct more land transactions, since the property market was fluid in Iceland, and there are numerous cases of men transferring land.169 This may be related to the nature of widows’ property, at least as we see it in the sagas. It might have been less socially acceptable for a widow than for a man to alienate property, since it seems that most often she held property in custody for her heirs. This may underline how far the protection of property and its descent to offspring was the socially accepted goal of Icelandic widows. The one aim stated explicitly in the sagas, by Jóreiðr Hallsdóttir concerning her daughter’s inheritance, is the protection and transference of that property to her daughter. Some widows might have had other objectives. One example is Yngvildr Þorgilsdóttir. Yngvildr’s desire for sexual independence, discussed above, was only set down by the saga author because it fuelled the conflict between Yngvildr’s brother and his rival, which was the driving force of the narrative. It is possible that many other widows had similar, undocumented, goals. If their strategies for personal control over their lives and property did not involve important transactions or significant events or persons, it is likely that there would be no extant information about them. However, it is safer

169 See, for example, Jón Viðar Sigurðsson’s discussion of the acquisition of farms by chieftains in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, Chieftains and Power, 110–5, 199–202. 224 chapter six to assume the most common objective was the stated one, especially if the widow in question had children. The one widow who acted for personal gain, Yngvildr, had no children at the time. That other widows, like Guðný Böðvarsdóttir and Þuríðr Gizurardóttir, can be seen acting to protect their children’s property, even when their sons were powerful adults, supports this view. It is noteworthy that, on the basis of Sturlunga saga, no widow founded a religious house or gave property to the Church, while two widows, Arnþrúðr Fornadóttir and Þuríðr Gizurardóttir, controlled church property directly for the benefit of their sons. Perhaps widows simply did not give land to the Church, either because they could not or they did not wish to. The number of monastic establishments was small, and they generally functioned as retirement homes, not as institutions with a corporate identity.170 However, men did give land, either to found or for the benefit of the handful of monastic establishments that did exist, to the ecclesiastical sees, and most commonly to churches on their own property.171 Their motives might have been religious, but they were almost certainly financial and political as well. Church property was owned by the Church, but its management and profits were hereditary, passed on in the grantor’s family. Not only was it exempt from tithes, but the family who administered it received a portion of them. If widows did give property to the Church, no record of such gifts has survived. Based on the available saga evidence, it is not possible to draw even a tentative conclusion on this subject. There were three main ways in which a Yorkshire widow can be seen to have exercised power through her use of property. Unlike Iceland, religious houses provided an outlet for patronage through donations and confirmations of land. These grants conferred spiritual benefits. Salvation of one’s soul, and those of one’s family, was one motivation often expressed explicitly in charters. A widow might also have wished to express independence through a foundation, or even through a benefaction, making a statement of her control over lands and her choice of how they were to be managed.172 Granting land to tenants or confirming their donations were acts of lordship and thus another way in which property was used to wield power. Widows act-

170 Orri Vésteinsson, Christianization, 2000, 142–3. 171 For a discussion of the Church’s role as property holder in Iceland, see Orri Vésteinsson, Christianization, 2000, 93–143. 172 Coss, The Lady, 29. power 225 ing in this capacity were able to reinforce tenurial bonds with their vassals. Finally, widows granted land to family, alienating part of their land to non-inheriting kin, providing them with a degree of financial security, and arguably indicating a degree of choice and control on the part of widows. The total number of donations and confirmations made to monastic houses by the Yorkshire widows in the twelfth or early thirteenth century was just under 200, with the average per widow being about eight.173 Religious patronage varied enormously from woman to woman. Several widows made few or no benefactions, while some made as many as twenty or more. Heiresses generally made a higher number of donations and confirmations than non-inheriting widows. The average per heiress was eleven, while the average among the others was three. Ten of fourteen heiresses made four or more grants and confirmations, and seven made ten or more. Only three of the eleven non-inheriting widows made more than three, none of whom made more than eight. The pattern of religious benefactions among the Yorkshire widows was complex.174 Four different, but connected, types of benefaction emerge from the evidence. First, twelve widows were patrons of religious establishments founded by close members of their natal family. Alice de St. Quintin was a benefactor of her mother’s foundation of Nunkeeling, donating land of her father’s fee.175 Juetta de Arches granted inherited Arches land to her parents’ foundation of Nun Monkton, of which her sister was prioress, as did her daughter, Agnes de Flamville.176 Juetta’s daughter-in-law Agnes d’Aumale made at least one gift of her dower from her first marriage to Meaux abbey, founded by her brother, William earl of Aumale, and she witnessed her brother’s and her son’s charters in favour of that religious house.177

173 These religious benefactions are individually referenced in the following paragraphs. 174 In this section (to p. 238), much of the information that deals with the Arches and Percy widows was published earlier in a different form, in Philadelphia Ricketts, ‘Widows, Religious Patronage and Family Identity: Some Cases from Twelfth-Century Yorkshire’, HSJ, 14 (2003), 117–36. 175 EYC iii, no. 1337, pp. 58–9. 176 EYC, i, no. 548, p. 428; Durham Cathedral Muniments, 4.11.Spec.55, printed in Feodarium Prioratus Dunelmensis, 163; Fines, Yorkshire, lxii, no. 326, p. 86; lxvii, no. 892, p. 72. 177 EYC, x, no. 88, p. 135; EYC, iii, nos. 1320, 1334, 1379 1385–6, 1388, pp. 47, 55, 89–90, 96–100; EYC, ii, no. 677, pp. 34–5. 226 chapter six

Matilda de Percy gave Percy natal lands and confirmed gifts of land by her tenants to both her father’s foundation of Sallay abbey and to Stainfield priory, also probably founded by her father; her sister Agnes made and confirmed grants to Sallay and to Whitby abbey, re-founded by her grandfather.178 Emma de Gant gave part of her dowry to her brother’s foundation of Bridlington.179 Both Avice Meschin and Alice de Rumilly I played an important role in the early history of their parents’ foundation of Embsay priory. Avice witnessed her mother’s grant to Embsay of her mills in Harewood, and she later confirmed and augmented that grant from her maternal inheritance or dowry.180 Her sister Alice’s patronage was even greater. She made four grants to Embsay from her maternal inheritance, confirmed three of her parents’ and four of her tenants’ gifts, and she witnessed several grants and confirmations.181 In addition, she provided the priory with a more advantageous site to which they could relocate, at Bolton.182 Embsay was not the only recipient of Alice’s generosity. Alice was also a benefactor of St. Bees priory, founded by her father, to which she granted and confirmed property from her paternal inheritance.183 Alice’s widowed daughters Cecily II and Alice II were also benefactors of St. Bees, and Cecily II added her maternal uncle’s foundation of Calder abbey to her list of beneficiaries.184 Cecily II used lands descended to her from her maternal grandfather in both instances, and Alice II gave lands inherited from both parents. Finally, Avice’s daughter Alice Paynel was a patron of Drax priory, founded by her father, and Holy Trinity, York, re-founded by her paternal grandfather.185 In both cases she acquired the lands from her father. Such patronage was not uncommon among both men and women, as family links were often very important to the survival and expansion of religious houses, especially in the case of nunneries.186 Although some grants were made during a first mar-

178 EYC xi, nos. 48–52, 58–60, 77–8, 80, pp. 53–8, 60–1, 74–6. 179 EYC ii, no. 1144, pp. 439–41. 180 EYC, iii, nos. 1861–2, p. 467–8. 181 EYC, vii, nos. 13, 15, 18, 21–3, 88, 111–2, 129, pp. 61–2, 66–71, 89, 150, 180–2, 206; Mon. Angl., vi, p. 204. 182 EYC, vii, nos. 17–8, pp. 64–8. 183 St. Bees, nos. 12–3, 15, pp. 40–4. 184 St. Bees, nos. 14, 27–8, 225, 453, illustrative documents no. 31, pp. 42–3, 53–7, 250, 449–51, 549–50. 185 EYC, iii, no. 1864, p. 473; EYC, vi, nos. 47, 49, 64, 66, 77, pp. 130–1, 154–5, 165. 186 Thompson,Women Religious, 190. power 227 riage, all of these women were active mainly during widowhood or as remarried widows, which seems to have been the time when women in general were more able to make and confirm donations.187 These grants and confirmations to natal foundations were made by widows both from tenant-in-chief rank and from the honorial baronage over the course of the twelfth century. A greater percentage were higher ranking, outnumbering those of the lesser aristocracy nine to three and including two countesses and the daughter of an earl. This difference was probably due in part to the composition of the Yorkshire widows in the study. Of the total group of twenty-five, eighteen widows were of tenant-in-chief rank, while only seven were members of the honorial baronage, a ratio similar to that reflected in the patronage. The figures also indicate that heiresses outnumbered non-inheriting widows, by the same number as high- to lower-ranking widows (nine to three). The ratio of heiresses to non-inheriting women among the widows who patronized natal foundations (3:1) is not reflected in the overall ratio of almost 1:1 (fourteen heiresses, eleven non-inheriting widows). A high percentage of heiresses were patrons of family establishments (nine of fourteen, 64%), as opposed to less than a third of non-inheriting widows (three of eleven, 27%). It seems that heiresses often became benefactors of natal family foundations, non-inheriting widows much less so. However, two of the three non-inheriting widows who did become benefactors of these natal foundations were among the most active of this group. These same widows made grants or confirmations to other types of religious establishments, suggesting that it might have been rare for a non-inheriting widow to make a donation to a natal foundation alone, and that this pattern has more to do with a particular widow’s general preferences for religious patronage. The second kind of benefaction made by the Yorkshire widows was to religious houses connected with their husbands or their husbands’ families. Nine widows were in this group, comprised of both higher- ranking widows and those of the honorial baronage, both heiresses and non-inheriting women. The donations were made over the course of the twelfth century. Emma de Port granted part of her maritagium

187 For example, Susan Johns’ article, ‘Wives and Widows’, 117–32, provides supporting evidence for one group of aristocratic women—the countesses of Chester. 228 chapter six to Whitby abbey, re-founded by her husband.188 Agnes de Arches founded the nunnery of Nunkeeling for the souls of her first husband Herbert de St. Quintin and their sons Walter and Alan on dower land from her first marriage.189 Cecily de Rumilly I consented to her husband’s grant of land in Copeland, possibly of her dower.190 Alice, wife of Richard de Percy, granted dower land to Whitby, re-founded by her second husband’s father.191 Avice Meschin was a supporter of her second husband’s foundation of Drax priory, making two grants in its favour from her dower and confirming three.192 Agnes d’Aumale jointly granted unspecified land to Warter priory, re-founded by her first husband’s father.193 Rohaise de Clare confirmed her first husband’s grant from her dower to his foundation of Rufford abbey.194 She also jointly donated, with her second husband, dower land from her second marriage to Nun Appleton, founded by her second husband’s mother.195 Alice Paynel donated inherited paternal land to Vaudey abbey, where Gilbert de Gant earl of Lincoln, her second husband’s brother, had provided a better site to which the monks at Bytham could relocate.196 Sibyl de Valognes, the widow of William de Percy II, made a gift to the Templars, to whom Sibyl’s stepdaughter Matilda de Percy was connected as the wife of a patron and benefactor.197 In addition, Sibyl and her first husband Robert de Ros were benefactors of Rievaulx abbey, founded by Robert’s uncle.198 Sibyl and her third husband Ralph d’Aubigny were possible founders of the nunnery of Orford in Lincolnshire (at the very least benefactors), according to a confirmation charter to Orford c. 1189.199 The nunnery was associated with Newhouse abbey, to which Ralph’s elder brothers donated the church.200

188 Whitby cart., ‘Memorial’, p. 3. 189 EYC, iii, no. 1331, p. 53. 190 St. Bees, nos. 3, 5, 6, pp. 30–5. 191 Whitby cart., ‘Memorial’, p. 7, no. 74, p. 69. Reprinted in EYC, ii, no. 900, p. 243. 192 EYC, iii, no. 1864, p. 473; EYC, vi, nos. 48, 66, 73, pp. 130–1, 155, 162. 193 EYC, x, no. 67, pp. 107–12, 116–7. 194 BL Loan 41; CP, vii, p. 672. 195 EYC, i, no. 544, p. 424. 196 Mon. Angl., v, p. 491; CP, vii, pp. 672–3. 197 Mon. Angl., vi, p. 836; EYC, i, pp. 463–4. 198 EYC, ix, no. 79, p. 151. 199 H.M. Colvin, The White Canons in England (Oxford, 1951), 351–2. See Thompson, Women Religious, 140–1, for a discussion of Ralph and Sibyl as founders. 200 Colvin, ‘White Canons’, 329, discusses the connection between Newhouse and Ralph’s brothers. power 229

The third type of religious benefaction concerns grants to great religious houses in Yorkshire, made by the widows in much the same manner as male heirs made them, again over the course of the twelfth century. Burton notes that many aristocratic families spread their patronage across a number of houses, citing several powerful Yorkshire barons who were benefactors of establishments unconnected with their kin, despite having one or more family foundations.201 It is worth emphasizing that these men were all heirs of tenant-in-chief families (William de Percy II, Eustace fitz John, William Paynel, Bertram de Bulmer), and as such important political figures in Yorkshire, and that the foundations they made grants to were generally the greater Yorkshire houses (Byland, Bridlington, Fountains, St. Mary’s York, Nostell, Rievaulx). This pattern can also be seen among the widows in this study. Alice de Rumilly I, Matilda de Percy and Alice de Rumilly II were all benefactors of Fountains abbey, Matilda and Alice II being especially generous.202 Alice I also made at least one grant to the monks of Pontefract.203 Juetta de Arches was a patron of York Minster.204 Agnes de Percy made a donation to St. Peter’s hospital, York.205 These benefactions seem to have been the result of the widows’ position as heiresses, rather than as widows. Only these five widows made donations to the more important Yorkshire houses. This kind of gift can be seen not only among their relatives who were heirs, but among heirs in general in Yorkshire and among the important players in local and national politics in the latter half of the twelfth century.206 The donations by the five heiresses were made both during a first marriage and in widowhood. This conforms to a general pattern among the widows. Of the fourteen widowed heiresses, eight, possibly eleven, made, confirmed or witnessed donations during a first marriage. The eight included members of the higher aristocracy and the honorial baronage. Of the eleven non-inheriting widows, only one was active before becoming a widow. This group of eleven was also comprised

201 Burton, Monastic Order, 205–6. 202 EYC, vii, nos. 14, 28–9, 32, pp. 61–2, 74–6, 78; EYC xi, nos. 40–6, pp. 47–52; Abstracts Fountains cart., pp. 45–6, 51–2, 54, 57–60, 63–4, 199. 203 EYC, iii, no. 1475, pp. 168–70. 204 EYC i, 432; The Historians of the Church of York and its Archbishops, ed. J. Raine, 3 vols (London, 1879–94), vol. 3, p. 76. 205 EYC, i, no. 231, pp. 189–90. 206 EYC has countless examples of heirs and barons granting lands to the most important Yorkshire houses. 230 chapter six of members of both ranks. It seems that being an heiress, more than social status, provided a widow with the possibility of a greater scope for action before widowhood. A greater amount of property in an heiress’s possession probably accounts for this difference, perhaps because it allowed her some leverage in marriage.207 Her patronage is perhaps an indication of her taking on some of the role of lordship. She almost invariably brought more wealth to the union than if she had only received a dowry. That wealth could be used by her to endow religious establishments during marriage as other lords did without depriving her husband’s heir by her of significant property from his patrimony. If she had only received a small dowry and then alienated it to a monastic house, her daughters might need a dowry from their father’s property if they were to marry. But as an heiress there would presumably be enough to go around. The fourth type of religious benefaction involves the three widows who founded or co-founded their own religious houses. Agnes de Arches established the Yorkshire nunnery of Nunkeeling between 1143 and 1154 after her third husband’s death, and her daughter Alice de St. Quintin established the Yorkshire nunnery of Nun Appleton between 1148 and 1150, almost certainly before her remarriage.208 Cecily de Rumilly I founded the male house of Embsay priory jointly with her first husband in 1120 or shortly thereafter.209 The first two women followed the prevalent pattern of monastic foundation in Yorkshire, in that they founded female houses rather than male ones, and that they were members of the honorial baronage rather than higher-ranking aristocracy.210 They were two of the five Yorkshire women who established a nunnery, all from the lesser aristocracy.211 Cecily I, however, was the heiress of an important Yorkshire tenant-in-chief, married to the younger brother of the earl of Chester, and perhaps founded a

207 McNamara and Wemple, ‘Power of Women’, 93. 208 EYC iii, no. 1331, p. 53; EYC i, no. 541, pp. 419–21. 209 EYC, vii, nos. 2–3, pp. 53–5. Burton has persuasively argued that Embsay was founded on Cecily’s initiative. Burton, Monastic Order, 80–3. 210 Karen Stöber, ‘Equal before God? Monasteries and Nunneries: Some Observations on the Attitudes of Lay Patrons in England and Wales’, unpublished paper given at International Medieval Congress, University of Leeds, 10 July 2002, 8–9; Sharon K. Elkins, Holy Women of Twelfth-Century England (Chapel Hill, NC, 1988), 77, 94; Thompson, Women Religious, 163. 211 The others were Agnes’ sister-in-law Juetta de Arches (mother of the Juetta in this study), Avice de Tany and Helewise de Clere, none of whom were widows. Burton, Monastic Order, 132–5. power 231 monastery as a result of her higher rank. She was only one of two women of high birth to establish a religious house in Yorkshire, both of which were male houses, and both of which were jointly founded with a man.212 Not many of the twenty-five Yorkshire widows either wished or were able to choose this option. Although there were between sixty and seventy monastic foundations in Yorkshire between the Conquest and 1215, twenty-five being female establishments, only seven were founded or co-founded by women.213 It is thus perhaps not surprising to find that only three of the twenty-five Yorkshire widows in this study established their own religious house. It is perhaps more surprising that more female founders were from the lesser aristocracy, the ratio being 5:2 overall, and 2:1 among the widows in this study. Another manner in which widows could exercise power was through grants to, or confirmations of grants of, their tenants or household retainers, which should be seen as acts of lordship. The most common of these actions were confirmations. Thirteen widows made between one and thirteen confirmations relating to non-kin, averag- ing three. Thirty-two actions confirmed tenants’ grants in favour of religious houses; the other nine were confirmations of tenants’ rights or of their grants to other tenants. It has been suggested that donations from tenants to a family foundation or preferred religious establishment of a lord were often made, and confirmations of such patronage could be one manner in which widows exerted a degree of power over property.214 A confirmation could serve to strengthen the claim of the religious house to land. But a widow’s interest in a particular house itself might encourage her tenants to choose that establishment as a beneficiary in the first place. In this manner widows could have a kind of indirect power, influencing the direction of other’s patronage through the administration of their own property. At least twenty-five of the thirty-two non-secular confirmations were in favour of religious houses closely connected to the widows and their kin.

212 Burton, Monastic Order, 80–2. Gundreda d’Aubigny, mother of Roger de Mowbray, played an important role as a widow in the relocation of the Calder monks to Hood and then to Byland, arguably acting as one of those who re-founded the abbey. Burton, Monastic Order, 102, 111–2. 213 Burton, Monastic Order, 3, 125. 214 Green, Aristocracy of Norman England, 415. 232 chapter six

Fewer extant charters record grants to tenants or confirmation of their land transactions when religious establishments were not involved. Evidence remains of nine confirmations made by widows of tenants’ rights or gifts to secular beneficiaries, and of fourteen grants to the tenants themselves. The numbers suggest at first sight that secular donations were not made as often as religious ones. However, they were possibly more numerous than the surviving evidence suggests, especially as it was religious houses that, in the twelfth century, were most careful about recording and preserving written documentation of their acquisitions.215 These religious and secular donations and confirmations were often made to men, and occasionally women, who were already tenants of the widows. For example, Alice Paynel’s joint confirmation with her husband of William de Sturton’s grant to Kirkstead mentions that William made the gift of his ‘inheritance which he held of us’.216 William Mauleverer’s grant in 1175 to Fountains abbey was confirmed by his lord Alice de Rumilly I.217 William’s father had made a gift from other lands held of the Rumillys to Embsay priory, founded by Alice’s mother, about half a century earlier, indicating continuity of tenure.218 A few men might have been newly enfeoffed by the widows. However, only Edulf de Kilnsey can be said with some certainty to have been a new tenant, enfeoffed by Alice de Rumilly I between 1166 and 1175.219 He was not a tenant in 1166 when the return of knights’ fees for the honour of Skipton was made, yet he held land of her in at least two vills by 1178.220 There might have been others, but the scarcity of evidence in numerous instances makes this difficult to prove. Widows’ grants to men (or women) of their fee, whether existing or new, suggest the ability for widows to control their property to some extent, perhaps even to increase their political power. Not only could a widow potentially recruit a tenant of her choice, but she could reward loyal followers. By placing a loyal tenant in a more favourable position materially, and perhaps thereby politically, she might greatly enhance

215 Clanchy, From Memory to Written Record, 145–62. 216 ‘hereditate quam tenet de nobis.’ EYC, vi, no. 51, p. 133. 217 ‘et totum sevicium quod ad me vel heredes meos pertinebat de terra quam habent in perpetuum de Gillelmo filio Helte [Mauleverer].’EYC , vi, no. 29, pp. 75–6. 218 EYC, vii, no. 6, pp. 56–7. 219 EYC, vii, no. 26, pp. 72–3. 220 EYC, vii, nos. 26–7, 47, pp. 72–4, 94–5. power 233 the support she could expect to receive from that tenant. In all these senses she would be acting as a male lord would act. Milsom has argued that a ‘woman cannot do homage or the lord’s service, now or ever; and age alone never ends her wardship.’221 Yet fourteen of the twenty-five Yorkshire widows acted as lords. It is perhaps significant that of these fourteen, eleven were heiresses, from both the higher and lesser aristocracy. Men who acted as lords were almost invariably heirs, and position within the family seems to have been more important than gender and rank in acts of lordship.222 Charters often describe widows and their transactions using terms such as ‘my knight and my man, for his homage and his service’, ‘of my fee’, ‘my man’, ‘in widowhood and in my legal power’.223 Such terms indicate that the woman making the grant or confirmation had the authority to act, as male lords did. The drafters of the charters claimed and emphasized this authority through the language of lordship or by stressing a widow’s special legal position as a femme sole. In many of these instances the women were acting in the role of lord, rather than as benefactors of religious houses or kin. For example, a charter of Alice de Rumilly I acquitted the canons of Bolton and their men of various dues and tolls in connection with her vill of Skipton and the fair at Embsay, indicating that Alice, as lord, was due these payments.224 It might have been that these types of actions generally fell within the sphere of male behaviour, as opposed to religious benefactions or grants to kin as appropriate for both men and women. As such, it was necessary to demonstrate that the actions the women were taking were lawful, and binding, because they were heiresses or widows, and in control of their lands as a result of that status. An examination of the activity of the heiress Matilda de Percy is instructive. Matilda made grants and confirmations both to religious houses and to tenants while married and as a widow. These grants and confirmations were similar to those of male heirs in three ways. First,

221 Milsom, ‘Prerogative Wardship’, 240. 222 The two non-inheriting widows to act as lords, Agnes d’Aumale and Rohaise de Clare, had married into comital families and produced an heir, perhaps enabling both to act in the capacity of lord. 223 ‘militi meo et homini meo, pro homagio suo et servitio suo’, EYC, i, no. 536, p. 416; ‘de feodo meo’, EYC, i, no. 552, pp. 430–2; ‘homo meus’, EYC, i, no. 552, pp. 430–2, and vi, no. 48, pp. 130–1; ‘in viduitate et in legali potestate mea’, EYC, xi, no. 65, pp. 64–5. 224 EYC, vii, no. 21, pp. 69–70. 234 chapter six as noted earlier, some of them were in favour of important religious houses in Yorkshire. Second, they included beneficiaries who were tenants and household retainers, people who often benefited from a male lord’s gift or confirmation.225 Third, the dates of Matilda’s grants and confirmations suggest that some may have occurred when land changed hands. Numerous charters demonstrate that male heirs often made or confirmed grants when lands changed hands, especially at the death of a father. Matilda’s charters seem to follow this pattern. One of her confirmations is dated 28 December 1175, probably within a year of her father’s death, and confirms earlier grants made by her father and three of her tenants.226 Several other grants and confirmations can be dated to the period of her marriage (1175–84), perhaps occurring shortly after she inherited.227 However, there is a difference between Matilda’s grants and those of male heirs. Matilda’s actions in widowhood as indicated in charters seem to outnumber her actions as a wife by about two to one.228 It is probable that Matilda made four confirmations and only three donations as a wife, but six confirmations and seven donations as a widow, underlining how far she, even as an heiress, came most fully into possession of her lands as a widow.229 Widowhood provided a greater degree of freedom for manoeuvre, even for heiresses.230 Three non-inheriting widows also acted as lords. Agnes d’Aumale confirmed a grant in her widowhood made earlier by a tenant of her husband to Meaux.231 Rohaise de Clare also confirmed a grant made by one of her deceased husband’s tenants, to Kirkstead, as well as confirmed to that tenant the land her husband had given him.232 She also confirmed, as a remarried widow, another tenant’s son in the land of his father.233 These were dower lands. As a result the confirmations were possibly sought by the tenants or religious houses, rather than being made on the widows’ initiative. Yet these actions were arguably

225 EYC, xi, nos. 63–6, pp. 63–5. 226 EYC xi, nos. 24, 38, pp. 45–6. 227 EYC xi, nos. 39–40, 48–9, 53, 64, pp. 46–8, 53–4, 58, 64. 228 EYC xi, nos. 38–67, pp. 45–66. 229 EYC xi, nos. 38–46, 48–50, 54, 56–7, 59–60, 63–5, pp. 45–56, 58–61, 63–5. Her other charters cannot be dated closely enough. 230 Johns, ‘Wives and Widows’, 117–32; Nelson, ‘The Wary Widow’, 82–113; Holt, ‘Feudal Society, iv’, 1–28. 231 EYC, x, no. 88, p. 135. 232 Topographer, vol. 1, pp. 318–9. 233 Topographer, vol. 1, p. 319. power 235 the result of more than merely the holding of dower. None of the other non-inheriting widows confirmed grants made from their dower by their husband’s tenants, nor confirmed an heir in his lands. Agnes and Rohaise had married into comital families and produced an heir. It was perhaps these circumstances which enabled both to fulfil one function of a lord, ensuring, unlike most of the other non-inheriting Yorkshire widows in the study, that their predecessors’ gifts were honourably maintained. The third non-inheriting widow who acted like a lord was Alice de St. Quintin. Her case seems exceptional. Alice confirmed her mother’s grants for the foundation and maintenance of the nunnery of Nunkeeling.234 In the same charter she also confirmed land given to Nunkeeling by William Foliot (her half-brother), Robert Jordan and Walter de Fauconberg (her nephew). The language in her charter, including the phrases ‘de dominio meo’ and ‘concedo eis et confirmo quicquid rationabiliter de feudo illo adipisci poterunt’, indicates that Alice’s actions were meant to be seen as an act of lordship. However, unlike Agnes d’Aumale and Rohaise de Clare, the two other non-inheriting women who acted as lords, the lands in question were not from Alice’s dower. Agnes and Rohaise’s circumstances were special, as mothers of an heir whose land they held in usufruct. They acted as lord of the land they held, but less as a lord in their own right than as an ‘acting’ lord in whose custodianship the land currently was. Alice’s confirmations were of lands that possibly formed part of her dowry, not an inheritance and certainly not dower. Yet, unlike all the other non-inheriting widows, Alice appears to have been acting here as one who had control over a fee and over tenants. It is unclear why Alice alone among the non-inheriting women was able to make confirmations involving natal lands. Perhaps the reason lies less with her status as an heiress or not, and more with the fact that she was the daughter of the founder of Nunkeeling. When Alice’s mother died, the role of patron fell vacant. This role might have conferred on Alice the authority to act as a lord in relation to Nunkeeling. Alice might have used her position as the founder’s daughter to move beyond the usual limits imposed on someone of her status.235

234 EYC, iii, no. 1337, pp. 58–9. 235 It is possible that Alice’s confirmations were solicited by the nunnery. Nevertheless, Alice still made use of her position as founder’s daughter to act, whether solicited or on her own initiative. 236 chapter six

The third manner in which a widow could exercise control over property was through gifts to kin. Five widows—Emma de Gant, Agnes and Matilda de Percy, Alice de St. Quintin and Juetta de Arches—made this type of grant during the twelfth century, and the recipients included younger sons, daughters, nephews and a granddaughter. Emma, Agnes and Alice gave land to at least one younger son.236 Emma used her dowry, Agnes her inheritance, and Alice her dower. Alice secured the consent of her heir to attempt to ensure the continuation of the grant; Emma and Agnes seem not to have. Alice and Agnes also gave land to a daughter, as did Juetta.237 Agnes gave inherited land to her daughter as dowry.238 This grant lends support to the view that dowry was ‘often from a maternal estate and perhaps constituted a separate class of female, dotal property’.239 Yet Emma’s grant suggests that maternal dowry could also be used to endow a younger son, perhaps most commonly in the absence of daughters. There is no indication whether Alice’s daughter received her land as dowry; Juetta’s daughter did not. As in the case of her son, Alice used dower land for her daughter’s gift, again securing the confirmation of her heir. Juetta used lands of the Arches fee. Juetta also made a gift to her granddaughter Isabel de Brus.240 She used inherited lands, quitclaiming the land to Isabel before the king’s justices. The nephews of the sisters Agnes and Matilda were also beneficiaries. Agnes gave land to her dead brother’s illegitimate son William, and to Richard Malebisse, her illegitimate sister Emma’s son.241 Matilda also gave land to Richard, as well as to Henry de Puiset, son of another illegitimate sister, Adeliza, who himself was illegitimate.242 Both sisters used inherited lands. The widows in this group were from both the higher aristocracy and the honorial baronage, and they included heiresses and non-inheriting widows. Only Alice used non-natal lands, obtaining her heir’s consent for the gifts, perhaps because the property was not customarily hers

236 EYC, ii, no. 1201, pp. 481–2; EYC, xi, nos. 84, 96, pp. 77–8, 103–4. 237 Yorkshire Deeds, vii, ed. C.T. Clay, YAS, Rec. Ser., lxxxiii (Wakefield, 1932), no. 373, pp. 127–8; EYC, i, p. 416; xi, no. 84, pp. 77–8; Fines, Yorkshire, lxvii, no. 892, p. 72. 238 ‘cum filia mea in matrimonio’. EYC, xi, no. 84, pp. 77. 239 The quotation is from Hughes, ‘From Brideprice to Dowry’, 282. See also, Thompson, ‘Dowry and Inheritance Patterns’, 47, and Green,Aristocracy of Norman England, 367. 240 EYC, i, nos. 548–9, pp. 428–9. 241 EYC, xi, nos. 74, 80, pp. 71–2, 75–6. 242 EYC, xi, nos. 61–2, pp. 62–3. power 237 to alienate. That the other widows do not seem to have acquired their heir’s consent might suggest that they—or others—believed that they were less constrained in their bestowal of their natal land, especially to close family members. The widows’ goal appears to have been the financial provision for non-inheriting members of their close family. Land was only given to lineal descendants of the widows or of their brothers and sisters. No more distant relative was a beneficiary. Analysis of the evidence of the Yorkshire widows’ property administration reveals patterns of patronage that indicate strong links between certain groups. Heiresses of both tenant-in-chief rank and the lesser aristocracy were most often benefactors of natal foundations and kin, as well as of the larger Yorkshire houses, and non-inheriting widows of both ranks were frequently, but not exclusively, associated in their patronage with religious establishments connected to their marital kin. Natal lands were generally given to natal foundations and kin, marital lands to marital establishments. Few widows founded their own religious houses. When they did, those of the honorial baronage established nunneries in widowhood. The one higher-ranking woman who founded a religious house, jointly founded a male one with her first husband. Confirmations and secular grants to non-kin, as indications of lordship, were seldom made by non-inheriting widows, although both heiresses and non-inheriting women made gifts to close kin. These grants and confirmations were made by both the higher and lesser aristocracy. It therefore seems that a position as heiress was more important than rank in relation to patronage and acts of lordship, supporting Johns’s contention that ‘the roles of lesser noblewomen could resemble those of women of higher status’.243 Most of the patronage of the twelfth-century widows, at least as it survives in the documents, was an activity of widowhood, or after remarriage, corroborating the generalization that widows had more room for manoeuvre than other women. Of all the grants and confirmations made by the widows, none were made before the women married for the first time, and usually only heiresses acted during a first marriage. Some widows, such as Emma de Gant and Agnes de Flamville, had short widowhoods (one widowhood each of no more than five years) and made few benefactions (two and one, respectively). If women’s actions were more limited before and during marriage, especially a

243 Johns, Noblewomen, 153. 238 chapter six first marriage, as suggested by Glanvill, this pattern is to be expected.244 Likewise, widows with long widowhoods would be expected to have made more donations than those with shorter widowhoods. Juetta de Arches and the Percy co-heiresses, with widowhoods of between eighteen and thirty-eight years, were among the most active of the Yorkshire widows, with ten to fifteen benefactions while unmarried. However, a long widowhood was no simple guarantee of more opportunities for action. Women must also be seen in context. Several of the widows in this study question the generalization that it was widows who had more room to manoeuvre. Sibyl de Valognes and Alice wife of Richard de Percy, who were widows for over twenty years, only made one grant each in that time. Alice de St. Quintin, who was probably only a widow for a short period between marriages, made several grants after remarriage. Alice de Rumilly I made at least four grants during her first marriage (fourteen to sixteen years), at least three in the few years between her marriages, at least six while remarried (twenty-one or twenty-two years), and at least two during the nine years after her second husband’s death before her own. Clearly, other factors must have been involved. One of the most important appears to have been a position as heiress. Like Alice de Rumilly I, many heiresses among the group were active both during marriage and in widowhood, and their activity in widowhood was often more extensive than that of non-inheriting widows who were single for longer periods. This factor was apparently more significant than social status, but not in every instance. Rank seems to have been important when non-inheriting widows married into comital families and produced an heir. Agnes d’Aumale and Rohaise de Clare did not inherit, yet despite relatively short widowhoods—no longer than five and seven years, respectively—their activity was similar to that of heiresses. Their number of benefactions was above average, and it occurred both while married and as widows.

244 Glanvill, 60, 85. power 239

Conclusion

This chapter has examined the power that widows exercised, both formally and informally. The adoption of a less rigid definition of power, encompassing effective action, the influencing of people and decisions, and the achievement of goals, has acknowledged a wider view of female agency. As a result, the analysis of a widow’s room for manoeuvre has placed her within the context of her political, social, economic and familial circumstances. It has recognized avenues open to widows like those dependent on factors such as fertility, rank, family connections and position as heiress. In the three areas examined—consent in marriage, wardship and control of children’s property, and property transactions and management—overall patterns have emerged. Although it is often difficult to see a widow’s strategy concerning remarriage due to insufficient information, it appears as if widows in Iceland had greater room for manoeuvre. There is no indication that coercion was the norm. The one widow known to have been pressured into an unwanted remarriage, Guðrún Þórðardóttir, remedied the situation herself by taking advantage of several of the opportunities which might have been available to a widow during the Icelandic Commonwealth. In Yorkshire, however, the sources suggest that coercion might have been more common. Many men benefited from the remarriages of the widows in the study. Generally these men were the widows’ lords, most frequently the king. While this alone does not imply coercion, especially as some of the widows also benefited from and perhaps consented to their remarriages, there is perhaps more of a presumption of pressure. Circumstances appear crucial in remarriage in both regions. Comparison of individual widows’ cases has brought out the importance of natal and marital kin, lifecycle, the presence or absence of children, the possibility of extra-marital liaisons and politics. The combination of these factors in different circumstances extended or reduced the scope each widow had. In some cases, the support of or lack of opposition from natal kin, as in the cases of Jóreiðr Hallsdóttir or Þuríðr Gizurardóttir, allowed a widow more freedom to act. In the absence of supportive and powerful natal or marital kin, a widow seems to have been more vulnerable. Hawise countess of Aumale was powerless to oppose the wishes of the king, in part because she lacked effective natal support. Yet it was not this factor alone which was 240 chapter six significant in her case. Her youth, fertility, great wealth and comital title all added to her attractiveness as a wife and potential mother, and the king desired to exploit these traits. But it should be noted that in Yorkshire coercion in remarriage by the king seems to have taken place normally in extremis, not under ordinary circumstances. Perhaps this was one tactic the king could use when necessary, but he did not feel the need to resort to it often. The presence of the king in Yorkshire seems to have been an influential factor in certain cases, but in Iceland this absence did not usually affect widows’ remarriages before the 1240s, when the Norwegian king began to play an ever- increasing role in national Icelandic politics. Until the 1240s, the lack of an overlord provided some Icelandic widows with the opportunity to play chieftains off one another to accomplish their own goals. That they could conduct extra-marital relationships further enhanced their chances not only of successfully refusing remarriage, but also of carry- ing through other strategies. The opportunity to choose a lover could help a widow gain her preferred sexual partner, increase her options for creating an alliance or improve her chances of transferring property to her son. The combination of socially acceptable liaisons and the absence of a king seems to have enabled Icelandic widows to have more freedom. Wardship in Iceland and Yorkshire was significantly different in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. In Yorkshire most widows in the study did not have custody of a minor heir or his or her lands. A widow’s lifecycle seems to have played a role in how likely it was for her to be granted custody. If she was young and potentially fertile it was unlikely; if she was past childbearing years, and thus remarriage was doubtful and she had had time to accumulate the necessary funds to buy the wardship, her chances of success were greater, although probably dependent on other factors beyond her control. Without custody, a Yorkshire widow seems to have had little control over the life of her heir, including marriage and property management. Yet most heirs, even daughters, inherited despite, or perhaps as a result of, a mother’s limited influence. Widows might not have had much opportunity to formulate a strategy to ensure the transference of paternal property to their heir, but then there appears to have been little need to do so. In Iceland, however, it was rare for children not to remain with their mother, regardless of reproductive capability or potential remarriage. Mothers often retained control of their offspring’s paternal inheritance power 241 and had more opportunities than Yorkshire widows to influence succession of property and power. However, their children were in a more insecure position. Not all Icelandic widows were successful in ensuring the transference of property to their children. The power and influence that widows had was dependent on the political circumstances of the period in which they lived. As the Commonwealth period progressed and the king of Norway began interfering more and more in Icelandic affairs throughout the thirteenth century, it became increasingly difficult for a widow to maintain control over a minor heir’s inheritance. In the period before 1220, when power was distributed more evenly, widows of the chieftain class generally had influential natal kin to whom they could turn for support. No one chieftain had far greater power than his peers, and through the aid of influential kinsmen widows generally succeeded in transferring lands and chieftaincies to their sons. But as political instability escalated into civil war in the late 1230s, and as the king gained control of the chieftaincies so that by the 1250s very few men had any independent power nationally, support for widows, as for men, diminished. With fewer natal kin in a position to aid them, widows turned to others outside of their birth families, such as marital kin, chieftains and lovers. But these options were not usually as effective, in part because the widows were in a weak position. Their chosen supporters’ interests often conflicted with their own. Marital kin had a strong claim on the inheritance of a widow’s son, and some took advantage of the minority. Chieftains almost always wanted something in return for their aid, and apart from two women widowed in 1228 and 1234 whose bargaining strength was a direct result of the current political situation, these widows were generally in a weak position as well. So widows in Iceland at times had more room for manoeuvre and control over their children’s lives and property, but the cost was the greater risk of loss that manifested itself after 1220. The ways in which an Icelandic widow could exercise power through her property appear to have been varied, but the saga evidence is sparse. The most common was administration of an heir’s paternal property, which often appears to have brought a widow wealth and social status, sometimes even political control. Only a few widows, however, are known to have been able to avail themselves of the other options. A few widows sold or transferred land. Two gave the management of an estate away temporarily, in both cases to ensure its continuance within the family. A widow could also be given temporary management of 242 chapter six a farm. These two cases involved mothers who had grown sons, one of whom, Þuríðr Gizurardóttir, was given the administration of one of Iceland’s two ecclesiastical sees, bringing her and her son financial and political advantages. The final way was to establish a household of one’s own. Yngvildr Þorgilsdóttir appears to have been able to exploit this option for political reasons. She was one of the few widows who did not seem to have been motivated by parental concern, although she did not have children at this point. Not all widows were able to derive power from their property. Halldóra Tumadóttir was forced to leave her home after her husband and four of her sons were killed. In all of these cases circumstances were significant. For example, Yngvildr’s ability to take a lover ultimately enabled her to establish a household, although only because of the political rivalry between her lover’s kin and her brother. Þuríðr’s management of the bishopric was a result of her son’s position as a powerful chieftain in the north and his desire to control the ecclesiastical establishment for his own purposes. Yet this study indicates that widows could, and did, have power in Commonwealth Iceland, although that power might fluctuate with and was dependent on circumstances. In Yorkshire power derived from the use of property can be divided into three areas—religious patronage, acts of lordship and grants to family members. Religious patronage provided a widow with an outlet for her piety, but it also could be used as a political tool to express a degree of independence or to make a statement about her property management. This type of benefaction can be divided into four sub- groups: grants to natal foundations; grants to religious houses associated with marital kin; grants to larger Yorkshire establishments; and personal foundations. Acts of lordship included confirmations of tenants’ grants to religious houses and other tenants, confirmations of tenants in the lands which they or their predecessors already held, and secular grants to non-kin. Grants to family were made from a widow’s property to her close natal kin, often apparently as a means of providing for that person’s future financial security. The patterns that emerged from this examination of power indicate that a widow’s natal lands often enriched foundations and people closely connected with her natal kin, while her marital lands benefited religious houses closely linked to her marital kin. Length of widowhood could be significant, but it alone did not determine action. Heiresses were generally more active than non-inheriting widows. Most heiresses made their benefactions during all of their marriages and in widow- power 243 hood, unlike non-inheriting widows, only one of whom made a grant before the death of a first husband. It was mainly heiresses of both the higher aristocracy and the honorial baronage who acted as lords, confirming donations and making gifts to tenants, and significantly more grants to kin were made by heiresses than by non-inheriting widows. A position as heiress, more than rank, was thus a crucial factor in benefactions and acts of lordship. Holt’s statement that it was only as a widow that she might hope to gain sole control . . . settled widowhood was a status only achieved with difficulty, usually after several marriages, and it was likely to be maintained only at considerable cost therefore needs reconsideration.245

245 Holt, ‘Feudal Society, iv’, 3–4.

CHAPTER SEVEN

IDENTITY

Women have complex, multiple identities, which vary and shift across the lifecycle. A widow was not merely a widow, but a daughter, at one point a wife, and perhaps a mother and a sister; she was a member of a specific social class, for example, the higher aristocracy or the honorial baronage; she was a member of a family group; she might also have been an heiress; and she was a woman. This chapter brings together the full complexity of what it might have been like to have been a widow and forcefully reminds us that she was a woman at a particular stage of the lifecycle—sometimes the last. Since a widow’s identity was multiple, numerous factors might have influenced it. Familial factors, such as birth, marriage and motherhood, could shape and define identity. Did a woman’s identity change at marriage, at widowhood, at remarriage? Did she retain a close natal attachment all her life, or did the strength of this attachment fluctuate with her marital state and the presence of children? Land or status might also have been crucial. Was the identity of heiresses and non-inheriting widows different? Was the identity of widows from the tenant-in-chief class different from the identity of widows of the lesser aristocracy? Did marriages and children affect these widows differently? Personal and familial identity are not often examined in depth in relation to the Icelandic Commonwealth or to twelfth-century Yorkshire, for women or for men, and almost nothing has been written about the identity of widows. Several historians of medieval Iceland have noted the importance of continued links between daughters or sisters and their natal kin after marriage, as well as the importance, between families, of bonds created by marital alliances. However, the approach taken most often stresses the significance of natal or marital links from the point of view of the men involved, rather than the consequences for the women.1 The interests and identity of the women are rarely, if

1 Agnes Arnórsdóttir, ‘Kvinner og “krigsmenn” ’, passim; Gunnar Karlsson, ‘Kenningin’, 68; Preben Meulengracht Sørensen, Saga and Society: An Introduction to Old Norse Literature, trans. J. Tucker (Odense, 1993), 70–2; Nordal, Ethics, 129–36. 246 chapter seven ever, considered. The two most important works concerning the identity of women in England are Johns’s recent study of twelfth-century noblewomen and J.C. Ward’s article on noblewomen and family in the later Middle Ages.2 The authors draw attention to the use of names, descriptions, titles, seals and religious and secular patronage as possible indicators of the identity of women and widows, an approach employed in this chapter. Since ‘identities . . . are constructs of selves and others at the same time’, this chapter will attempt to deduce how Icelandic and Yorkshire widows were seen by others, and perhaps also how they saw themselves.3

First Names

The first names of the Icelandic and Yorkshire widows and members of their close kin can provide some evidence for identity among the aristocracy in both regions. Since first names were given, they are arguably a valuable source to indicate links, associations or status which those who gave them wished to emphasize. It is therefore surprising that very little has been written about them. No scholarly work has been published on this subject for medieval Iceland. For England in the early and high Middle Ages, much of the research has focused on the cultural and social influences that led to changes in naming patterns, looking specifically at etymology, orthography, phonology and ethnicity.4 It is likely that first names can tell us something about

2 Johns, Noblewomen; J.C. Ward, ‘Noblewomen, Family and Identity in Later Medieval Europe’, in Nobles and Nobility in Medieval Europe: Concepts, Origins, Transformations, ed. A.J. Duggan (Woodbridge, 2000), 245–62. 3 P. Linehan and J.L. Nelson, ‘Identities: Introduction’, in The Medieval World, eds P. Linehan and J.L. Nelson (London, 2001), 7–13, at 13. 4 See, for example, John Insley, ‘The Scandinavian Personal Names in the Later Part of the Durham Liber Vitae’, in The Durham Liber Vitae and its Context, eds David Rollason, et al. (Woodbridge, 2004), 87–96; Gillian Fellows-Jensen, The Vikings and Their Victims: The Verdict of the Names, Dorothea Coke Memorial Lectures in Northern Studies (London, 1995); Stephanie Mooers Christelow, ‘Names and Ethnicity in Anglo-Norman England’, in Studies on the Personal Name in Later Medieval England and Wales, eds Dave Postles and Joel T. Rosenthal (Kalamazoo, MI, 2006), 341–71; Cecily Clark, ‘English Personal Names ca. 650–1300: Some Prosopographical Bearings’, in Studies on the Personal Name, 7–28 (first publ. in Medieval Prosopography, 8, 1 (Spring 1987), 31–60); idem, ‘Battle c. 1110: An Anthroponymist Looks at an Anglo-Norman New Town’, Proceedings of the Battle Conference on Anglo-Norman Studies, 2 (1979), 21–41. identity 247

ethnic or cultural identity.5 For instance, Clark uses patterns of women’s nomenclature to examine post-Conquest settlement and marriage patterns, occasionally considering ‘national’ identity.6 The Icelandic and Yorkshire widows’ first names found in the sagas and charters might provide evidence of cultural identity. Icelandic names could be Icelandic or foreign, but among the higher ranks they were virtually always Icelandic. This paucity of foreign names is expected for a country where colonization took place mainly from Norway between two and three hundred and fifty years earlier, and where immigra- tion was rare.7 Even the Church had little impact on the adoption of Christian names, an occurrence common elsewhere in Europe in the high Middle Ages, perhaps reflecting limited ecclesiastical influence in this period.8 In twelfth-century England, however, names could be Anglo-Saxon or Norman / Continental.9 Yet not one of the Yorkshire widows had an Anglo-Saxon name, despite the fact the Arches widows were potentially descended from English women.10 Noble names among the Yorkshire widows were predominantly Continental, if not Norman. The Yorkshire widows were called Alice (seven occurrences); Agnes (four); Emma, Cecily, Matilda, Rohaise and Avice / Hawise (two each); and Juetta (or Ivetta), Gundreda, Sibyl and Isabel (one each).11 The names of their male kin were likewise Norman or Continental, the most common being William, Robert, Roger, Walter, Richard, Henry, Hugh, Gilbert, Alan, Philip, Ralph and Ranulf. Why did the Anglo- Norman nobility give their children Norman names? Fashion might have played a role. William the Conqueror was Norman, as were the majority of his leading tenants-in-chief, and it is not unusual to want

5 Bartlett, England under the Norman and Angevin Kings, 538–40; Green, Aristocracy of Norman England, 344. 6 Cecily Clark, ‘Women’s Names in Post-Conquest England: Observations and Speculations’, Speculum, 53, 2 (1978), 223–52. 7 Byock, Medieval Iceland, 3–5. 8 Bartlett, England under the Norman and Angevin Kings, 540. 9 Clark, ‘Women’s Names’, 223–52. 10 The identity of Agnes de Arches’s mother (who was also the grandmother of Juetta de Arches and Alice de St. Quintin, the great-grandmother of Agnes de Flamville, and the great-great-grandmother of Rohaise daughter of Robert and Isabel de Brus) is unknown. It is possible that Agnes’ father Osbern married a native Yorkshire woman when given land in Yorkshire in order to enhance his claim to that land and to legiti- mize the inheritance of his children in the eyes of local Anglo-Saxons. For a discussion of this practice, see Searle, ‘Women and Legitimisation’, 159–70. It is also possible that Osbern’s wife was of Continental origin. 11 The names Avice and Hawise were two forms of the same name. EYC, vii, p. 25. 248 chapter seven to emulate those in power or those who were well known. Clark has noticed an increasing proportion of Norman names among the nobility throughout the twelfth century, while Clark and Bartlett have suggested that twelfth-century English noble society viewed Continental culture and influences as more fashionable than those of England.12 It is also possible that the widows’ first names underline a lack of marital or other links across 1066, not only among the Yorkshire aristocracy but among the lesser gentry as well, especially since changes in female naming patterns of women of English descent were apparently con- servative.13 A first name in Commonwealth Iceland or twelfth-century Yorkshire was usually conferred on someone at birth by parents. There are no instances of such a name changing according to others’ perceptions.14 No widow is known to have been called by anything other than one first name, which did not apparently change at marriage or any other significant life event. This, if true, perhaps indicates a strong attachment to natal kin, or underlines the rarity of name changes generally. It is the most stable element of identity, given by natal kin. So the widows’ names and those of their kin were predominantly static and were Icelandic or Norman, perhaps reflecting their cultural preferences and natal attachment. What was their purpose? They might indicate links to natal or marital kin, depending on the side of the family from which they came.15 The names might look to the past, acting as markers of family tradition. They might commemorate a kinsman or kinswoman who played a significant role in the present state of the

12 Clark, ‘Women’s Names’, 234–6, 251; Cecily Clark, ‘English Personal Names’, 40–3; Bartlett, England under the Norman and Angevin Kings, 487–9. 13 Clark, ‘Women’s Names’, 232–52. 14 For a discussion of name changes in England, see Stafford,Queen Emma and Queen Edith, 93; Bartlett, England under the Norman and Angevin Kings, 539. 15 Several scholars have argued that first names acted as kinship markers. See, for example, Constance B. Bouchard, ‘Patterns of Women’s Names in Royal Lineages, Ninth-Eleventh Centuries’, Medieval Prosopography, 9, 1 (Spring 1988), 1–32; idem, ‘The Migration of Women’s Names in the Upper Nobility, Ninth-Twelfth Centuries’, Medieval Prosopography, 9, 2 (Autumn 1988), 1–19; Dave Postles, ‘Identity and Identification: Some Recent Research into the English Medieval “Forename”’, in Studies on the Personal Name in Later Medieval England and Wales, eds Dave Postles and Joel T. Rosenthal (Kalamazoo, MI, 2006), 29–62, at 49; and Philadelphia Ricketts, ‘ “Spoiling Them Rotten?”: Grandmothers and Familial Identity in Twelfth- and Thirteenth-Century Iceland’, in Youth and Age in the Medieval North, ed. S. Lewis- Simpson, The Northern World, vol. 42 (Leiden, 2008), 167–204, at 173–84, 196–204. identity 249 family’s fortunes, status or honour. They could indicate respect for a relative to whom one had a particular affective bond. They might also look to the future, recognizing potential inheritance and perhaps even implying how parents wished that inheritance to be assigned. Or they could be used for present purposes, such as attempting to align oneself with an influential person. As such, they might have been used to reaffirm the alliances of the marital union which produced the children being named. In Iceland, children were rarely named for their parents. Only four future widows’ sons were named for their fathers, and no daughter was named for her mother.16 Sharing a name with a grandparent was more common. Twelve sons shared a name with a paternal grandfather, and eight with a maternal one. Three daughters shared with a paternal grandmother, and four with a maternal one. Of the group of Icelandic widows, three had the same name, and three had sisters with the same name, as a paternal grandmother, and one shared her name with her mother’s mother.17 The women (or their husbands) also chose names for their children that other family members had, especially brothers. Six sons shared a name with a maternal uncle, and seven shared with a paternal uncle (one of whom also shared this name with a father). Three daughters had the same name as a maternal aunt, three with a paternal one. Fourteen sons were given the same name as a more distant kinsman (great uncle or great-grandfather), nine of whom shared this name with an uncle (eight) or father (one) as well. Fourteen daughters shared a name with a distant female relative (great-aunt or great-grandmother), four of whom shared with more than one kinswoman. All of the names shared with more distant relatives occurred more frequently in the male line than the female. In Yorkshire the pattern was different. Children were often named for parents, especially boys. Fourteen of the widows’ sons had the same name as their father, although only two of the widows’ daughters shared their mother’s name. There is a distinct separation when it

16 See appendix 9 for information in the next two paragraphs. For a more detailed study of names and naming patterns in Commonwealth Iceland, see Ricketts, ‘Spoiling Them Rotten?’, 173–84, 196–204. 17 Steinunn Hrafnsdóttir, Þuríðr Gizurardóttir and Þóra Guðmundardóttir shared a first name with their father’s mother. Yngvildr Þorgilsdóttir, Guðný Þorvarðsdóttir and Þuríðr Sturludóttir had a sister who had the same name as their father’s mother. Guðrún Bjarnadóttir shared her name with her mother’s mother. SS, ii, ættskrár following p. 326. 250 chapter seven comes to names common to grandparents and grandchildren. Seven sons, six of whom were first-born, shared a name with a paternal grandfather, but only two with a mother’s father. Five widows’ daughters, all the eldest, shared a name with a maternal grandmother, and two of the Yorkshire widows’ daughters shared a name with a paternal grandmother. These male and female names tended to follow the male and female line, respectively. However, those who encompassed a broader view of kinship appear to have made use of names from both sides of the family, especially for boys. Three sons shared a name with their mother’s brother, five with their father’s brother. Five daughters shared with their mother’s sister, and two with her father’s sister. Six sons (three in the male line) and seven daughters (five in the female line) were given the same name as a more distant relative. What were the possible motivations behind these naming patterns? Some first names are common across the generations of a family, and parents might have been motivated to continue a family tradition. For example, Rohaise de Clare had three ancestors with the same name— her father’s sister, her paternal grandfather’s sister, and her paternal great-grandmother—and she herself named a daughter Rohaise.18 Rohaise’s great-grandmother was perhaps part of a founding generation at the time of the Conquest, as was Rohaise’s great-grandfather Richard.19 The names Rohaise and Richard subsequently occurred in each generation of the Clare family, perhaps as a link to these distant ancestors who established the family’s landed fortunes in England. Nor was Rohaise’s kin an exception in Yorkshire. The names Cecily, Avice, Alice, William and Ranulf all recur throughout five generations of the Rumilly family, passed on in both the male and female line.20 While some names appear across a few generations in Iceland, no comparable pattern is found there. Male names often reoccur across three generations (generally skipping the middle one), sometimes across four, rarely more. Female names across generations are less common, although not exceptional.21 In Iceland, the recurrence of male and female names is not as pervasive as in Yorkshire, and the number of different names within a family over several generations is greater.

18 J.H. Round, Feudal England (London, 1895), 472–3. 19 CP, iii, pp. 242–4; vi, pp. 498–501. 20 EYC, iii, pp. 468–72; vi, pp. 31–5; vii, pp. 1–21. 21 SS, ii, ættskrár following p. 326. identity 251

This pattern suggests a more personal nature to naming, rather than a family tradition that indicates strong lineal descent. First names might also signify attachment to a particular member of one’s kin or the importance of a specific familial connection, especially in Iceland. For example, Guðný Böðvarsdóttir fostered her grandson Sturla; he named one of his daughters Guðný.22 Álfheiðr Njálsdóttir named her third son Ormr after her recently deceased husband.23 Emma de Gant, who was a benefactor of her brother Walter’s foundation of Bridlington, named her second son Walter.24 Although her husband had a younger brother called Walter, Emma’s tenant-in- chief brother was a far more important man than this brother-in-law, and her son may have been named for him. If a kin group included a particularly powerful individual, a child might be named after that person. Þóra Guðmundardóttir’s son was called Gizurr after his well respected and influential paternal grandfather, ‘because few who have been so named in the Haukdælir family have been small men’.25 One of William Meschin and Cecily de Rumilly’s sons was named Ranulf, almost certainly after William’s elder brother, the earl of Chester, or his father, the vicomte of the Bessin.26 No known relatives of Cecily were named Ranulf, and it was likely that the name entered the Rumilly kin via her husband’s. Although Cecily was the daughter of an important tenant-in-chief, and her husband had been given the honour of Copeland by the king, the couple might have wanted to signify their support for, curry favour with, or indicate their link to William’s influential father or comital brother. Potential inheritance may also have affected naming.27 Holt has argued that Norman ‘toponymics originated in inherited title’, a point to which I will return.28 First names might also have been selected to indicate hereditary title, at least in Yorkshire. Sons in Yorkshire, especially eldest sons, were clearly given names that associated them with their father and paternal grandfather, probably to indicate their claim to inherit family lands. Younger sons and daughters were often named

22 SS, i, 303, 527. 23 SS, ii, 88–9. 24 EYC, xi, pp. 2–3. 25 ‘því at lítt hafa þeir aukvisar verit í Haukdælaætt, er svá hafa heitit hér til’. SS, i, 250. 26 EYC, ii, p. 195; vii, pp. 4–7. 27 Stafford,Queen Emma and Queen Edith, 83. 28 Holt, ‘Name’, 17. 252 chapter seven for maternal kin. For example, Alice de St. Quintin’s eldest son Robert was his father’s namesake; her second son William had the same name as his mother’s maternal uncle William de Arches, who was head of the Arches family. Alice’s first-born daughter was perhaps also named for her maternal kin, after her mother’s mother Agnes de Arches.29 In this instance, Alice—and her husband Robert—might have been making a statement with the choice of their first son’s name, as heir to his father’s fee and the importance of the patrilineal line. But the lands held by Alice’s uncle William were comprised of nearly twice as many knights’ fees than those of her husband’s fee.30 Alice and her husband perhaps therefore wished to reinforce their connection with Alice’s wealthier natal family by choosing to name their second son William after the head of the Arches kin, and their daughter after William’s only sister. In Iceland, however, this pattern is not found. Sons and daughters were given names of parents, grandparents, uncles and aunts in the male and female line in a roughly equal proportion. Eldest sons were not predominantly named for their father or paternal grandfather, and daughters and younger sons were often named for paternal kin. Such naming practice seems to support the evidence that inheritance in Iceland was not governed by primogeniture, and that there was flexibility in the system to allow some daughters, and often all sons, to acquire a large share of family property. It undoubtedly also indicates that names were given for reasons other than to signify hereditary title. Daughters, especially eldest daughters, might also be closely associated with their maternal kin through their names to express a daughter’s claim to family lands in the female line, such as dowry in Yorkshire, or a share in the family inheritance (perhaps as dowry) in Iceland. Several Icelandic women were named for maternal kin, often their maternal grandmother or aunt. Guðrún Bjarnadóttir’s daughter was named Halla like her maternal grandmother, and Þuríðr Gizurardóttir’s two daughters shared their names Halldóra and Álfheiðr with their mother’s mother and sister; these names are not found among the girls’ paternal kin.31 All three had brothers close in age to them. Juetta de Arches

29 EYC, i, pp. 420–1; xi, pp. 94–5. 30 Red Book, i, pp. 418–21, 424. 31 SS, ii, 6., 7., 19., 34. ættskrár. identity 253 was almost certainly named after her mother Juetta.32 The name of her father’s mother is unknown, but the name Juetta is uncommon enough that it is unlikely that both her mother and paternal grandmother bore this name. Juetta had no brothers, but her parents could not have known at Juetta’s birth that they would not have a son as heir. These daughters might thus have been given names from their mother’s side, hoping that a future son would inherit paternal lands, and the girls might receive part or all of their mother’s property. These naming practices suggest that children’s names might serve diverse purposes, not always entirely separate. They might be used to emphasize a particular link or association, indicate property claims, commemorate or honour a dead relative or friend, reflect family tradition or express natal or marital connections. In both regions, children of both sexes were named for both paternal and maternal kin, although this pattern is more marked for Iceland. Naming practices in Iceland and Yorkshire thus corroborate Bouchard’s conclusions concerning naming in continental Europe in the eleventh and twelfth centuries. She argues ‘that the patrilineal organization of family structure of the time was far from absolute’, and that men were willing to actively recognize and utilize associations with their wives’ kin, indicating a bilateral tendency to kinship to some extent.33

Family Nomenclature

A first name was usually conferred at birth. However, other names and descriptions were acquired at various points during the lifecycle, in differing circumstances. They were often given rather than chosen, and they did not always supersede a previous designation. For example, Avice Meschin was known variously as ‘Amice my eldest daughter’ and ‘Amice daughter of Cecily de Rumilly’ when witnessing and confirming her mother’s grant to her mother’s foundation at Embsay between 1135 and 1150; ‘my mother . . . Avice de Rumilly’ in William de Curcy’s confirmation of his mother’s grant to Arthington nunnery between c. 1152 and 1171 and as ‘Avice mother of William de Curcy’ in the 1166 return of knights’ fees pertaining to Paynel lands; ‘Avice de Rumilly’ in several documents, including a notification dated 1147

32 EYC, i, nos. 535–6, pp. 414–6. 33 Bouchard, ‘Migration of Women’s Names’, 11. 254 chapter seven to c. 1152 to the bishop of Lincoln concerning her grant to her late second husband’s foundation of Drax, a charter of Richard I confirming Avice’s grants to Drax, a confirmation charter of her own dated c. 1150 to 1176 concerning her second husband’s grants to Drax and her own grant of land in Saltby from her Paynel dower to Vaudey of about the same date; ‘Avice [William Paynel’s] wife’ in a confirmation to William’s foundation of Drax made by her son-in-law between c. 1150 and 1154; and ‘Avice Paynel, wife of Walter de Percy’ in her notification to the archbishop of York confirming her man Simon’s gift to Drax between 1147 and 1153.34 This variety suggests that names both chart and indicate the complex identities of women. It underlines their possible variation over the lifecycle, their instability, and the fact that they may vary in different sources. The variety might thus be a sign of how far names indicate identity as perceived by others. The descriptions of Avice suggest that we are dealing with different descriptions—some of which place her in relation to other kin members and so vary across the lifecycle— depending on who is acting and her relation to them. Others look more like what we would call surnames, a more permanent, secondary name added to a first name. There has been debate about the permanence of these names and their stability in the twelfth century, mainly for men. Holt has assessed how surnames might reflect the family organization of Anglo-Norman aristocracy, their notions of property and title, and their sense of history. He argues that the toponymics and nicknames of the aristocracy began to become established as surnames from the mid-eleventh century, patronymics in the later twelfth, and these sta- bilized at various points throughout the twelfth century for different families, at least for some members of the family. However, these surnames might still change at this late date. It was not uncommon for a man who married an heiress or acquired a particularly important estate to take on a name which reflected his improved circumstances.35

34 ‘Amicia filia mea seniore’ and ‘Amicia filia Cecilie de Rumilli’,EYC , iii, nos. 1861–2, pp. 467–8; ‘mater mea . . . Avicia de Rumelli’, EYC, iii, no. 1863, pp. 472–3 and ‘Auicia mater Willelmi de Curcy’, Red Book, i, p. 433; ‘Avicia de Romelli’, EYC, iii, no. 1864, p. 473, ‘Auicia de Romelli’ / ‘Auicia de Rumeli’, EYC, vi, nos. 47, 66, pp. 130, 155 and ‘Auicia de Rumely’, Mon. Angl., v, p. 491; ‘Willelmus Paganellus et Auicia uxor ejus’, EYC, vi, no. 46, p. 129; ‘Auic[ia] Paganella uxor Galteri de Perci’ EYC, vi, no. 48, pp. 130–1. 35 Sir James Holt, ‘What’s in a Name? Family Nomenclature and the Norman Conquest’, Stenton Lecture 1981 (Reading, 1982), 10–23. identity 255

This study considers how stable names—that is, patronymics, matro- nymics, and toponymics which may or may not have been passed to subsequent generations—and familial descriptions were for women in Iceland and Yorkshire, and what they might indicate about their identity. Nicknames will not be discussed in detail. Although common in both regions for men, in Iceland being purely personal, in Yorkshire often becoming hereditary, women were rarely accorded this cognomen. No surviving evidence indicates that any widow from either Iceland or Yorkshire was known by one.36 Most Icelandic widows are known by more than just a first name in the sagas. One designation is always a patronymic. None are known by a matronymic, although the name of their mother is often provided. It is by their first name alone, or first name and patronymic, that the widows are most frequently referred to each time they reoccur in the narrative, even as widows or when remarried. Often a widow will also have the description ‘wife of X’ or ‘mother of X’ added to her first name, and occasionally she will be identified as the sister or kinswoman of X, all usually accompanied by a patronymic. However, no widow—or indeed any Icelandic saga woman—is known by her husband’s surname. Only three, Yngvildr Þorgilsdóttir, Arnþrúðr Fornadóttir and Þórhildr Gíslsdóttir, are specified as widows (‘ekkja’); two are mentioned in the context of their extra-marital liaisons disapproved of by their brothers.37 No widows are known by toponymics, although one widow’s mother, Keldna-Valgerðr Jónsdóttir, a second widow’s dead husband, Hvamm-Sturla Þórðarson, and a third widow’s son, Valla- Brandr Eyjólfsson, had toponymics attached to their first name and patronymic.38 It is worth noting that only in Hvamm-Sturla’s case was the use consistent, and that toponymics, while more frequent for men, are uncommon. No male or female surname ever passes to a child, and even toponymics do not recur among offspring of men and women. There are two common patterns when a widow or future widow is first introduced in the contemporary sagas. First, she might be placed within the context of her natal kin. Her parents (and perhaps other ancestors) are named, and usually her siblings. The names of her

36 For a discussion of nicknames, see Miller, Bloodtaking, 60–1, 323, notes 39–40; Holt, ‘Name’, 17–8. 37 SS, i, 72, 139, 262. 38 SS, i, 60, 117, 272, 281, 299, 409. 256 chapter seven husband(s) or lover(s) often come next, and in a few cases her children are also identified. Ingibjörg Þorgeirsdóttir is typical: Þorgeirr Hallason lived at Hvassafell in Eyjafjörður. He married Hallbera, daughter of Einarr from Reykjanes, son of Ari, son of Þorgils, son of Ari, son of Már. Þorgeirr and Hallbera had ten children who survived childhood, five sons and five daughters. One of their sons was Einarr . . .[other children and spouses listed] . . . Þorgeirr’s second daughter was Ingibjörg. She married Helgi Eiríksson from Langahlið first, and later Hvamm-Sturla.39 The second pattern sees a widow or future widow introduced among her marital or lover’s kin, as the wife or mistress / concubine of one of the men. In this pattern, a high-ranking widow is always connected to her birth kin, even if only by a patronymic, and her children by her husband or lover are usually named. Often her mother and some ancestors are also given, and she might be introduced in this manner even when she has been placed in the context of her natal kin as well. Guðný Böðvarsdóttir is typical: Þórðr Gilsson married Vigdís Svertingsdóttir . . . Their son’s name was Sturla, a second son, Snorri and two daughters, Þórdís and Guðrún . . .[Sturla’s earlier relationships introduced] . . . Sturla later married Guðný, daughter of Böðvarr Þórðarson. The mother of Böðvarr was Valgerðr, daughter of the Lawspeaker Markús. Guðný’s mother was Helga, daughter of Þórðr Magnússon from Reykjaholt. Sturla and Guðný’s children were Þórðr, Sighvatr and Snorri, Helga, who married Sölmundr Austmaðr, and Vigdís, who married Gellir Þorsteinsson.40 Men are also introduced in both of these manners, although the first is more common.

39 ‘Þorgeirr Hallason bjó undir Hvassafelli í Eyjafirði. Hann átti Hallberu Einars dóttur af Reykjanesi, Ara sonar, Þorgils sonar, Ara sonar, Más sonar. Þau Þorgeirr ok Hallbera áttu tíu börn, þau er ór barnæsku kómust, sonu fimm ok dætr fimm. Þeira sonr var Einarr . . . Önnur dóttir Þorgeirs var Ingibjörg. Hana átti fyrst Helgi Eiríksson ór Lönguhlið, en síðan Hvamm-Sturla.’ SS, i, 116–7. See also the numerous examples in Þorgils saga ok Hafliða, SS, i, 12; Ættartölur, SS, i, 51–6; Haukdælir þáttr, SS, i, 60; Sturlu saga, SS, i, 63–4; Prestssaga Guðmundar góða, SS, i, 116–8; Guðmundar saga dýra, SS, i, 160–1. These pages also contain many examples of the second pattern, as well as these patterns applying to the introduction of men. 40 ‘Þórðr Gilsson átti Vigdísi Svertings dóttur . . . Sturla hét sonr þeira Þórðar ok Vigdísar, en annarr Snorri, Þórdís ok Guðrún dætr . . . Sturla átti síðar Guðnýju, dóttur Böðvars Þórðarsonar. Móðir Böðvars var Valgerðr, dóttir Markúss Lögsögumanns. Móðir Guðnýar var Helga, dóttir Þórðar Magnússonar ór Reykjaholti. Börn þeira Sturlu ok Guðnýjar váru þau Þórðr ok Sighvatr, Snorri ok Helga, er átti Sölmundr Austmaðr, ok Vigdís, er Gellir Þorsteinsson átti.’ SS, i, 52. identity 257

Descriptions of widows as ‘wife of X’ or ‘mother of X’ are fairly common throughout the sagas, although women are often only known by the former the first time they are introduced in a saga (or after marriage if introduced earlier). For example, in Íslendinga saga Solveig Sæmundardóttir is ‘Solveig daughter of Sæmundr and Valgerðr Jónsdóttir’ and ‘Solveig daughter of Keldna-Valgerðr’ before marriage, ‘Solveig, [Sturla’s] wife’ in the first reference after marriage, and thereafter ‘Solveig húsfreyja (lady of the house, see below, p. 267)’ or simply ‘Solveig’.41 Widows are sometimes described as the mother of their children, most often when the inheritance of those children, including the main family farm, is involved. Thus, Ingibjörg Guðmundardóttir is described as the mother of her sons by Hallr when she is noted as living some years after his death at Hrafnagil, her sons’ paternal inheritance.42 Arnþrúðr Fornadóttir is noted as living at Sakka with her sons after being widowed.43 Natal kinship is also expressed through relations to brothers, sisters and other natal kin, albeit less frequently and usually when the widow or kin member calls upon the relationship for assistance. Þuríðr Sturludóttir is known as the sister of Sighvatr when, as a young unmarried man in possession of his first farm, he asks Þuríðr to run his household.44 Úlfheiðr Gunnarsdóttir is known as the first cousin of Steinunn Þorsteinsdóttir when Steinunn and her mother Sigríðr Úlfheðinsdóttir provide lodgings for Úlfheiðr while her lover is abroad and she is pregnant with his second child.45 Often men are also described as ‘father of X’ and ‘brother of X’, and occasionally as ‘husband of X’. These patterns suggest that women, and men, were identified with both their natal and marital kin, depending on circumstances, although they place more emphasis on connections in the male line. They also suggest that the use of toponymics was not the only, or even the main, way in which to identify a person with a particular farm. This finding is perhaps unsurprising in a society where the main family estate of the upper ranks often changed from generation to generation (see above, p. 78), and where the system of inheritance discouraged primogeniture and patrimonies (see above, pp. 60, 100–3).

41 SS, i, 242 and 299; 301; 326–9, 334, 357, 360, 409, 411, 446–7, 472. 42 SS, i, 288. 43 SS, i, 187. 44 SS, i, 234. 45 SS, i, 118. 258 chapter seven

Although the use of patronymics might indicate a strong patrilineal organization to Icelandic society in which women moved from their natal to their marital kin at marriage, the patterns taken as a whole suggest that attachment to both maternal and paternal kin was very strong among all medieval Icelanders, as was attachment to marital kin. Patronymics never passed through generations (that is, each Icelander had a true patronymic). This suggests that there was no narrow lineal sense of family, and that identification was more with a wider kin group. When a woman is introduced in the sagas within the context of her natal kin, also giving her husband’s name, it is almost as if he is entering her kin group, much as she seems to be entering his when she is named among his natal kin. This retrospective portrayal by the saga authors implies a strong natal attachment that continued throughout an Icelandic woman’s life. Such an attachment made marital alliances between her natal and marital kin particularly durable, since she was so closely connected to members of both.46 The sagas’ portrayal of widows thus indicates the importance of familial alliances created through marriages and liaisons which brought a son into a woman’s kin, as it brought a daughter into a man’s kin. This finding supports the often expressed view that Commonwealth Iceland had an ego-centred, bilateral kinship structure (see above, pp. 64–5), with clear agnatic tendencies to the kinship structure represented by the use of patronymics and description.47 But it also indicates the significance of the new nuclear family that was established by the union, especially when it produced children. Since a woman remained close to her natal kin, her children were as much a part of her natal kin group as their father’s. If the natal link was weak and she left her kin group to be absorbed into her husband’s, it might be expected that her kin would have taken little interest in her children by her husband, even after she was widowed. But this was not the case in Iceland. The sagas are replete with instances where a widow’s natal kin aided her children when possible (see above, pp. 200–1). It was only in the later period, when widows had few remaining powerful natal relatives, that they were forced to turn elsewhere when their husbands died.

46 Miller, Bloodtaking, 167–71. 47 Agnes Arnórsdóttir, ‘Kvinner og “krigsmenn” ’, 15–17; Barlau, ‘Old Icelandic Kinship Terminology’, 191–2. identity 259

Surnames and descriptions in Yorkshire tell a similar story. Of the over 200 references to the widows in the sources, only two are known by a husband’s cognomen. Agnes d’Aumale is referred to as Agnes de Brus in the Pipe Rolls after her remarriage to Adam de Brus II, and Avice Meschin is known by her second husband’s surname, as Avice Paynel, in her notification of a confirmation (see above, p. 254).48 Avice’s case is interesting. In a seventeenth-century copy by Dodsworth of Avice’s original notification to the archbishop of York, it was her second husband’s cognomen appended to her first name. In this notification, she confirmed land, during marriage to her third husband, of ‘Simon her man’ in Colleshaia to the Paynel foundation of Drax.49 She was thus identified not only with her third and current husband, and as a lord, of Simon, but also with her dead second husband. This identification was possibly due to her confirmation of a grant of land seemingly unconnected with this husband’s family (except as a gift to Drax) to a Paynel foundation.50 This source underlines the complexity of a woman like Avice and her identity. All the other widows, and even these two widows in other instances, are known by their first name alone or more commonly by other toponymics.51 Some, including Juetta de Arches, Alice de St. Quintin, Agnes d’Aumale, Agnes de Percy, Cecily de Rumilly I, Alice de Rumilly I, Alice de Rumilly II and Gundreda de Warenne, were frequently known by a father’s or mother’s toponymic, and eighteen of the twenty-five were known by a parental toponymic at least once. This natal connection occurred both as wives and widows in many cases. When a widow’s marital connections were a central concern, she was almost universally known as ‘wife of X’, rather than by a toponymic associated with her husband’s kin. While Alice de St. Quintin was described as Eustace de Merc’s wife in a grant pertaining to her dower lands, she was still ‘Alice de St. Quintin’, not ‘Alice de Merc’.52 Her natal identity was important, even when natal lands played no role in a transaction which referred to her by her paternal toponymic. Such descriptions indicate a lifelong association between women and their natal kin, suggesting that many widows still identified, and were identified with,

48 PR 2 Hen II, p. 27; EYC, vi, no. 48, pp. 130–1. 49 ‘Simon homo meus’ EYC, vi, no. 48, p. 131. 50 For the origins of Colleshaia, see EYC, vi, p. 131. 51 Bartlett, England under the Norman and Angevin Kings, 542. 52 ‘Aeliz de Sancto Quintino uxoris mee’, EYC, i, no. 546, p. 426. 260 chapter seven their birth family throughout marriage, widowhood and remarriage. Perhaps the fact that women rarely appear to have been described by their husband’s surname denotes the potentially temporary nature of their connection to his family. A woman was always a part of her birth family, but she might only have been a part of her marital kin while her marriage lasted. Dalton and Ward suggest that women made a conscious effort to retain a natal surname, an action which displays the inseparability of land and family.53 However, the initiative did not necessarily come from the women themselves. Most toponymics feature in charters written by the beneficiaries of grants and confirmations made by the women, not by the women themselves. The drafters might have had their own reasons for choosing certain names that worked to their advantage. Nevertheless, the association of these women with their parental surnames indicates that land and family were related in the eyes of society, at least in certain circumstances. A religious establishment would hardly have wished to describe a woman in a manner which did not easily identify her in the eyes of society in general. A beneficiary might choose between names to emphasize specific connections which suited their interests, showing how far surnames at this date are descriptions which locate people in specific contexts. What thus becomes doubly interesting and significant is the stability of some descriptions, in these cases natal ones. The toponymics used to describe the widows were not only parental, they were Norman. The origins of Arches, Aumale, Brus, Curcy, Percy, Port, Rumilly, St. Quintin, Valognes and Warenne families were Norman.54 Within a generation of the Conquest, these families held lands on both sides of the Channel. They had originated on the Continent, and they continued to be known by their Continental toponymics, even after their English holdings had eclipsed their Norman ones in importance. For example, Agnes d’Aumale was frequently given the name of her family’s original important land tenure, Aumale, even when it was surpassed in significance in the twelfth century by the family holdings in Holderness. She was never Agnes of Holderness,

53 Dalton, Conquest, 291–2; Ward, ‘Noblewomen, Family and Identity’, 258. 54 Loyd, Origins, 9, 36, 77, 79, 87, 92, 108, 111–2; CP, ii, p. 358f; HKF, vol. 1, pp. 103–12; EYC, vii, pp. 31–5; DB, ‘Yorkshire, Biographies of Tenants’, 12W1 William de Warenne, 13W1 William de Percy, 25W1 Osbern de Arches, 31E1 Robert of Brus (no page numbers). identity 261 despite the importance of these lands by the time of her first marriage in the 1140s. Holt’s argument that ‘the hereditary toponymic surname goes with the hereditary tenure of land’ might account for this designation.55 He contends that land tenure carried with it a surname which could eventually become hereditary over time. A toponymic was thus as much a title as a surname. The family’s connection with it denoted their Norman roots, a connection valued by the aristocracy in twelfth-century England. A Norman toponymic continued to confer social prestige, as it linked a family back to its Norman identity at the time of the Conquest, even as late as the late twelfth century. It might be expected that heiresses, but not necessarily non-inheriting women, were known by the toponymic of their natal kin if land tenure was linked with toponymics, but the surname evidence does not support this contention.56 Most widows were known by toponymics at least once, whether or not they inherited natal land. Only three of the fourteen widowed heiresses were consistently known by a natal toponymic, while four of the eleven non-inheriting widows were. This finding, taken in isolation of other evidence, does not refute Holt’s argument. It might simply suggest that land tenure alone was not the basis for assigning a toponymic in all sources and for all women. Other evidence supports Holt’s argument. Some Yorkshire widows were known by a maternal toponymic, predominantly when land tenure was involved.57 Cecily de Rumilly I’s daughter Alice de Rumilly I inherited the honour of Skipton from her mother, acquiring a smaller proportion of paternal Meschin lands (see above, pp. 106–12). She is nearly always known as Alice de Rumilly in the sources, including those in favour of the priories of Embsay, St. Bees, Pontefract and Conishead and the abbey of Fountains, as well as in favour of several tenants, and made as wife, widow and remarried widow.58 Alice’s daughter Alice II was also usually known

55 Holt, ‘Name’, 11. 56 Johns, Noblewomen, 135. 57 Bartlett, England under the Norman and Angevin Kings, 542–3. 58 EYC, vii, nos. 13, 15–9, 21–6, 28–30, 32–3, 44, 50, pp. 61–78, 86–7, 103–4; Mon. Angl., vi, pp. 204, 556; St. Bees, nos. 12–3, 15, pp. 40–4; Calendar of the Close Rolls preserved in the Public Record Office, prepared under the superintendence of the Deputy Keeper of the Records, Edward I., vol. v, A.D. 1302–1307, HMSO (London, 1908), p. 493; Calendar of Inquisitions Miscellaneous (Chancery) preserved in the Public Record Office, prepared under the superintendence of the Deputy Keeper of the Records, HMSO (London, 1916), ii, no. 707. 262 chapter seven by the Rumilly toponymic. She also inherited a portion of the Rumilly lands, although she acquired a larger share of paternal property than her mother had (see above, pp. 112–4). Yet she could not be known by a paternal toponymic, because her father, William fitz Duncan, did not have one. It is significant that Alice I, making most of her donations from her maternal lands, was often known only as Alice de Rumilly. Her daughter, however, used both maternal and paternal lands in her benefactions. When the lands were maternal, she was either Alice de Rumilly or Alice daughter of Alice de Rumilly.59 When they were paternal, she was still Alice de Rumilly but with her father (most often), her antecessor Waldeve son of Gospatric or his son Alan usually mentioned as well.60 The toponymic Rumilly served to reinforce her claim and right to hold and alienate her maternal lands, and no further description was necessary. But it was safer to mention her predecessors William fitz Duncan, Waldeve son of Gospatric or Alan his son when she granted or confirmed her father’s lands to reinforce the validity of the transaction and the authority of the grantor. Other records, such as those dealing with of the lordship of Cockermouth and the Chronicon Cumbrie, consistently describe Alice II as Alice de Rumilly, and her land overwhelmingly defined her public identity.61 Her toponymic was arguably the best possible manner in which to refer to her when land was an issue, whether it was paternal or maternal. Here land tenure and toponymics appear linked. Her claim to her maternal Rumilly lands was arguably validated by her toponymic, which could be traced back to her Norman great-grandfather. As such, it might also serve as validation of her authority over her paternal lands gained through her parents’ marriage. Even though the majority of Alice II’s grants were made from her father’s lands, perhaps expressing her own association with her father and his kin, her identity seems to have been closely associated with her natal kin on both her mother’s and father’s side, at least by the religious establishments who drafted the charters and records in which she was named.

59 EYC, vii, nos. 32, 88, 112, pp. 78, 150, 181. 60 St. Bees, nos. 14, 453, 490, pp. 42–3, 449–51, 481–2; Mon. Angl., vi, p. 271; Abstracts Fountains cart., pp. 45–6, 49, 51–2, 54, 57–60, 64, 199; Cumbria Archive Service (Whitehaven), D/CU/4/173: Curwens of Workington Hall. 61 St. Bees, no. 498, pp. 491–6, illustrative documents, nos. 5–7, 15, pp. 527–33, 537–8. identity 263

Description of Alice II involved more than toponymics. Alice was consistently given a maternal toponymic, but she was also described in relation to her father, antecessors and husband Gilbert Pipard.62 She was not unique in this. The Icelandic and the Yorkshire widows were known variously as mothers, grandmothers, sisters and wives. The majority of women, both Icelandic and from Yorkshire, were described at least once in relation to a husband, and they were often identified as a mother. References to their role as sister and grandmother are less common. As already noted, Icelandic widows are usually introduced and identified within the context of their natal and marital kin, but always also identified by patronymics. In Yorkshire, descriptions attached to a widow’s name were dependent on the circumstances surrounding the recording of the name. For example, Agnes de Arches’s relationship as the mother of Peter de Fauconberg and of William and Hugh Foliot was stated in a confirmation charter of her foundation Nunkeeling priory.63 The nunnery had an interest in these details. By naming her three sons in the charter, their claim to their mother’s alienated lands was made explicit. Peter’s, William’s and Hugh’s recognition of their mother’s gift was implied, thus making it harder for these sons or their heirs later to try to reclaim lands Agnes had granted to the nunnery. Agnes’ children were not only claimants but also potential donors, and the nunnery might have wished to make the relationship clear for this reason as well. William, and Peter’s son Walter, did indeed become benefactors of Nunkeeling later in the twelfth century.64 How Agnes’ identity was perceived by society was thus shaped by her maternal role to some extent. Agnes was not only or always described as a mother. Elsewhere, when her role as mother was not the most significant one, she was known as Agnes de Arches. Here her descent from Osbern de Arches was crucial, who for his loyalty and service was granted lands as tenant- in-chief by William the Conqueror.65 Her membership of the Arches family was the aspect of her identity expressed in these charters. And when she was known as holding her lands of her stepson Richard de St. Quintin, her position as widow of Herbert de St. Quintin and her

62 For Gilbert, see EYC, vii, no. 32, p. 78. 63 EYC, iii, no. 1332, pp. 53–4. 64 EYC, iii, nos. 1336–7, pp. 56–9. 65 EYC, iii, nos. 1333, 1336, pp. 54–8; DB, Yorkshire, 329a–c. 264 chapter seven rights of dower in the land she alienated were emphasized.66 Yet these facets of identity were not mutually exclusive, as her foundation charter of Nunkeeling suggests. She is there known as ‘Agnes de Arches’, but she makes the donation for ‘the health of the souls of my lord Herbert de St. Quintin and for the souls of Walter and Alan my sons’.67 Her connection to the important Arches family is acknowledged, but so is her link to her husband’s St. Quintin kin. Since Agnes used St. Quintin lands to found Nunkeeling, and used the pro anime clause in her charter explicitly to commemorate her husband and sons from her first marriage for their benefit, she arguably is making a statement about her identification with Herbert de St. Quintin and the conjugal family created with him. Her identity as an Arches woman was arguably perceived by the drafter of the charter and perhaps others in society, if not by Agnes herself, but her identity as part of her husband’s kin and marital nuclear family appears as much a part of how Agnes saw herself as how others did. How a widow was portrayed in the sources depended on interests outside the family, as in the case of Agnes’ depiction as mother of Peter, William and Hugh. It might also depend on the widow herself, as in Agnes’ foundation charter of Nunkeeling. But it could also come from within the family. Alice de St. Quintin is portrayed as the mother of two sons from her first marriage, her heir Robert and his younger brother William, in an original charter recording a grant of her dower land in Immingham, Lincolnshire to William.68 The charter is dated between c. 1166 and 1180, when she had already been widowed and remarried and her older son had inherited. Since the land granted was part of her dower from her first marriage, it was part of Robert’s patrimony and his consent was desirable. To provide William with security if the grant was later challenged by Robert or his heirs, it was imperative for Alice’s relationship as mother of both William and Robert to be delineated in the charter, and for Robert’s agreement to be recorded. It was Alice’s identity as mother, and her family’s perception of that role, which this charter expressed. An examination of Avice Meschin’s various familial descriptions also indicates that a Yorkshire widow had a complex, multiple iden-

66 EYC, iii, no. 1334, p. 55. 67 ‘Agnes de Archis . . . pro salute anime domini mei Herberti de Sancto Quintino et pro animabus Walteri et Alani filiorum meorum’,EYC , iii, no. 1331, p. 53. 68 EYC, xi, no. 96, pp. 103–4. identity 265 tity which fluctuated over the course of her life, certain aspects being emphasized in certain circumstances.69 Avice was the daughter of Cecily de Rumilly I when she witnessed donations made by her mother concerning Rumilly land of her maternal inheritance in Harewood. She was later known as the mother of William de Curcy when he confirmed a grant made by Avice from the same inheritance. Both of these designations were probably chosen by the beneficiaries, the priories of Embsay and Arthington, respectively, to trace the descent of land, thereby attempting to demonstrate the authority of the donor. The prestige of the Rumilly connection and its link to legitimate land tenure was expressed in Avice’s charters in favour of Embsay, founded by her mother, Drax, founded by her second husband, and Vaudey, closely connected to her son-in-law. These charters date from her second widowhood or her remarriage after it. Significantly, they involve both natal and marital lands. Avice’s identity, as described by both Embsay and Drax, was natal, despite being married and widowed at least twice. Yet it was also marital in some instances, since a few charters in favour of Drax link her with her second husband, William Paynel. This connection seems more understandable in the circumstances, since she granted Paynel dower lands to a Paynel foundation. Her identity was that of a Paynel woman. But she was also described as Avice Paynel, wife of Walter de Percy, in one of these charters, retaining the Paynel connection but also recognizing that she had remarried and thus acquired yet another identity, as Walter’s wife. A widow’s identity as expressed by the names and descriptions assigned to her in the sources indicate a multiple identity which was related to her lifecycle and landholding. These designations were often given to her and thus expressed others’ perceptions of her. But they might also express a widow’s own sense of her identity, even when assigned, and in some cases she might have chosen them herself. The names and descriptions suggest that natal attachment was strong and remained so throughout a woman’s life in both Iceland and Yorkshire. Marital attachment and identification with the conjugal family seem more variable, and might often have been dependent on the circumstances in which the widow was recorded, yet they appear to have been significant.

69 See above, pp. 253–4, for a list of her grants. 266 chapter seven

Titles and Seals

Titles, that is non-familial descriptions of roles or status, and seals might also express a widow’s identity. Ward argues that they might indicate a woman’s own self-perceptions and display her ‘desire to advertise birth, marriage, property, and authority’.70 But titles might equally be used by others as a sign of a woman’s authority to act as head of a household or as a lord or to denote a prestigious family connection. In the sagas, twelve of the fifty widows were given the title ‘húsfreyja’, some more than once. The term can mean simply ‘wife’ or ‘housewife’, but it can also be translated as ‘lady of the house’. In each case, the title denotes the woman’s position as legitimate wife of the householder, her authority as mistress of the household, and/ or her authority to act in a political capacity. In four instances, the term húsfreyja was used to denote the woman in question as the wife of a powerful man, demonstrating that she possessed the legitimate authority which this role conferred on her. Guðný Böðvarsdóttir’s husband Hvamm-Sturla Þórðarson asked her, as his wife and mistress of his household, to arrange a ring-dance for his guests and retainers.71 Álfheiðr Njálsdóttir was described as húsfreyja when her husband was on his deathbed and she travelled a fair distance to see him one last time.72 Ósk Þorvarðsdóttir was accorded the title during a significant conversation with her husband which indicated that he was aware of the threat against his life from a rival.73 In the saga, Ósk is seen pre- paring food for the main meal, in her role as housewife, a meal which turned out to be her husband’s last. And Hallveig Ormsdóttir, although probably not married to Snorri Sturluson, was known as ‘Hallveig hús- freyja’ when she was mortally ill at the annual Þing in 1241.74 When it began in 1224, Hallveig and Snorri’s relationship was a helmingarfélag, an equal financial partnership. Yet they had children together, so there was a sexual element to their financial partnership, and Snorri’s grief at Hallveig’s death demonstrated his deep affection for her.75 By 1241, their relationship appears to have been considered as equivalent to a

70 Ward, ‘Noblewomen, Family and Identity’, 258–9. 71 SS, i, 89. 72 SS, ii, 88. 73 SS, i, 369. 74 SS, i, 450. 75 SS, i, 52, 452. identity 267 marriage by contemporaries, and the phrase ‘Hallveig húsfreyja’ probably reflects this. Other women (often as widows) denoted as húsfreyja received the title because of the importance of their position as mistress of their or their husband’s household. For example, the twice-widowed ‘Arnþrúðr (Fornadóttir) húsfreyja’, ran the household at Sakka in 1195 while her sons were still young.76 In 1229 and 1244, respectively, the farms of Solveig Sæmundardóttir’s husband and of the widowed Jóreiðr Hallsdottir were attacked while their kinsmen were away, and they and members of their households were subjected to psychologi- cal and physical violence.77 Both were particularly brutal.78 The importance of the designation húsfreyja in these two cases is that the women represent the influential and powerful men in their lives, the former as wife, the latter as widowed mother-in-law on her own farm. The honour of Solveig’s powerful husband Sturla Sighvatsson and Jóreiðr’s powerful son-in-law Sturla Þórðarson, both of whom were political players at the national level, was damaged when their kinswomen were attacked, and in their own homes. Furthermore, the attacks were politically motivated and thus had farther reaching consequences than if they had been the result of a family feud. In these circumstances, the women represented their kinsmen’s authority even more, since the attacks signified an assault on the authority, and a threat to the power of, their kinsmen. These examples indicate that the term húsfreyja was a description / title applied to women when the intent was to signify their authority. The title was bound up with their role as half of the couple that made up the head of the conjugal family. Action as a húsfreyja was generally taken by a chieftain’s wife, although a woman with a husband below chieftain rank, especially when she herself was of chieftain rank, could also be given the designation. For example, four widows (as wives) took action when an attack against members of their household was threatened or had occurred. In each case the description or title húsfreyja was used. In 1171, wife Guðný Böðvarsdóttir woke the men of the household and ordered them to help her husband to take revenge for the recent attack against his son-in-law.79 In 1234, Halldóra Tumadóttir summoned aid to avert

76 SS, i, 140. 77 SS, i, 326–9; ii, 288. 78 Nordal, Ethics, 120–1; Agnes Arnórsdóttir, ‘Kvinner og “krigsmenn” ’, 166–7. 79 SS, i, 91. 268 chapter seven an impending attack on her home when her husband refused to act.80 In 1223 at her marital home, Steinunn Hrafnsdóttir begged her husband’s enemy to spare his life and negotiated a settlement with him.81 In 1237, Helga Sæmundardóttir helped two men escape who had killed a household retainer of her husband Kolbeinn ungi. Although the saga states that Kolbeinn was very angry, Helga apparently talked him out of taking action since no revenge is exacted and no compensation is paid.82 These were all common types of actions which men took in the sagas. The women acted like men, despite being married at the time. The designation húsfreyja probably indicates that the saga authors recognized their authority to do so. Clearly others did, since all successfully achieved their goals and influenced others through their actions. Yet it was not merely a position as wife which enabled these women to act, but as the wife of a powerful and politically significant man. Three of the four were wives of chieftains. The fourth, Steinunn, was married to one of the most influential men in the rank immediately below that of chieftain, although she herself was of chieftain rank. All of these women acted during a first, and only, marriage. While some women were designated as húsfreyja when they acted like men, the term was also used in relation to both the more literary, and perhaps more traditional, female role of inciter, and the role of peacemaker (which might be played by either of the sexes).83 Þuríðr Sturludóttir goaded her husband to take revenge for the killing of her chieftain father, chieftain grandfather and three uncles in 1238.84 While perhaps not actively acting as a peacemaker, Jórunn Kálfsdóttir was at least a passive one. In 1240, she took no part in the conversation in which a supporter tried to incite her chieftain husband Brandr

80 SS, i, 371. 81 SS, i, 302. 82 SS, i, 398. 83 There is debate about whether the female role of inciter, orHetzerin , was a literary construct or historically accurate. For differing views, see Rolf Heller, Die literarische Darstellung der Frau in den Isländersagas, (Halle, 1958), where chapter three deals with the inciting woman; Jochens, ‘Medieval Icelandic Heroine’, 46–50; Miller, Bloodtaking and Peacemaking, 212–4; Mundal, ‘Position of Women’, 4–10. For a more recent overview of how literary constructs of female inciters are used to portray women as scapegoats for male violence in the contemporary sagas, see David Clark, ‘Manslaughter and Misogyny: Women and Revenge in Sturlunga Saga’, Saga- Book, 33 (2009), 25–43. 84 SS, i, 481. For an account of Þuríðr’s blame for the burning of Gizurr’s estate and his family as an act of revenge for the death of her kinsmen, see Clark, ‘Manslaughter’, 37–8. identity 269 to kill one of the men who took part in the killing of her father and brother six years earlier; the sagas specifically state that it was believed that Jórunn did not goad Brandr.85 Álfheiðr Njálsdóttir’s role as peacemaker was more active. She tried to stop her teenage son Guðmundr, first with words and then physically, from accompanying his older and more experienced chieftain brother on an expedition against a rival in 1250.86 It has been asserted that the roles of inciter and peacemaker were ones which integrated women in a limited manner in the formal decision-making process, thereby conferring authority on them when they acted in this role.87 Furthermore, the timing of these women’s actions should be seen as significant. All took place in the final period of the Commonwealth. Acts of revenge or peacemaking among the women’s kinsmen were not confined to family feuds. These acts had political consequences, because their kinsmen were among the most powerful men in Iceland at the time. Thus the women’s actions and influence over their male kin had an impact on politics at the highest level. It is possible that the term húsfreyja was used to signify the authority with which these women acted as inciters or peacemakers. The term ‘domina’ (lady) was used to describe some of the Yorkshire widows. It has been argued that the term denotes legitimate lordly authority, less frequently a family association.88 The title appears to have been given to the Yorkshire widows predominantly in these circumstances, most often after the death of a first husband. Widows of both the high aristocracy and honorial baronage were known by it. In her son William de Roumare III’s charter granting lands to St. Mary’s, York between 1170 and 1176, the remarried Agnes d’Aumale is referred to as ‘Domina Annes’ in the witness list.89 Her son William was the grandson of William de Roumare I, earl of Cambridge and Lincoln, a relationship denoted by attaching the toponymic ‘de Rusmar’ to her son’s name in the charter. It was arguably to confer even more prestige on William and his beneficiary that William’s mother Agnes was given the title domina, perhaps signifying her descent as a high-born woman from the earls of Aumale. In this case, the title domina is linked to family connection, and tells us little about Agnes’ authority or action.

85 SS, i, 443. 86 SS, ii, 91. 87 Miller, Bloodtaking and Peacemaking, 213. 88 Coss, The Lady, 9. 89 EYC, ii, no. 677, pp. 34–5. 270 chapter seven

In most instances the term domina did, however, imply a status which gave authority to a woman’s action. For example, Juetta de Arches and Agnes de Percy, as heiresses involved in the transactions of their tenants, are described as domina in the charters recording these.90 In the body of a charter in which Juetta, in her final widowhood, confirmed a grant by one of her tenants, dated 1187 toc. 1190, she is ‘Jueta de Archis’, her toponymic connecting her to the Arches fee.91 In the witness list, her steward is referred to as ‘Alan son of Elias steward of domina Juetta’ (‘Alano filio Elye senescallo domine Juete’). In a document recording a transaction in which Juetta acted as lord of the Arches fee and in relation to her employment of a steward over her estates, lordly authority is implied in the title domina. Other non- inheriting women and heiresses were also described as domina. Two widows had the title appended when they were connected with religious foundations. The heiress Matilda Meschin was ‘domina Matilda, daughter of William Meschin, wife of Philip de Belmeis’ as a witness to her husband’s foundation charter of Lilleshall abbey, dated to the 1140s.92 She was the third witness, after the bishop of Hereford and Philip, her son and heir by her husband. Although not acting alone, she was thus closely associated with her husband’s foundation publicly, and her position as lady of his fee was reinforced.93 Her own natal connections as heiress were also emphasized, this possibly being another example of the use of domina to denote an important family link. Alice de St. Quintin was, like Juetta, known in the body of the text of her foundation grant to Nun Appleton priory, dated between c. 1148 and 1150, by her paternal toponymic, with the title domina in the witness list.94 Unlike the majority of women known as domina, Alice was not an heiress. Her title does not imply authoritative action as head of a fee. But she was acting independently as the founder of a religious establishment. It is likely that the house would wish to indicate that she did indeed have authority to make the grant; their

90 For Agnes’ charters, see EYC, xi, nos. 81, 83, pp. 76–7. 91 EYC, i, no. 552, pp. 430–2. 92 Mon. Angl., vi, pp. 262–3. For a history of the Belmeis family in the twelfth century and for the dating of this charter, see Eyton, Antiquities of Shropshire, 200–13. 93 For a discussion of Ermentrude’s public role, as wife of Hugh, earl of Chester, in the foundation of St. Werburgh’s abbey, see Johns, Noblewomen, 56–7. 94 EYC, i, no. 541, pp. 419–21. Farrer gives the date for the charter as 1144 × 1150, but it is unlikely to have been made before the death of Alice’s first husband Robert, who died c. 1148. Burton, Monastic Order, 133. identity 271 survival depended on it. Her toponymic was not sufficient since she was not her father’s heir. Perhaps the drafter of the charter in favour of Nun Appleton decided to add the term domina to denote Alice’s authority in making the donation. Such an example underlines the link between the title and lordly authority. Yorkshire widows were also described as ‘comitissa’ (countess) in the sources; the term was not in use in Commonwealth Iceland.95 Comitissa was a title, not an office, unlike its male counterpart comes (earl), which might be both a title and an office. The office of earl could have official duties and privileges attached to it which the term comitissa did not imply.96 If a woman married an earl, she became a countess; she usually retained the title in widowhood, although it might be altered to ‘quondam comitissa’ (‘lately countess’). Due to the hereditability of an earldom, the title comitissa could also be inherited, the woman’s husband thereby acquiring the role of earl.97 Hawise countess of Aumale, a countess in her own right, was styled as such in her grants made during her marriages and in her final widowhood.98 As the daughter and heir of an earl, she kept the title until her death, taking it to successive husbands. Rohaise de Clare, Matilda de Percy and Cecily de Rumilly II were also frequently known as comitissa; each had married an earl. Of the four only Rohaise was not an heiress. No other Yorkshire widow in the study was known by or used the term. It is significant that not only Hawise, but Rohaise, Matilda and Cecily continued to use or be known by the designation as widows and remarried wives. For example, Matilda was often known as the daughter of William de Percy and the countess of Warwick in her charters dating to both her marriage and her widowhood.99 On her seal, she was ‘Matilda countess of Warwick’ (see below, pp. 276–7).100 Rohaise’s situation was slightly different. Unusually, she may not have been designated countess during her first marriage to Gilbert de

95 The only earl in Commonwealth Iceland was created earl by the king of Norway less than a decade before the end of the Commonwealth. His wife and children were already dead, and he did not remarry. Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, Chieftains and Power, 74–5. 96 For a discussion of the role, function, powers and hereditability of an earl and earldom, see David Crouch, The Image of the Aristocracy in Britain, 1000–1300 (London, 1992), 56–72. But cf. Johns, Noblewomen, 169, 171. 97 Crouch, Image, 75–80. 98 EYC, iii, no. 1376, p. 88; vii, nos. 45–6, pp. 87–8; Mon. Angl., v, p. 334. 99 EYC, xi, nos. 38–67, pp. 45–66. 100 ‘MATILDIS COMITISE WARWIC’ MS. Dodsworth viii, f. 17. 272 chapter seven

Gant, earl of Lincoln, which ended in 1156, or in her subsequent widowhood; Rohaise may not have been known as comitissa until after she remarried Robert fitz Robert, steward of the Percys, between 1157 and 1163.101 Two references to Rohaise probably date either to her first marriage or to her widowhood. These charters deal with Rohaise’s dower land from the earl in Scampton, Lincolnshire.102 They are addressed to Robert bishop of Lincoln (1147–1166), and Rohaise confirmed her first husband’s grant to one of his tenants and confirmed that tenant’s subsequent grant of the land to the monks of Kirkstead. She is described as ‘Rohaise wife of Gilbert earl of Lincoln’ in both. Her seal is appended to one of them, bearing the legend ‘SIGIL . . . ROHAIS VXORIS GILLEBER . . . E GANT’.103 It is probable that they were issued shortly after Gilbert died and before Rohaise’s remarriage, since widow’s dower was commonly at issue then.104 As the title comitissa was a title and did not represent an office, Rohaise’s designation as wife of an earl was perhaps sufficient to signify her prestigious rank as a countess. Only references which can be dated securely to Rohaise’s remarriage describe her as ‘countess Rohaise’.105 One document has another seal of Rohaise’s appended to it, bearing the legend ‘ . . . ILLVM ROEISA ...... SSE LINCO . . .’.106 It is therefore possible that Rohaise was not connected with the title comitissa until after her remarriage. Until she entered a second union she could continue to be known as the wife of Gilbert de Gant. But once remarried, she was someone else’s wife and could no longer be known as Gilbert’s wife. Yet her status as countess was still important, especially since her second husband was of a much lower rank than her first. The titlecomitissa conferred on Rohaise—and her second husband—the continued prestige associated with her high-born first husband Gilbert de Gant and

101 For confirmation of her second marriage, seePR 9 Hen II, p. 68. Crouch argues that most countesses retained the title in widowhood; some, as remarried widows, were known as comitissa as well, although a few were not associated with the title until their second husband died. Crouch, Image, 77–9. 102 BL, Harl. Ch. 50.F.32, printed, with drawing of seal, in Topographer, i, p. 318; MS Cotton Vespasian E xviii, f. 180 (new f. 99v). 103 BL, Harl. Ch. 50.F.32; Seals BM, ii, no. 6645, p. 386. 104 This would give a date of 1156–63. Johns, however, has dated the first charter to 1149–1156, following the dating in Seals BM. Johns, Noblewomen, 126. 105 BL, Harl. Ch. 55.E.13, printed, with drawing of seal, in Topographer, i, 319; EYC, i, no. 544, p. 424. Both are benefactions made jointly with her second husband. Rohaise’s seal is appended to the former. 106 BL, Harl. Ch. 55.E.13. identity 273 his family. It also displayed to society her continued interest in the earldom, as mother of Alice de Gant, Gilbert’s heir. As noted earlier (see above, p. 233), the language of lordship was common in heiresses’ charters. But it was not only language that could express a widow’s claim to authority. So could seals. Seals include descriptions, and thus again language, but also images. The fact of having a seal is itself significant. And the use of a seal may be particularly linked to independent action on the part of women.107 Perhaps more than charter descriptions, they arguably expressed a widow’s identity as she wished to portray it to society. It is often assumed that seals were commissioned by men and women, although there is no direct evidence.108 Johns discusses why she believes they were commissioned by the women who used them, as in the case of the Clare women, and my research supports this interpretation for Rohaise de Clare’s second seal (see below).109 Johns’s admirable study of secular women’s seals from the twelfth and early thirteenth centuries builds on Brigitte Bedos-Rezak’s work on women’s seals and power.110 Johns places women within the context not only of the socio-cultural development of sealing in the high Middle Ages, but also of family and lifecycle. She uses a gender-based approach to assess iconography, including heraldic or armorial motifs, imagery, countersealing and legends, thereby enabling the full complexity of women’s varied roles and identity in relation to kin and land as expressed by seals to be drawn out. None of the Icelandic widows had seals; they were not a feature of Commonwealth Iceland. However, at least eight of the Yorkshire widows did.111 The general pattern for noblewomen’s seals and their use in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries is given for France by Bedos- Rezak and for England by Johns.112 Sealing by non-royal women in England seems to have begun in the 1140s, possibly slightly earlier.

107 Ward, ‘Noblewomen, Family and Identity’, 259; Johns, Noblewomen, 133–4. 108 Brigitte Bedos-Rezak, ‘Women, Seals, and Power in Medieval France, 1150–1350’, in Women and Power in the Middle Ages, eds M. Erler and M. Kowaleski (Athens, GA, 1988), 61–82; Crouch, Image, 242–6. 109 Johns, Noblewomen, 130–1. 110 Bedos-Rezak, ‘Women, Seals, and Power’, 61–82; Johns, Noblewomen, 122–51. 111 It is possible that more seals existed but have not survived. For example, we know of Matilda de Percy’s and Alice de Rumilly I’s seals only through drawings made by William Dodsworth in the seventeenth century. MS. Dodsworth viii, f. 11; MS. Dodsworth viii, f. 17. 112 Bedos-Rezak, ‘Women, Seals, and Power’, 66–77; Johns, Noblewomen, 126–40. 274 chapter seven

The crucial period for development was 1140 to 1160, with a steady increase thereafter. Sealing began among the highest ranks, the practice gradually moving down through the lesser aristocracy to the gentry. Most women’s seals were oval in shape with the depiction of a lady standing, sometimes holding a fleur-de-lys or lily, or less commonly a bird of prey. Round seals, like those of nearly all men, account for about thirteen percent, only four of which date before 1180.113 Heraldic or armorial motifs were rare, as were associations with maternal kin. Legends in England generally reflect status and position within the family. Women of the high aristocracy used first names followed by a husband’s name, or a parental (usually paternal) name if she was an heiress; the use of uxor (wife of ) was rare, and a widow usually retained a designation associated with her husband. Women of the lesser nobility generally used the form ‘daughter of X’ or ‘wife of X’, although paternal toponymics are not unusual. Most of the Yorkshire widows’ seals conform to these patterns.114 The earliest are those of Rohaise de Clare and Alice de Rumilly I, dating to the period 1147–63 and 1156–75 (Rohaise, see above, p. 272), and 1155–6 (Alice de Rumilly).115 Rohaise, as the sister of one earl and the wife of another, and Alice, as heiress to the baronies of Skipton and Copeland and the wife of King David of Scotland’s nephew, were from the highest ranks of the nobility. It is therefore not surprising to find them sealing earlier than the other Yorkshire widows. Alice de St. Quintin’s and Matilda de Percy’s seals are next chronologically, dated between 1166 and 1180, and 1175 and 1194, respectively.116 Matilda was the heiress of a powerful tenant-in-chief and married to an earl, fitting the pattern. But Alice was a non-inheriting member of the honorial baronage. Her seal is an unusual example of one of the women of her class and social position in this period. The other five seals all date either to the last few years of the twelfth century or the early thirteenth.117 All five were used by women from the higher aristocracy, all but one being heiresses. Thus the majority of women with

113 Johns mentions only three round seals, but there appears to have been a fourth, that of Alice de Rumilly I (appended to two charters dating 1155–75), which is no longer extant. 114 The references to the seals in the remainder of this section are to the numbers in appendix 8, which includes full references. 115 Appendix 8, nos. 1, 2, 3. 116 Appendix 8, nos. 4, 5. 117 Appendix 8, nos. 6, 7, 8, 9, 10. identity 275 seals were heiresses; those who were not were often of comital rank by birth.118 It appears that this position as a near relation of an earl conferred on them the authority to act which other noble non-inheriting women do not seem to have had. All but one of the widows with seals were of the higher aristocracy. Most of the Yorkshire widows had oval seals with the figure of a standing lady, as was the norm. Of the three seals which do not have a lady depicted, Rohaise de Clare’s is especially noteworthy.119 Rohaise’s seals are a good example of how changes in the female lifecycle could affect a woman’s identity and expressions of it.120 She already had a seal when she adopted another after her remarriage. It has been noted above that one reason for the alteration might have been the need to change the legend from ‘wife of Gilbert de Gant’ since she was now married to Robert fitz Robert (p. 272). Her first seal depicts a lady with flowers in both hands, fleur-de-lys or lilies.121 Her second seal, however, abandoned this motif, favouring instead eight chevrons. These chevrons were the symbol adopted by her birth family, the Clares.122 Rohaise was arguably using these two seals to make a personal statement. In the first, the lady, the flowers and the legend emphasized her nobility and lineage. The lady was a symbol of the high aristocr acy.123 The flowers were symbols of fertility and motherhood and hence lineage.124 The legend connected Rohaise with her husband, through whom her lineage would continue. However, no image or description linked her directly to her natal kin. Her identity was expressed mainly as a noble wife and potential mother, a member of the comital class through her marriage (although she was also a member of this class through her birth family). Her second seal emphasized different aspects of Rohaise’s identity. Here the chevrons associated her strongly with her natal kin. Since her brother was an earl, the connection conveys her nobility as his sister. So, too, does the title ‘comitisse Lincolnie’.

118 The three non-inheriting widows with seals were Rohaise de Clare, Gundreda de Warenne and Alice de St. Quintin. Rohaise and Gundreda were closely related to earls. 119 Appendix 8, no. 3. Nos. 2 and 8 also contain images other than a lady. 120 For discussion of how seals could express changes in the lifecycle, see Johns, Noblewomen, 136. 121 Appendix 8, no. 1. 122 Coss, The Lady, 38–9. 123 Bedos-Rezak, ‘Women, Seals, and Power’, 72–3. 124 Bedos-Rezak, ‘Women, Seals, and Power’, 75–6; Johns, Noblewomen, 129–30. 276 chapter seven

This title also links the remarried Rohaise back to her first husband, as well as to his heir by her, Alice de Gant, countess of Lincoln and Northampton (the latter through Alice’s marriage). This seal therefore expressed Rohaise’s identity as a noble wife and mother of the comital class, as the first did, but it stressed her natal origins much more forcefully. She chose to associate with her marital kin in both seals, and her natal kin as well in her second, first as a wife or widow, then as a remarried wife. But she shifted the emphasis from her marital kin and her identity as wife and mother in the first, to her birth family and her identity as a Clare in the second after she had remarried. But even this does not tell the entire story, because in the charter to which the second seal is attached, Rohaise is associated with her second husband, although the property in question was unconnected with him, as dower land from her first marriage. So according to her seal she was now widow of Gilbert de Gant earl of Lincoln, mother of his heir, and a Clare, but the charter also attested her current position as wife of Robert fitz Robert. Indeed, charter and seal assert different aspects of her identity, simultaneously. In one respect, that of legends and their content, the seals of these Yorkshire widows differ from the pattern established by Bedos-Rezak. Only one Yorkshire widow of the lesser nobility had a seal and its legend is too damaged to decipher.125 But the seals of the higher nobility show a range of designations which do not fall neatly into the categories enumerated by Bedos-Rezak and Johns. Rohaise used the uxor formula, probably as a widow, and later when remarried replaced that with another marital title, comitissa.126 As a widow and remarried wife, Hawise countess of Aumale used both her paternal toponymic ‘de Aumale’ and paternal title ‘countess of Aumale’, as well as her title acquired through marriage, ‘countess of Essex’.127 Matilda de Percy was also associated with her comital husband as ‘countess of Warwick’, but she did not use a natal designation.128 Alice de Rumilly I and her daughter Alice II used their maternal toponymic ‘de Rumilly’ as a widow or remarried wife.129 Bedos-Rezak’s assertion that in France ‘seal terminology also shows a major cleavage between the higher

125 Appendix 8, no. 4. 126 Appendix 8, nos. 1, 3. 127 Appendix 8, nos. 6, 7. 128 Appendix 8, no. 5. 129 Appendix 8, nos. 2, 10. identity 277 nobility and the gentry’, with the former being associated predominantly with natal kin and the latter emphasizing conjugality, does not wholly apply to the Yorkshire widows.130 She also notes that heiresses adopted paternal surnames, and non-inheriting women adopted surnames associated with their marital kin. Yet Matilda de Percy was an heiress, and her seal uses her husband’s title. Although both Rumilly heiresses, mother and daughter, used a natal toponym, it was maternal rather than paternal. So there was more flexibility in how a wife or widow was depicted or depicted herself on her seal than the categories would suggest. Johns has noted that seal legends, taken alone, could be problematic as evidence of identity. For example, descriptions of women within the text of the charter to which a seal was attached, might reveal other associations or stress other identities.131 But when analysed as a group, the legends themselves arguably indicate that identity was multiple, complex and shifting, as Johns herself as noted. This demonstrates the importance of examining women as a group to determine general patterns, but also shows the need to investigate the individual women in the context of their own social, familial, political and economic circumstances to bring out the complexities of each woman’s life and situation. The patterns of power noted in the previous chapter are generally supported by the evidence presented in this section. Women in both countries acted as wives and widows, and were identified with various roles, such as wife, mother and lord, at different points in their lives. The emphasis on various aspects of a woman’s identity, occasionally on her identity itself, appears to have altered based on circumstances. The one exception is that of Icelandic widows, who, based on the evidence of titles, seem to have been most closely associated with their conjugal families as wives rather than in widowhood. The title húsfreyja suggests that a woman’s identity could be closely related to her position as head of a household and the authority associated with it. She was identified by others mainly with her conjugal family, which appears to have included connections to both natal and marital kin. When men either were not present or failed in their duty as protector or head of a household, a woman might act, either as wife, or less frequently as a widow, in this role usually reserved for men. She might also serve

130 Bedos-Rezak, ‘Women, Seals, and Power’, 71. 131 Johns, Noblewomen, 134–6. 278 chapter seven as a focus for the authority of her husband as head of the household. In Yorkshire, the title domina and the evidence of seals indicate the diversity of the circumstances and identities in which a woman could act. She might be a wife, a widow or a remarried woman; she might be an heiress or non-inheriting; and she might be of the high aristocracy or the honorial baronage. The evidence also indicates that, despite this diversity, it was heiresses who most often acted independently or as lords, since the title used or action attested by the seal was usually linked to land and land tenure. A position as heiress rather than rank was crucial for these actions, and thus for the identity of these widows. The one exception seems to have been countesses and those of comital rank by birth. These women were of the highest non-royal rank, and their position appears to have conferred on them status, prestige and the authority to act independently that apparently eluded the majority of other non-inheriting, aristocratic widows.

Property Management and Patronage

A widow’s control over property in Iceland or Yorkshire can give us an insight into her identity and its complexity. The sources indicate that this control could have a profound effect. In Iceland, widows’ power over property was varied. Few women conducted land transactions, and it would seem that the transactions played little role in shaping their identity. By far the most common control was the management of a young child’s paternal property until that child came of age (see above, pp. 218–9). This property appears to have had an important impact on a widow’s identity. Although widows were not associated with land through toponymics (see above, p. 255), the sagas clearly associate them with the farms that should descend as inheritance to their sons. The sagas imply that a widowed mother had an active role in retaining the main residence, and the main goal of most widows appears to have been to ensure the smooth transfer of this property to their offspring (see above, pp. 223–4). In these circumstances, a mother appears most closely associated with her conjugal household, and the presence of a son was vital. She might derive her identity from or be identified with her marital home while her husband was alive, as in the case of women described as húsfreyja. But she and others arguably had an even greater reason to identify her with it after her husband’s death if her sons were young, since she had a more active role identity 279 in retaining the farm. The sagas often explicitly mention that a widow lived at a particular farm with her young children. For example, we hear of Guðný Böðvarsdóttir who, after her husband Hvamm-Sturla’s death, ‘lived there [Hvammur] for a long time afterwards’, or Ingibjörg Guðmundardóttir, who lived at her husband’s farm Hrafnagil with her sons by him a decade after his death.132 That Þórdís Snorradóttir strove against incredible odds to remain in control of Vatnsfjörður suggests that it was important for her son’s eventual transition to his father’s chieftaincy (see above, pp. 202–9). It also indicates that her identity as a widow was intimately bound up with her marital home and son’s interests. Even later in life, after their children had grown and succeeded to paternal property, a mother was still closely associated with her conjugal family. Evidence of such a connection can be found in Guðný Böðvarsdóttir’s management of her sons’ farms in their absence and Þuríðr Gizurardóttir’s administration of the bishopric to further her adult son’s political ambitions and power (see above, pp. 220–1). But a widow’s identity was also linked to her natal kin, especially as it was these family members to whom she turned primarily for aid in the first instance when her children were minors (see above, pp. 220–1). Her residence at the family farm was important, but so were the associations which kept her there. A widow often chose to call on and identify herself with her birth family when her sons were young. Only when no powerful natal kin were available who could aid her, did a widow turn to others. It might have been in this situation that her marital kin took on a greater significance, predominantly as the Commonwealth progressed. The sagas certainly appear to indicate such a shift when family farms were concerned. They depict widows from the 1230s turning more often to in-laws to protect their farm, widows such as Solveig Sæmundardóttir, Þuríðr Ormsdóttir, and Randalín Filippussdóttir.133 These women, all chieftains’ daughters, did not rely on natal kin, despite having close kinsmen to whom they could call upon for assistance. This perhaps indicates that widows chose to emphasize their marital identity, through their association with their marital kin, over their natal one. Widows might also have another, more individual, identity, which is difficult to see in the sagas. A widow’s identity was not solely bound

132 ‘bjó þar lengi síðan’. SS, i, 114; SS, i, 288. 133 SS, i, 447, 516–7; ii, 49. 280 chapter seven up with her children and their effect on other relationships. There were some widows who had no offspring, such as Guðrún Þórðardóttir, Otkatla Þórólfsdóttir and Helga Sæmundardóttir. Yet each of these three was linked to land, the first to natal inheritance; the second as a widow to her dowry and brideprice; the third as widow to her portion of her husband’s property.134 Each had an identity as a daughter or a widow that was not dependent on children. Even when a widow had a son, her entire identity was not completely subsumed in the role of mother and protector, as the case of Þórdís Snorradóttir implies (see above, pp. 202–9). Þórdís’s actions were arguably those of a mother protecting her son’s interests, but they were also those of a woman seeking freedom from her controlling father. She deliberately distanced herself from her natal kin, even if others saw her as the daughter of Snorri, and for a time aligned herself with a lover instead. When a widow had children it is easy to overlook these other facets of her identity, since it is often difficult to discern them in the Icelandic sources. There appears to have been little separation of a widow’s property from her children’s paternal inheritance, thereby making identification of her strategies based on actions relating to it difficult. And the sources are rarely concerned with a widow’s personal identification which did not impact on politics. Actions which a widow took that had the result of ensuring a smooth transference of land to her children might not have been meant to achieve that end when they were taken, and her identity might have been viewed, by herself and by others, in a way which was not recorded in the sagas. Ward sees a similar pattern in the identity of women in later medieval England: ‘her immediate circle comprised the conjugal family of husband and children, and it was with these that she primarily identified.’135 In twelfth-century Yorkshire, however, a different picture seems to emerge.136 The analysis of religious and secular benefactions in the previous chapter has suggested that attachments to both natal and marital kin might have remained strong, and that it was not nec-

134 SS, i, 160–2, 168–71; ii, 70. 135 Ward, ‘Noblewomen, Family and Identity’, 255. 136 Much of the information concerning the Arches and Percy widows in this section (to p. 293) has been published earlier in a different form, and many of the arguments here are refinements of those in that publication. See Ricketts, ‘Widows, Patronage and Identity’, 117–36, and footnote 174 in chapter six. identity 281 essarily with her conjugal family or marital kin that a woman primarily identified, as wife or widow.137 Gifts to natal foundations were predominantly made by heiresses, usually as widows, from either inherited or dowry lands, that is, natal family land (see above, pp. 225–7). Only Agnes d’Aumale is known to have granted to a natal family foundation lands acquired from a source other than her natal kin. Between 1151 and 1156 Agnes donated dower lands (in Arras and Warter) from her first marriage to William de Roumare II to Meaux abbey, a religious house founded by her brother.138 All the other widows granted natal lands to natal foundations.139 Paternal lands were generally granted to houses established by a widow’s father or his kin, and maternal lands to houses established by a widow’s mother or her kin. It is possible that inheritance customs or practice dictated this pattern, although I know of no reference to this custom. Natal land represented a woman’s links with her birth family, and as such it would be a suitable choice for this kind of benefaction. It did not infringe on her husband’s lands. That donations most often followed familial connections—paternal lands to a father’s establishment, maternal to a mother’s—suggests that such a custom was strong and constrained a widow’s actions. However, the

137 Burton and Thompson have examined patronage in relation to many of the larger male and female houses and their founders and patrons. They do not, however, focus on the identity or its complexity of the women who made a contribution as religious benefactors. Burton, Monastic Order, 182–215; Thompson, Women Religious, 161–90. 138 EYC, x, no. 88, p. 135. Farrer has included this grant of land in Arras and Warter among the charters relating to the lands acquired by the paternal kin of Agnes’ husband, thus implying that Agnes acquired her interest in these lands as dower. EYC, x, nos. 64–94, pp. 107–40. Dalton, however, claims that Agnes’ brother endowed her and her husband with ‘the royal hundredal manor of Warter’, providing no proof of this endowment. Dalton, Conquest, 174. It is very difficult to see how Agnes’ brother could have given Warter to Agnes. Farrer has persuasively traced the descent of lands from the time of Domesday to the possession of the Roumare family in the mid- twelfth century when Agnes made her grant. EYC, x, 107–12. In addition, William de Roumare I’s tenant Geoffrey Dagon held lands in the same location, which he granted to Meaux abbey. EYC, x, no. 87, p. 134–5. This grant was confirmed by Agnes as ‘formerly the wife of William de Roumare II’ (‘uxor quondam Willelmi Romare’). EYC, x, no. 88, p. 135. 139 The only possible exceptions were Juetta, who granted Nun Stainton to Nun Monkton (Durham Cathedral Muniments, 4.11.Spec.55, printed in Feodarium Prioratus Dunelmensis, 163), and Cecily II, who granted the chapel of Lowswater and land in Hensingham and Walton to St. Bees (St. Bees, nos. 28, 225, pp. 55–7, 250). The manner in which these lands were acquired by the widows cannot be determined. Both widows also granted natal lands to these family establishments. 282 chapter seven possibility still exists that these widows deliberately chose natal lands, not because they were constrained to, but because they wished to do so, just as they chose to patronize family establishments, rather than other possible religious houses, although Agnes’ donation suggests that other choices were occasionally possible. The possible motives and pressures towards religious benefaction of natal foundations were varied: to remember, commemorate or show solidarity towards their past and present kin; a familial obligation; a desire to maintain an image of their social standing as a religious benefactor; an expression of loyalty or a political alliance; a result of a petition from the house itself; even a combination of these reasons. Whether it was a case of individual choice or some combination of these other motives and pressures, it is clear that these women retained a strong identification with their natal families. And that identification—whether constrained or freely chosen—was made in widowhood. The women had long since moved away from their natal households, having been married at least once. Yet they chose publicly to acknowledge their link with their birth families, both through the grant itself and the type of land granted. Donations to houses connected with marital kin were made by widows of both tenant-in-chief rank and the honorial baronage, by both heiresses and non-inheriting women (see above, pp. 227–8). The lands used in nearly all these cases were dower lands, again a practice perhaps governed by inheritance customs. For a widow, granting dower land to a religious house associated with her husband’s family made sense. The land belonged to her husband and his heirs, and the land was being given to an establishment linked to his family. A widow would almost certainly have found it easier to obtain consent from her husband’s heir if she wished to grant her dower to a religious house connected with his family, rather than with hers. Her choice of a beneficiary with a connection to her husband’s family could provide a greater incentive for the heir to give his consent to the alienation of land. It would not be surprising if a personal preference for granting dower to establishments linked to marital kin, and dowry to religious establishments connected with natal kin, was strong. Such a distinction may even have quickly influenced such a division of donations to become customary. However, the few exceptions again suggest that a degree of flexibility was possible, at least in certain circumstances. Yet while inheritance custom may have, to some extent, shaped these donations from dower lands, it is possible to argue that wives, identity 283 and perhaps even more so widows, who made this kind of benefaction, deliberately chose to patronize foundations linked to marital kin. A wife who granted dower lands to a religious house associated with her husband may have done so under pressure. But a widow who gave land to such an establishment had, arguably, a greater freedom to choose to do so. In fact, alienating dower land was probably more difficult than alienating natal land, due to the legal requirement that a widow obtain the consent of her husband’s heir to alienate dower land, and thus the initiative was more likely to come from the widow herself.140 After all, she probably had the option to grant lands from her dowry or inheritance, should she choose to do so, without any legal constraints relating to obtaining consent. Yet non-inheriting widows often had fewer natal lands from which to make donations, and thus perhaps preferred or were constrained to use their dower. That these widows outnumber heiresses six to three might suggest this. Thus these grants may perhaps be used as an indication of the extent to which a widow might retain a strong marital identity. That a few widows granted natal lands to a marital foundation also suggests that marital identity might be strong. The cases of Agnes de Arches and Sibyl de Valognes, albeit complex, seem to support the idea that a widow’s marital identity played a role in grants from dower land. Agnes de Arches’s patronage seems to show that her most important connection was to her first marital nuclear family. Agnes’ identity changed at her first marriage, when she left the Arches family and became a member of the St. Quintin family, and it seems to have remained fairly constant thereafter. Even after her two subsequent marriages, her association remained strong with her first husband, Herbert de St. Quintin. When she founded a nunnery after her third husband’s death, she used dower lands in Nunkeeling and Bewholme given to her by her first husband, for the commemoration of the souls of Herbert and her sons by him.141 She did not choose to establish the nunnery of Nunkeeling on dowry lands from her natal family, nor on dower lands from her second or

140 Green, Aristocracy of Norman England, 371. 141 EYC, iii, no. 1331, p. 53. Nunkeeling and Bewholme were part of the fee of Holderness in Yorkshire. Agnes held these lands of her husband’s heir from a previous marriage, Richard de St. Quintin, who held of the tenant-in-chief of the fee, William count of Aumale. Both Richard and William confirmed Agnes’ grants. EYC, iii, nos. 1333–6, pp. 54–8. 284 chapter seven third marriage. Between 1143 and 1154 she made at least one further grant to this religious house from the dower lands of her marriage to Herbert de St. Quintin.142 Agnes’ identity as a married woman, and even as a widow, was shaped by this first marriage. Despite her sons from later marriages remaining important in her life, Agnes’ patronage expressed a strong identity as a St. Quintin woman. That is not to say that Agnes only had this one identity, as a St. Quintin. She does not appear to have been closely linked with her natal Arches kin, perhaps because she had married out of the family and her children, as collateral heirs, had little chance of inheriting the Arches fee. But her establishment of Nunkeeling suggests that she might have wished to provide her children from all three of her marriages with a stronger sense of an immediate family identity than the one which could be traced back to the main Arches line. Such an identity was not solely a St. Quintin one, but a combination of all four families to which Agnes had belonged. She may also have wished to provide a focus for her children, who, having different fathers, may not otherwise have felt a sense of family identity connected with their mother. If these were among Agnes’ motives in founding Nunkeeling, she seems to have succeeded. Certainly descendants of all three marriages were benefactors, and they occasionally appear in each other’s charters, most often as witnesses. Nunkeeling functioned to some extent as a focus for the identity of a complex family, to which Agnes herself was the linking factor. Sibyl de Valognes also granted dower lands after the death of her third husband. However, her grant did not conform to the general pattern. If a widow gave a portion of her marital lands to a religious house linked to the family of her husband, these lands were usually part of the dower from the marriage to that husband. Sibyl, however, used part of her dower from her first and third marriages, in North Burton and North Dalton respectively, in a donation connected with her second marriage.143 She granted land to the Templars, who were patronized

142 EYC, iii, nos. 1332–3, pp. 53–5. 143 Mon. Angl., vi, p. 836; North Burton was part of the fee of Helmsley, held by Sibyl’s first husband Robert de Ros in the mid-twelfth century, having descended through Walter Espec from forfeited lands of the Count of Mortain. EYC, x, pp. 143–6; Red Book, i, pp. 432–3. North Dalton was part of the Belvoir fee, held by the family of her third husband Ralph d’Aubigny. EYC, i, pp. 460–4. Sibyl’s dower from her marriage to William de Percy II consisted of lands in Leaconfield and Nafferton EYC, xi, no. 89, pp. 85–8. identity 285 by the marital family of her stepdaughter Matilda.144 Sibyl’s only connection to the Templars seems to have been through her second marriage, to Matilda’s father William de Percy II. Why Sibyl acted in this manner is difficult to determine, especially in view of the sparseness of information about her. It is possible that Sibyl chose these lands because they were the easiest to alienate, in part due to the high rank of her second husband, in part due to her family situation at the time. Her first husband’s heir was also her son, probably making his consent to the grant of dower easier to obtain than that of a stepson. Her children by her third husband were still minors at the time of the grant in 1201. Sibyl may also have had another motive in choosing dower lands from her first and third marriages. Her marriage to William de Percy II had brought Sibyl the most prestige, the highest rank, and probably the most wealth. William had been Sibyl’s most powerful husband, more important in Yorkshire than her other husbands. He was a tenant-in-chief of approximately 575 carucates of land in Yorkshire alone, amounting to over thirty-seven knights’ fees, and he held a considerable amount of land spread over several counties as an undertenant.145 Although Sibyl’s first husband was also a tenant-in-chief in Yorkshire, his holdings were not as extensive. They consisted of lands of the fee of Helmsley, estimated at 189 carucates and amounting to about eight knights’ fees, with very little land outside of Yorkshire.146 Her third husband was not a tenant-in-chief, and his elder brother inherited the majority of the family’s lands. William de Percy II’s family was also closely connected to the highest ranks of English society, which cannot be said of Sibyl’s other husbands. William’s coheirs were married to an earl and to the brother of a queen. Sibyl’s connection to her second husband’s family, expressed through her donation to the Templars, might have benefited her and her children from her first and third marriages. Perhaps using dower lands from her first and third marriages was an attempt to connect her children from those marriages with the prestige linked to William’s status. It thus seems probable

144 George Thomas Clark, Cartae et alia munimenta quae ad dominium de Glamorgan pertinent, 4 vols (Cardiff, 1885–93), vol. 4, pp. 5–7; William Dugdale, The Baronage of England, 3 vols in 1 (London, 1675–6), vol. 1, pp. 69–70. 145 These figures are taken from EYC, xi, pp. 11–19, chapter 2, which includes tables listing the lands of the Percy fee in Yorkshire, and from the return of knights’ fees of the old and new feoffment held by William de Percy II in 1166, printed in Red Book, i, pp. 243, 373, 416, 424–6. 146 EYC, x, pp. 143–6; Red Book, i, pp. 432–3. 286 chapter seven that Sibyl, like Agnes, both non-inheriting women, took the initiative in this donation, and that, in the final years of her life, she chose to reinforce her connection to her most powerful husband and that aspect of her identity. The women who were benefactors of the major religious houses in Yorkshire were all heiresses, and their actions were taken during marriage and in widowhood. Their bequests follow the pattern of male heirs in Yorkshire (see above, p. 229). Three were from the baronage, the other two from the lesser aristocracy. They were fulfilling an obligation of their role as lord and head of the family fee when making these benefactions, a fulfilment of a role which can be seen in other types of grants and confirmations by them (see above, pp. 231–4). Their grants may reflect an awareness of their high aristocratic status as a Rumilly, Arches or Percy heiress, and their obligation to continue a family tradition, as one of the leading Yorkshire families, of religious benefactions to important Yorkshire establishments. Religious foundations were uncommon among Yorkshire women and widows. One woman from the baronage founded a male priory during her first marriage; two women from the lesser aristocracy, as widows, founded nunneries (see above, pp. 230-1). This suggests that, like the overall pattern for Yorkshire, lower-ranking widows in this study identified more with female establishments, either as result of female solidarity, or because they were less expensive to found and thus the only ones which they could afford. That the majority of female establishments were small and poor argues that higher-ranking widows should have had the means to found a small nunnery if they had so wished.147 Perhaps the outlets which high-ranking women had, in their natal and marital kin’s foundations, were sufficient or more attractive. These widows might have felt that their need to express their independence or to exercise control over the management of their lands could be met through religious benefactions to these houses, which were often larger or more prestigious. But for the widows of the lesser aristocracy, few such family houses existed. Their patronage had to be directed towards their lords’ establishments or the greater Yorkshire foundations, but a few seem to have desired a more personal or family orientated type of patronage, perhaps indicating a desire to

147 Burton, Yorkshire Nunneries, 24; Thompson, Women Religious, 161–3; Eileen Power, Medieval English Nunneries, 2. identity 287 express one aspect of their identity over another. It is probably significant that only one widow made a benefaction to her lord’s foundation with which she was otherwise unconnected through kin.148 Alice de St. Quintin’s foundation is particularly instructive. Alice, as a widow, used dowry lands from her birth family to establish the nunnery, continuing this natal link in a later gift of other dowry lands.149 But she also chose at a later date to donate dower lands given to her by both of her husbands, Robert, steward of the Percy family, and Eustace de Merc.150 And Alice chose to be buried at the nunnery, even though her husbands were probably buried elsewhere, which suggests that she strongly identified with her foundation.151 Alice’s grants were made over a period of at least fifteen years—in widowhood, and even after remarriage. They suggest the complexity of her identity at this stage, and her attachment to the nunnery may indicate how far that complexity was something which she internalized, if not actively expressed. She was combining the various facets of who she was in the grants: daughter, wife, mother and widow; member of the Arches family, of the St. Quintin family and of the family of stewards of the Percys; founder and benefactor. Her donations give us an insight into a personal, or at least more complex, patronage, one perhaps dictated less by customs and norms than that of the other Yorkshire widows. Grants and confirmations made in a lordly role were mainly undertaken by heiresses, both from the higher aristocracy and the honorial baronage. Such benefactions argue how strongly the position of heiress shaped a woman’s life-long identity—one which here emerges most clearly in widowhood. They acted mainly during widowhood or as remarried women, only occasionally during a first marriage. Widowhood perhaps allowed these women to attain their chosen identity fully, since most heiresses appear to have come most fully into this role when widowed. This suggests that they desired to fulfil the role as head of the family fee but had only a limited opportunity to do so before the death of a first husband. When they did, however, these women acted as lords, using the language of lordship and expressing

148 This donation was by Juetta de Arches, jointly with her second husband Roger de Flamville, to Malton priory. Mowbray Charters, no. 183, p. 131. Juetta’s lord Roger de Mowbray was also her husband’s lord, and Roger de Mowbray was a benefactor of Malton. Mowbray Charters, nos. 185–9, pp. 132–4. 149 EYC, i, nos. 541, 543, pp. 419–23. 150 EYC, i, nos. 543, 545–6, pp. 422–6. 151 Rot. Chart., 143b. 288 chapter seven their power through actions that were not unlike those of male heirs. Nevertheless, their beneficiaries seemed to be at pains to indicate explicitly that the women had the authority to act. This suggests that these women’s grants and confirmations were out of the ordinary and were connected to their particular status as an heiress, which enabled them to fulfil a masculine role. Gifts to kin were made by heiresses and non-inheriting widows alike, and by both baronage and lesser gentry (see above, pp. 236–7). Natal and marital property was given. The patronage suggests that all women might have a desire to see their natal kin provided for, although the limits of that kinship were apparently clearly defined. No kinsman or kinswoman was given property by a Yorkshire widow if he or she was more distant than a grandchild or the child of a sibling. Lineal descent seems to have been more important, since the cases of gifts to collateral kin (i.e. nephews) came from the highest level of society, given by widows who had been married to an earl and to the brother of a queen. The evidence suggests the persistence of an attachment to natal family on the part of many widows, alongside and in some cases greater than that to her marital family. That both connections remained important to widows is at odds with the situation of women as it appears in the traditional view of the family proposed by Karl Schmid and Georges Duby. They maintained that in the tenth and eleventh century a shift occurred from a horizontally-organized, cognatic ‘clan’ group- ing (Sippe) to a more lineal, agnatic descent through the male line (Geschlecht).152 In this patrilineal model, according to Duby, women moved away from their natal kin group upon marriage, becoming incorporated within their marital family, which then came to play the dominant role in their family consciousness.153 The religious benefactions of the Yorkshire widows in this study provoke some serious questions about this theory. Most of the grants of land to religious establishments showed a strong link to widows’ natal families. Many Yorkshire women made grants as wives and widows to religious houses

152 Karl Schmid, ‘The Structure of the Nobility in the Earlier Middle Ages’, inThe Medieval Nobility: Studies on the Ruling Classes of France and Germany from the Sixth to the Twelfth Century, ed. and trans. T. Reuter (Amsterdam, 1978), 37–59; Duby, ‘Lineage, Nobility and Knighthood’, 59–80. 153 Georges Duby, ‘The Structure of Kinship and Nobility: Northern France in the Eleventh and Twelfth Centuries’, in The Chivalrous Society, trans. C. Postan (London, 1977), 134–48, at 140. identity 289 founded by a parent or sibling. These women still identified with their natal kin in their patronage, both during marriage, when Duby argues for a shift in their family consciousness, and in widowhood, long after they had ceased to live in their natal home. This evidence is in line with other scholars who have challenged the transformation from cognatic to agnatic kin groupings. Constance Bouchard argues against the radical shift which lies behind Schmid and Duby’s strict patrilineal interpretation of family organization in the twelfth century.154 She argues for a more fluid notion of family consciousness, noting that perception of family was different among members of the same family, and for the same individual could even vary with his or her circumstances.155 For example, one’s family might include very few relatives when one sought to pass on an inheritance, but the same person might utilize a link to distant powerful kin in order to increase honour or advance politically. Others have also recognized ‘that people mobilise different family links in different situations’, as the Yorkshire widows did.156 Alice de St. Quintin was a benefactor of her mother’s foundation at Nunkeeling, thus drawing attention to her link to her mother and fulfilling her familial duty as patron. But she also made gifts to her own foundation using land she received from her two husbands, emphasizing her marital connections and drawing upon the resources her unions provided in order to ensure the nunnery’s survival. As well as being benefactors of religious establishments linked to their natal kin, the Yorkshire widows also granted dower lands to religious houses connected with their husbands and others. This fact also raises questions about the traditional narrative of a shift in family structure. It has been proposed that this shift involved strategies of inheritance developed to protect the patrimony for male heirs, which restricted a widow’s dower claims and right of free disposal.157 It is true that legally a widow’s rights to her dower were being limited to

154 Constance B. Bouchard, ‘Family Structure and Family Consciousness among the Aristocracy in the Ninth to Eleventh Centuries’ Francia, 14 (1986), 639–58. 155 Bouchard, ‘Family Structure’, 641. 156 The quotation is from Stafford, ‘La mutation familiale’, 108. Karl Leyser, ‘The German Aristocracy from the Ninth to the Early Twelfth Century: a Historical and Cultural Sketch’, Past and Present, 41 (1968), 25–53, at 34–6. 157 Stafford, ‘La mutation familiale’, 104–5; Hughes, ‘From Brideprice to Dowry’, 276; Duby, ‘Lineage’, 72–3. 290 chapter seven

usufruct, but in practice she might still be able to alienate dower lands.158 Among the Yorkshire widows in this study, at least seven are known to have alienated their dower.159 It can be argued that these lands were being kept within her husband’s family if they benefited a religious house linked to his kin. They were perhaps only truly alienated if they were granted to a widow’s own foundation or to an establishment that was unconnected with the family of the husband whose land was given. According to this definition, five of the seven widows alienated their dower. Agnes de Arches and Alice de St. Quintin each granted dower lands to their own foundations.160 Agnes d’Aumale granted land to her brother’s establishment at Meaux.161 Avice Meschin granted dower from her second marriage to Thurgarton priory and Croxton abbey, both apparently unconnected with either her marital or natal kin.162 Sibyl’s grant, made from the dower of her first and third marriages, did not benefit the families of her husbands from those marriages. Instead, it benefited the Templars, of whom her second husband’s family were benefactors.163 Clearly, some of these women did identify with marital kin, when granting dower to their foundations, but some did not. That they granted dower land to establishments linked to natal kin and to their own foundations, even to houses apparently unconnected to natal or marital kin, suggests the complexity of an individual’s identity. Thus, an alleged shift from a cognatic- to agnatic-based family structure which invariably involved a change in family consciousness for women at marriage requires some reconsideration. Women often retained a strong attachment to their natal kin, and individual circumstances played an important role in how women perceived their familial identity, an identity that often altered as circumstances changed. Most of the available evidence suggests that marriage had an impact on the identity of the Yorkshire women, but this might lessen after it had ended. On the other hand, the natal identity of the women seems to have continued throughout their lives, in both first and later marriages, and in widowhood. Natal identity remained strongest, however,

158 Glanvill, 60, 67; P&M, vol. 2, pp. 404, 422. 159 Agnes de Arches, Alice de St. Quintin, Avice Meschin, Agnes d’Aumale, Rohaise de Clare, Juetta de Arches and Sibyl de Valognes. 160 EYC, i, nos. 543, 545, pp. 422–6; iii, nos. 1331–2, pp. 53–4. 161 EYC, x, no. 88, p. 135. 162 EYC, vi, no. 33, pp. 114–5; Mon. Angl., vi, p. 878. 163 Mon. Angl., vi, p. 836. identity 291 for heiresses and women whose birth family outranked that of their husband. For widows who were neither heiresses nor of high rank, whose marriages might have brought them a higher social standing, marriage continued to be more influential than their natal identity in widowhood, at least on the evidence of religious patronage. But even these generalizations need to be qualified. For example, the heiress Avice Meschin was a benefactor of her mother’s foundation of Embsay, which fits the pattern.164 But she also made several benefactions to Drax, founded by her second husband William Paynel, and indeed favoured this establishment.165 She did not make any grants either jointly with her first or third husband or to their family establishments, although her first was William de Curcy II, an important baron with extensive lands, and she had borne him a male heir.166 She made one confirmation during her third marriage, but it was in favour of Drax.167 She gave land to Vaudey abbey, which was closely associated with Alice Paynel, her daughter from her second marriage, and the kin of her daughter’s husband.168 Avice, as an heiress, did identify to some extent with her natal kin. She was also the mother of an important tenant-in-chief, but does not appear to have identified readily with him. She seems to have chosen her second husband with whom to identify most, which is more in keeping with the pattern of the non-inheriting women. It might be argued that Drax petitioned Avice for donations, and thus Avice was not so much identifying with her second husband as she was responding to a request for religious patronage. However, she had the option to refuse to make a grant. Her other patronage suggests that she was not adverse to giving land to other establishments. And her gift to Vaudey suggests that she did indeed identify with her daughter by her second husband, if not her second husband himself. Clearly Avice’s second marriage played a role in shaping her identity, at least later in life. Her case therefore indicates that although general patterns might be recognized, individuals need to be placed in context within the framework of generalizations to determine how, if at all, they fit the patterns.

164 EYC, iii, no. 1861–2, pp. 467–8. 165 EYC, iii, no. 1864, p. 473; vi, nos. 48, 66, 73, pp. 130–1, 155, 162. 166 HKF, vol. 1, pp. 103–7. 167 EYC, vi, no. 48, pp. 130–1. 168 Mon. Angl., v, p. 491. 292 chapter seven

Agnes de Arches’s and Sibyl de Valognes’s grants also indicate that a qualification of the generalizations is necessary. While they suggest a strong identification between some widows and their marital families, the marital identity of a widow was not always simple. Some women, like Agnes, underwent a profound shift of identity at a first marriage, an identity which continued throughout their lives, and even after subsequent marriages. Nunkeeling was founded on dower lands from Agnes’ first marriage, and Agnes made a further benefaction from this dower. Nevertheless, this foundation seems to have been viewed not so much as a St. Quintin one, but as Agnes’ own, despite Agnes’ commemoration of her husband and sons from her first marriage. Its subsequent patronage expresses her identity as mother of all of her children, by various husbands. Other women, however, had marital attachments that fluctuated considerably as they married, were widowed, and married again. Sibyl’s donations to Rievaulx abbey, to the nunnery at Orford and to the Templars suggest that she identified with each of her husbands, but at different times in her life. Her identity, as expressed through her patronage, does not seem to have remained as stable as Agnes’, since the families of all three of her husbands were connected to the benefactions she made. These grants were not necessarily made during the lifetime of the husband concerned. For example, she made the grant to Orford jointly with her third husband while he was alive, but her gift to the Templars came not only after the death of her second husband, but after she had remarried and was once again widowed. Agnes’ and Sibyl’s benefactions demonstrate that a widow’s marital identity could be complex, and an individual’s circumstances must be examined in order to qualify the generalization that widows identified with their marital kin. The evidence concerning these widows’ religious benefactions has more to tell us about family structure. The evidence does not indicate the extension of one’s natal family beyond the narrow confines of the nuclear family and its direct ancestors, parents, siblings and children, occasionally grandparents and rarely siblings’ children, supporting Duby’s description of a narrow, agnatic family solidarity.169 There is a clear sense of family identity between Agnes de Arches and her daughter Alice, which is further strengthened when grants to their nunneries by Alice’s children, her half-brothers and their children are taken into

169 Duby, ‘Structure of Kinship’, 134–48. identity 293 consideration. But their patronage and benefactions suggest no close bond between Agnes and her niece Juetta de Arches, or between Alice and her cousin Juetta. Neither Agnes nor Alice was a benefactor of religious houses connected to Juetta and vice versa, nor do they feature as witnesses in each other’s charters. Similarly, Matilda de Percy’s religious benefactions were made mainly to establishments of which her father and her grandfather were patrons or benefactors, but she did not grant land to her great-grandfather’s foundation of Whitby abbey. Nor did she grant any land to Handale priory, the foundation of her cousin, William de Percy of Dunsley. Likewise, the Percys of Dunsley became benefactors of Whitby abbey, tracing their family connection back to William de Percy I, rather than becoming benefactors of Fountains abbey, Sallay abbey or Stainfield priory, of which Matilda and her father were benefactors. The family relationships which influenced the direction of patronage most were those of mother or father, grandmother or grandfather, daughter or son, and sister or brother. Yet family could extend beyond these narrow confines in other circumstances, as in the case of grants to kinsmen. But even here, the family is defined narrowly, since no relatives more distant than a sibling’s child received a gift from a Yorkshire widow. It can be argued that the close family relationships influencing the direction of patronage were linked to inheritance claims. The evidence from the widows’ benefactions seems to support Duby’s contention that agnatic, patrilineal descent played the most important role in the passing on of land to one’s heirs.170 Agnes and Alice, as collateral heirs, had very little claim on the Arches patrimony, especially as Juetta had several children and grandchildren who would inherit before them. And all of Agnes’ children and grandchildren would have had to die without offspring for her portion of the Arches fee to return to the main patrimony. As each had very distant claims on the other’s lands, there was perhaps little need for Agnes and Alice to witness Juetta’s charters and vice versa. There was also little need to bolster inheritance claims by demonstrating family solidarity as a benefactor of a religious house of which the other was a patron. The situation for Matilda and her cousin William de Percy of Dunsley can also be linked to inheritance claims, but of a slightly different nature. Matilda’s patronage needed to go no farther back than

170 Duby, ‘Structure of Kinship’, 145–8. 294 chapter seven that of her father and grandfather in order to reinforce her claim to her share of the Percy patrimony. Her father William was the eldest son and heir of Alan de Percy I, who was the eldest son and heir of William de Percy I, the man with whom the Percy claims in England originated. Matilda’s cousin, however, was the son of Richard de Percy of Dunsley, younger son of William de Percy I. William of Dunsley, son of a younger son, needed to trace his claim to his lands back to the founder of the Percys in England, with whom his claim originated. William of Dunsley’s patronage of Whitby abbey, founded by William de Percy I, was more important than patronage of houses connected with his uncle or cousin, Matilda’s grandfather and father, respectively. The familial relationships important to both Matilda and William de Percy of Dunsley were those through which they could trace their inheritance. And it was precisely these relationships which were expressed in their patronage. A widow’s religious patronage has pointed to significant conclusions about the retention of a strong connection to natal kin even into widowhood, as well as about the formation of a new marital identity. This natal connection did not generally extend beyond the confines of the nuclear family, and the religious benefactions demonstrating this narrow family structure can be linked with inheritance. Furthermore, the natal and marital attachments of the widows were not uniform. The charter evidence has suggested the variations between widowed heiresses, widows whose natal or first marital status was higher than that of their husbands, or second husbands, and widows who gained a higher status or more prestige through marriage. Whilst some generalizations about widows are vindicated, for example a generally greater freedom of action and manoeuvre, the combinations of circumstances leading to these variations emerged as significant in individual cases.

Conclusion

The evidence of names, descriptions, titles, seals and property can tell us much about the identity of Icelandic and Yorkshire widows. The main conclusion that arises is that a widow’s identity was multiple, complex, varied and shifting in relation to stages of the lifecycle. It could be Icelandic or Norman. It appears to have been closely linked to natal kin in most instances, especially in the case of heiresses. It often seems closely linked to marital kin as well. These two were not identity 295 mutually exclusive, since some widows identified or were identified with the families of both their birth and husbands. Identity might be affected by a position as heiress or non-inheriting daughter. It could be expressed in relation to other family members, with the widows being known as a mother, a daughter or a sister. It was frequently linked to land. It might be associated with lordship, husband’s authority or guardianship of an heir. And it was often shaped by marriages and widowhood. The evidence suggests that a widow’s identity was bound up closely with birth, marriage, motherhood and widowhood. Most widows appear close to their natal kin throughout their lives, regardless of social status or position within the family, although this attachment might have fluctuated in Yorkshire over time or have been stronger or weaker depending on other factors like inheritance and rank of spouse. For some women in the study, their first marriage was crucial in shaping their future identity. For others it was a subsequent marriage or the birth of children. For yet others it was widowhood. In Iceland, women appear to have remained important and close members of their natal kin throughout their lifecycle regardless of social status, marriage partner, or position as heiress. Marriage, however, seems to have conferred on high-ranking widows the opportunity to exercise the authority of head of household in the absence of her husband’s presence or action, thus closely associating her, as a wife, with her conjugal family as well. The presence of children and the early death of a husband also appear to have been significant in the shaping of a widow’s identity. It was these widows whom the sagas show as the most active and whom they most closely associate with the conjugal family, if not their marital kin, especially when their children were heirs to important farms and chieftaincies. This conjugal identity might be retained even after her sons were grown, indicating that in at least some cases it was strong. Icelandic widows therefore appear to have retained a natal identity throughout their lives, acquiring a conjugal one—more so than a marital identity—at marriage, and retaining both in widowhood. But as the thirteenth century progressed and natal kin were less well situated to help these women, marital kin appear to have taken on a greater significance, possibly even eclipsing an attachment to natal kin. In Yorkshire, women also appear to have been linked to their natal kin throughout their lives, although that connection was influenced more 296 chapter seven in this region by a position as heiress than in Iceland. Landholding in their own right thus appears to have been a bigger factor in Yorkshire for women, and it was generally heiresses who were the most active and closely associated with their birth family, regardless of rank. Marriage seems to have weakened, but not eradicated, the natal identity of some widows, especially those of non-inheriting women who married men of higher rank. Marriage to an earl often added an important aspect to a woman’s identity, as expressed through titles and seals, at least in widowhood. Remarriage was more significant in Yorkshire, and more likely to have changed or added to a widow’s identity. The sources suggest that presence or absence of children was a less significant factor shaping a widow’s identity, although they do imply the importance of lineage, future generations and the importance of the widows as mothers and grandmothers (thus perhaps more influential in the shaping of the identity of their offspring than vice versa). For all the Yorkshire women, widowhood was the most active period and the one in which they might most fully express their chosen identity. Yet not all widows conformed to these patterns. Steinunn Hrafnsdóttir, who was not married to a chieftain, acted in the capacity of húsfreyja in the same manner as chieftains’ wives generally did. Avice Meschin was an heiress who most closely associated with her second husband and daughter by him, not her natal kin or her first husband and the son she bore him. Alice de St. Quintin was a non-inheriting widow of the honorial baronage, yet she had her own seal, was known by the title domina with its lordly connotations, and founded a nunnery. These examples demonstrate that while comparing widows with overall patterns can be useful, it is nonetheless vital also to place them individually within their own particular social, familial, political and economic contexts, as Johns has done. Such placement will allow the full complexity of each widow’s identity to emerge. It will also enable one to see not only how a widow was viewed by society, but also how she might have perceived her own identity. CHAPTER EIGHT

CONCLUSION

This comparison of fifty widows from twelfth- and thirteenth-century Iceland and twenty-five widows from twelfth-century Yorkshire has indicated that some general statements about widows and their property, power, marriage and identity can be made. However, it has also indicated that these general patterns only provide the framework within which individual widows’ lives played out, underlining the importance of viewing each woman within the context of her own circumstances. Widows were differently placed in relation to factors such as social status, wealth, position as heiress, marital status, fertility, children, politics and influence of their kin or lord. The interplay of these factors determined whether and how much a particular widow might inherit, whom she married, how large her dowry or dower might be, the extent of her ability to administer property or conduct transactions and the shaping of her personal and familial identity. Comparison, between two regions and widow against widow, has thrown light on the extent to which basic structures like kinship, political life and legal framework affected widows’ lives in Iceland and Yorkshire, and has allowed some generalizations about widows to be tested. It has also allowed other factors, like personal experience and the extent of Christian influence, to be explored. Finally, this method has made a detailed statistical analysis possible. This analysis has highlighted the importance of very specific factors, such as potential fertility and a position as an heiress, which previously had not received much, if any, attention. Widows generally held dowry and dower, and as heiresses they might also hold inheritance. Some acquired property through custodianship of others’ property or as gifts. Earlier property assignments often played a role in what they held in widowhood, and individual circumstances, not least familial preferences, lordly involvement and politics, played a role in an individual widow’s acquisition. In Iceland, men generally inherited before women related in the same degree, as the laws suggest. Yet there was some room for flexibility, and some future widows gained a large share of family wealth, sometimes as dowry, even when they had brothers. In the absence of 298 chapter eight these men, female inheritance appears already established in the later Commonwealth period. Daughters and sisters, even illegitimate ones, inherited before more distant male kin. The potential flexibility and equality of division between all offspring, male and female, found in the laws is borne out by the evidence of practice. Family, albeit family operating with potential political alliances and gains in mind, played an important role in how property devolved. The absence of influence from chieftains in the allocation of inheritance suggests that it was primarily an internal family matter. Such practices appear to emphasize the close family unit before extended kin groups, suggesting strong bilateral, egocentric tendencies in the kinship system. In Yorkshire, the legal statements suggest changes in female inheritance and illegitimacy, and possibly in division among women. The statements imply that as patrilineal descent came to be preferred and as illegitimate children were excluded from inheriting during the course of the twelfth century, the position of female lineal descendants was strengthened. This encouraged the creation of the heiress through the exclusion of collaterals and illegitimate sons. Practice indicates that this did in fact occur. Although lineal female succession appears already established in the twelfth century on the evidence of the Yorkshire widows, evidence presented by other historians indicates that collaterals could and occasionally did succeed before lineal females during the period, suggesting that even at the end of the twelfth century there was still some flexibility in inheritance practice. The Yorkshire widows generally only inherited a large portion of family property if they had no brothers, although in one mid-twelfth century case a future widow was created an heiress, excluding her brothers from the English family lands. Division among heiresses became more equal as the century progressed, reflecting the more precise nature of the later legal statements concerning division, although the Yorkshire widows provide no evidence for a shift from a single heiress to partition. The importance of individual circumstances and of lordship in all these cases seems to have been crucial. The role of the lord, especially the king, in inheritance, suggests wide scope for definition and interpretation of the legal material, as well as the likelihood of the need for negotiation between lord and family when their interests conflicted. Such scope and negotiation might have benefited some widows, but it did not necessarily work to their advantage. The evidence suggests the increasing significance of a patrilineally organized kinship system with preference for male heirs throughout the twelfth century, although female inheri- conclusion 299 tance, the provision of dowries and political expediency which might favour a daughter over a son questions the strength of this preference. Close kin and the nuclear family were not unimportant in England, as indicated by the importance of a lawful marriage for the production of offspring entitled to inherit, but they took on a different significance than in Iceland. The legal statements of Iceland and Yorkshire indicate that marital assignments were common and customary, and that there was flexibility in their size. The saga and charter material supports this. Dowries varied from quite small to very large in both regions, especially for heiresses in Yorkshire. The legal statements from both Iceland and Yorkshire indicate that a dowry was the personal and permanent possession of a widow. Although the sagas do not address this issue, charter evidence suggests that this was the case for Yorkshire. Evidence from both regions also points to the difficulty in determining whether natal property was dowry or inheritance. The Icelandic laws indicate that brideprice, like dowry, belonged to a widow, but this cannot be verified with certainty from saga evidence. However, most widows appear to have administered marital property after the death of a husband if their children were minors. It is possible that part of this property consisted of a widow’s brideprice, although some of it was certainly the children’s paternal inheritance held in custodianship by the widow. The administration of marital property by widows seems to corroborate the indications in Grágás of commonly held marital property, and perhaps suggests that a division between brideprice and other marital wealth is inappropriate. As a result, the extent of brideprice is difficult to judge. Dower in Yorkshire is more often established. The Yorkshire widows all appear to have acquired less than the one-third of a husband’s property implied by the legal statements. It is possible that what can be established as dower for these widows is under-represented in the sources as a result of the limitation of a life interest in dower held in usufruct. On the other hand, some Yorkshire widows alienated their dower, suggesting reconsideration of limited possession in all cases. There is no indication of commonly held property by husband and wife, and only one widow gained guardianship of her heir and his property. There are differences in remarriage among the widows in Iceland and Yorkshire. Many Icelandic widows did not remarry; most Yorkshire widows did. A significant proportion of Icelandic women had extra- marital relationships, one before and one during marriage, but most 300 chapter eight as widows; only one Yorkshire woman conducted a liaison, and that was before widowhood. In Iceland widows past childbearing age, not of chieftain rank or widowed in the last phase of the Commonwealth period generally did not remarry. For these widows, these factors were probably decisive. Yet for widows of chieftain rank perceived as potentially fertile and widowed prior to the 1220s, other factors came into play. When they remarried, family interests, and especially the influence of a chieftain kinsman, played an important role. Chieftains unrelated to a widow by blood, including those connected with her marital family, might also have influenced remarriage, although far less frequently than natal kin. Powerful men, for the most part blood relations, appear to have played a large part in the marital careers of widows, although occasionally to the advantage of the women. When potentially fertile widows of chieftain rank did not remarry, issues of lordship do not appear significant. Coercion or attempted coercion seems to have been rare in Iceland, despite the indication in the laws that female consent was not a significant part of marriage. The absence of a king probably provided some widows with room for manoeuvre, since no man before the last period of the Commonwealth was substantially more powerful and authoritative than all his peers. A few widows used this rough equality to play one influential man off another to gain their objectives, at least until the influence of the Norwegian king became crucial in the 1240s. One strategy adopted by widows was to turn existing tensions between rival chieftains (not necessarily their own) to their advantage. Another was through extra-marital liaisons, which were an alternative to remarriage as a result of the poor reception of Church doctrine concerning monogamy. But this poor reception also meant that only one nunnery was established in Iceland before 1264, and thus there were few opportunities to enter a religious life in widowhood. All of this indicates the importance of individual circumstances, of perceived fertility, social status, kinship, the ability to conduct a liaison and politics, to a widow’s potential to remarry. In Yorkshire, the evidence suggests that perceived fertility was key. As in Iceland, Yorkshire widows past childbearing age rarely remarried. But unlike Iceland, those perceived as capable of reproducing generally remarried, regardless of other factors, such as wealth, social status or a position as heiress. Freedom of action in remarriage appears restricted for Yorkshire widows, despite the prominence in the legal statements, and the knowledge of the doctrine in the twelfth century, of female consent in marriage. Although coercion was certainly a factor in some conclusion 301 cases, it cannot be established in all, and it should not be assumed that force was involved, unless supported by evidence. Lordship, and perhaps less often family interests, seem to have played an important role in the remarriages of potentially fertile widows. As in Iceland, these widows’ remarriages often benefited the men involved in their making, most notably the king, although they might also benefit the widows themselves. However, only about half of the remarriages can be shown to have materially advantaged men, and there is no evidence of lordly involvement in several others. Apparently, liaisons were not an acceptable alternative for Yorkshire widows, probably due to ecclesiastical influence and illegitimacy as a bar to inheritance. Although numerous nunneries existed in the region, few, if any, Yorkshire widows entered one. A powerful male protector, such as the king, might provide a widow with some room for manoeuvre, especially in relation to natal or marital kin, but he could also be her problem. Much depended on her circumstances and the advantages which remarriage—or not— gained for the men involved. The adoption of a wide definition of power to encompass effective action, the accomplishing of goals and the influencing of others, has allowed for a broad view of female agency. The management and alienation of property are the main ways in which the chosen sources indicate power. Wardship was one way in which a widow might gain control over property. In Yorkshire, only one widow had custody of her child and his property. That she was in a late stage in her lifecycle— thus no longer fertile, and with accumulated life experience and wealth—almost certainly gave her the opportunity to acquire guardianship. The other widows seem to have had little control over the marital and material future of their children. Yet their children also appear to have inherited as a matter of course, so that such control was not needed to ensure the transference of their property to them. The situation in Iceland was very different. The laws are clear about a widow’s right to guardianship of her minor children and their property, which is supported by saga evidence. Most Icelandic children resided with their mother after their father’s death, and their mother administered their paternal inheritance until they came of age. This appears to have brought a widow wealth and social status, sometimes even power and authority. Her main goals appear to have been the protection of her children’s property and its transference to them. Success was varied. Grown sons usually inherited with little difficulty, and there was little need for a widow to take part in the process. Widows with young sons 302 chapter eight had more difficulty in ensuring their children’s succession to property and chieftaincies. Much was dependent on the ability of their mother to enlist appropriate aid. That ability varied according to several factors, the most important being date of widowing. Generally, women widowed prior to 1220 were able to call on natal kin, who succeeded in ensuring the transference of property to a widow’s minor children. Between 1220 and 1240, widows had few natal kin powerful enough to help them, and they turned to marital kin, chieftains and lovers, with mixed results. The children of these women succeeded to property and chieftaincies through the aid enlisted by their widowed mothers, but not without a struggle and sometimes only in part. After 1240, when the Norwegian king’s influence left few with independent power in Iceland, widows rarely had opportunities to gain the assistance of kin or others. None of their children succeeded to a chieftaincy. If a widow managed to help transfer property, it was only a small portion of the paternal inheritance left by their children’s father. The greater control which Icelandic widows had over their minor children’s property also brought greater insecurity than that experienced by Yorkshire widows’ children, since continuance of property within the family was not as certain as it apparently was in Yorkshire. Land transactions were another way in which widows could derive power from property. Although the Icelandic laws suggest that widows had many of the same rights of property disposal as men, especially to ecclesiastical beneficiaries, few actually alienated land in practice, and none gave gifts to the Church. On the evidence of the sagas, management of a child’s property was by far the most important and widespread way for a widow to exercise power, perhaps because the most socially acceptable goal for an Icelandic widow was the protection of her children’s future material wellbeing. If a widow was seen as the conduit for her nuclear family’s property when her children were minors, it would be logical that she might be expected to administer that property—presumably to the benefit of her heirs—but that her powers of alienation in practice would be limited, since this might not be in her heirs’ interest. That the laws explicitly seek to protect the interest of heirs suggests that this was a contemporary concern in Commonwealth Iceland. Any power a widow derived from the property she sought to protect was probably therefore acceptable. Yet not all widows were able to derive power from the property they held, and a widow’s power was dependent on, and might fluctuate with, her circumstances. conclusion 303

In Yorkshire, the legal statements imply that widows could derive power through the use of property. Charters indicate that some Yorkshire widows did, through religious patronage, acts of lordship and gifts to family. There were four types of religious patronage: grants to natal foundations, to religious establishments associated with marital kin, to the greater Yorkshire houses and to personal foundations. Widows might have used this patronage to express piety, but it might also have had a political motive. Acts of lordship included secular grants made to tenants and others not related to a widow, as well as confirmations by widows of tenants’ bequests or of a tenant’s succession to familial land. Gifts to family members were only made to those who were close kin of a widow, most often to children, less frequently to grandchildren or to siblings’ children. The patterns of patronage among the Yorkshire widows suggest that natal land often went to natal religious houses and natal kin, or to the larger Yorkshire monasteries if given by heiresses, while establishments connected with a widow’s marital kin were most often beneficiaries of marital land. Length of widowhood might be important, but other factors were often at play. All women were generally more active in widowhood than earlier. Yet widowed heiresses, unlike non-inheriting widows, seem to have made grants and confirmations during all their marriages, including their first, and were more active overall. Heiresses of both the higher aristocracy and the honorial baronage were more likely to act as lords than non-inheriting widows. It appears that this position, as heiress, rather than rank was the key factor in benefactions and acts of lordship, and thus seems to account for the greater authority these widows had and the greater power which they were able to exert. Widows had multiple identities that were complex and variable across the lifecycle. In both Iceland and Yorkshire, they were identified with both natal and marital kin, although the strength of that association was dependent on each widow’s individual circumstances and might change as these altered. Identity could be affected by position within the family, rank and motherhood. It was often expressed in relation to family members, and it might be associated with land, lordship, a husband’s authority or guardianship. And it was shaped by marriage—first or subsequent and including a husband’s rank—the birth of children and widowing. It is therefore necessary to recognize the diversity of an individual’s identity. While patterns can help place these women generally, each widow’s personal circumstances must be taken into consideration. 304 chapter eight

In Iceland, the sagas suggest that widows retained close natal associations throughout their lives, but also that the new conjugal family they created at marriage was highly significant. Widows are introduced in the sagas within the context of their birth family, and all retained their patronymic. Marriage occasionally conferred a higher status on women as the head of a household, and this often was associated with their role as wife. As widows, they were also identified with the land of their young children, especially sons, when these children were left fatherless. In Yorkshire, widows also appear to have retained close links to natal kin. However, the intensity of those connections apparently varied more than in Iceland, since widows’ identification with their birth families seems heavily influenced by a position—or not—as heiress. Identity was perhaps more closely linked with land, due to widows being able to hold land in their own right, suggesting potential for alienation of that property. Marriage might have weakened some widows’ natal identity, especially those who did not inherit, and remarriage appears to have been more significant in terms of altering or adding to a widow’s identity. The evidence drawn from the comparison indicates that kinship organization in Iceland and Yorkshire in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries cannot be rigidly defined in either society. Both regions show bilateral and patrilineal tendencies to a greater or lesser extent, with stronger bilateral tendencies in Iceland and stronger agnatic ones in Yorkshire. The information in the legal statements, sagas and charters underlines the importance of a widow’s natal family in both societies— in inheritance practice, in remarriage, in land management and transfers—suggesting continuing significance and links to a woman’s biological kin, even after marriage and in widowhood. Yet the importance of a widow’s marital family should not be underestimated, especially in Yorkshire. Here religious patronage reflects the closeness and identification experienced by several widows with their husband’s family, not least among non-inheriting women. In Iceland, marital kin played a role, albeit limited, in the remarriage of widows and the succession of their minor children. The creation of a new nuclear family was also of great consequence, although with a different significance in the two societies. In Iceland, its importance is indicated by the potential for a widow’s inheritance from her spouse through their child, communal marital property and a widow’s custody of her husband’s minor heir by her, which included the administration of that child’s paternal property. In Yorkshire, a lawful marriage was necessary to produce conclusion 305 legitimate heirs, and bequests indicate that identification with kin outside of one’s immediate nuclear family and its direct ancestors was rare. This suggests the significance of the near family unit, encompassing a narrow, agnatic family solidarity. It appears that a widow’s individual circumstances played a crucial role in which familial connections and associations were emphasized. Circumstances were also vital in perceptions of familial identity, and these emphases and perceptions often shifted as circumstances changed. All this suggests that traditionally rigid views of kinship structure and organization should continue to be reconsidered, utilizing a definition that recognizes flu- idity and avoids seeing patrilineal and bilateral systems as mutually exclusive. Comparison also points to a greater freedom of manoeuvre in many ways in Iceland than in Yorkshire: in the potential to gain a large portion of family property either as inheritance or dowry; in remarriage and the extent of possible alternatives; and in managing a large share of marital property and a minor child’s paternal inheritance in widowhood. Yet this room for manoeuvre also appears to have left widows in a more vulnerable position, heavily dependent on their personal circumstances, many of which were beyond their control. So a future widow, like Ingibjörg Sturludóttir, might be provided with a substantial dowry, even when it reduced her brothers’ share of the inheritance, if it suited her family’s political interests. But other women, such as Álfheiðr Tumadóttir, might receive a small dowry, even in relation to a sister, because that, too, suited her family’s interest. Icelandic widows do not seem to have been forced to remarry, but the fewer number of remarriages in Iceland than Yorkshire suggests that some might not have been able to remarry, consenting or not, had they wished to. A widow’s management of her children’s property brought her wealth and status, at times even political control. But it also put her children’s future material wellbeing at risk. The flexibility apparent in Iceland might work in a widow’s favour, but it could not be guaranteed to do so. The one opportunity Icelandic widows had over those from Yorkshire which increased their room for manoeuvre without leaving them more vulnerable, was the possibility of choosing a lover. This opportunity could gain for a widow a sexual partner of her choice, increase her options of creating an effective alliance, or improve her chances of transferring property to her children. In Yorkshire expectations of women’s potential property acquisition appear to have hardened into rights during the course of the twelfth century, which at the end of the century seems to have left widows 306 chapter eight

(or others on their behalf) less freedom of action concerning inheritance and perhaps marital assignments. However, it also appears to have provided a degree of security. By the end of the century, on the evidence of the Yorkshire widows, daughters (in the absence of sons) or sisters (in the absence of children and brothers), could expect to inherit, and could expect a roughly equal division of that inheritance. Widows had few opportunities to gain wardship of their children, and thus to obtain administration of their property or control over their future marriage. But their children were also likely to inherit, since the practice of wardship appears to have ensured a smooth transition of property to minor heirs. There was, however, one area in which Yorkshire widows seem to have had greater freedom of action than their Icelandic counterparts. While Icelandic widows often had real power derived from management of their minor children’s paternal inheritance, they apparently were not able to do much with the property. They might make the necessary arrangements for the daily running of farms, but the sagas do not indicate that they sold or transferred much land, as men did. Their main goal appears to have been the protection of the property in their care and the succession of their children. The saga evidence suggests that they did not give land to the Church or to kin, and that their acts of lordship were confined to actions in aid of furthering their children’s interests. In Yorkshire, on the other hand, widows could, and did, alienate their property. Although most marked among heiresses, even most non-inheriting widows made at least a grant or two to a religious house, tenant or kinsman. And the actions, often in the same capacity as male lords, of the Yorkshire heiresses are not paral- leled among the heiresses in Iceland. So while the Church apparently closed off the option of liaisons to Yorkshire widows, it opened up the possibility of freedom of action in religious bequests, from which widows might in turn derive status, security over the property that they retained, authority to make other types of bequests and thereby ultimately power. There thus seems to have been a real difference between the two regions in the use of property and the power derived from it. Perhaps the nature of how property was held in Iceland and Yorkshire accounts for this difference. In Iceland, communal marital property, which appears to have given widows control over the wealth of minors and sometimes a degree of political power, might have blurred distinctions between spouses’ property when a wife survived a husband. Her marital assignments, even her inheritance if she had conclusion 307 any, might thus have been seen as part of the property which she held in custody for her children. If so, it could have made alienation more problematic. But in Yorkshire, where inheritance and marital assignments appear to have been distinguished more clearly in relation to a husband’s property, alienations were perhaps easier. There was less risk of confusion if a widow granted land acquired from her natal kin or specified as dower. Comparison has brought out the considerable impact that structures like kinship, political and ecclesiastical organization and legal framework had on widows’ lives in Iceland and Yorkshire. These structures provide the general parameters within which widows could manoeuvre. Yet they were not the only factors at play. Personal experience and circumstances were often crucial in determining the degree of manoeuvre and the opportunities available to any given widow. By studying widows in each region and comparing these widows individually and within different groupings against each other, it has been possible to determine which factors were most important. Such comparison has brought out the importance of, for example, potential fertility in relation to remarriage and a position as heiress in relation to property management and identity in Yorkshire, as well as political change and rank generally in Iceland. Without this comparison, both between regions and among individual widows, it is unlikely that such factors would have emerged as significant. These findings suggest several points. Just as scholars have warned against generalizing medieval women, it is similarly unhelpful to generalize medieval widows, or even aristocratic widows in twelfth- and thirteenth-century Iceland or Yorkshire. Because widows were placed differently in relation to wealth, social status, potential fertility, position as heiress, marital status, local and national politics, children, kin and lordship, their life experiences were bound to be different, even among all widows of the same rank, region or age. For example, a position as heiress seems to have set these widows apart from others of their social status, wealth and age. It even seems to have over- ridden social status and, at times and for certain purposes, gender. The patronage and personal identity of widowed heiresses of tenant- in-chief rank and from the honorial baronage appears to have had more in common with that of male heirs from these ranks than other widows. Their status as widow was probably less important than their position as heiress for some purposes, and here generalizations about all widows conceal this important differentiation. 308 chapter eight

Potential fertility was also a crucial factor for widows, one which demonstrates how comparison between regions helps to clarify similarities and differences among widows and helps prevent inappropriate generalizations. In this investigation, fertility emerged as key in the remarriage of Yorkshire widows, yet not as a determining factor in Iceland. Had only Yorkshire been studied, it is possible that fertility might be seen as a determining factor in the remarriage of European widows, especially if a similar pattern is found to be applicable in the rest of England. Yet had only Iceland been studied, fertility might not even be considered as potentially significant elsewhere in Europe, since it does not feature prominently in Iceland. This comparison, however, suggests that this factor merits close scrutiny should a similar investigation be extended to other areas or to other periods in the same regions. These significant factors—position as heiress and potential fertility—argue against seeing widows as one homogenous group. Rather, they need to be seen and compared within smaller groupings across their lifecycle, groupings which could cut across traditional categories such as rank and gender. Although some broad statements can be made about widows generally, and even about smaller groups of widows, each statement must be qualified by individual circumstances. Even within the groupings of widows which have emerged as significant, there have been one or two women who did not follow the pattern used as a basis for the generalizations made. Thus, although these broad statements are useful as a starting point, they must always be tempered by taking each individual widow’s personal circumstances into consideration. Another point suggested by the findings relates to change over time. While the book could not engage directly with the huge debate about change, or lack thereof, in women’s history during the high Middle Ages, it does add to it. Comparison of Iceland and Yorkshire supports the argument of those who allow for change, but maintain that more research is necessary before generalizations can be made. For example, the Gregorian reform concerning female consent in marriage supposedly benefited women in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. In Iceland, where the influence of the Church was limited, by and large women do not seem to have been coerced into marriage. However, in Yorkshire, where Church influence is much more evident, the information about the widows in this study suggests that coercion was probably more widespread. It seems likely that something other than female consent was at work in the remarriages of the widows, and the conclusion 309 comparative method employed in the book highlighted some of the other factors, discussed above. What these results indicate is that blan- ket generalizations, such as that which argues for ecclesiastical reforms concerning female consent in marriage being a benefit to women, must receive further investigation before being made. Further support for more research before generalizing change vis- à-vis medieval women involves the political development in Iceland during the first half of the thirteenth century. The influence of the king of Norway and the concentration of power in the hands very few Icelandic men had an adverse affect on opportunities for remarriage open to widows and on their ability to transfer property and power to their young sons. These findings suggest that there was a decline in the status of women during this period. However, it would be inaccurate to see this decline in the position of women in isolation, as a sign of their deteriorating position in relation to medieval men. Such changes require additional research to place them in context. It was not only Icelandic women, but most Icelandic men, who lost out as a result of the political situation in this period. Furthermore, this decline did not apply to all European women in the high Middle Ages; it was context specific to Iceland in the thirteenth century. Widows in Yorkshire did not suffer the same difficulties. As the book has indicated, their fluctuations in status and position were more often dependent on factors other than politics. And significantly, there was at least one group of medieval Yorkshire widows whose position was generally improved by the changes which occurred in twelfth-century England. The developments in kinship structure and as a result of the influence of the Church concerning illegitimacy and inheritance helped to create the heiress, which benefited certain women over certain men. The shift to a patrilineal system which favoured males and primogeniture also placed certain females favourably in relation to collateral male kin. This privileged position afforded these women a certain amount of financial independence, which in turn allowed them a degree of freedom in disposal of their property. It is thus essential that we do not simply see women, or even widows, as a homogenous whole, but rather that we study groups within the category of women, in this case widowed heiresses. Gender is only one factor by which we can classify groups of medieval people, and it is not necessarily the most useful or significant one. This, then, is the contribution made by the book to the debate over changes affecting women in the period of the eleventh to the thirteenth century. Seeking decline or improvement, changes 310 chapter eight or a lack thereof, for women is less useful than examining groups of women, and even individuals within those groups, in relation to the developments over the course of the high Middle Ages. In conclusion, there were advantages and disadvantages for widows in both Iceland and Yorkshire. There was a give and take between freedom of manoeuvre and security, with more possibility for sexual freedom and the influencing of the future of one’s offspring in the former, and more opportunity for power and authority derived through land transactions in the latter. There is no room for absolutes here. It is misleading to say that widows were powerful or powerless generally, and it is not possible to say that widows in one region were better or worse off than in the other. An individual widow’s circumstances determined how much room she had for manoeuvre, and thus how much power or authority she might exercise, within the overall limits dictated by the basic structures of society. APPENDICES

KEY TO APPENDICES

Dates for important events in the widows’ lives have been determined as follows:

Dates for many Icelandic events, including births, marriages and deaths, are taken from Sturlunga Saga, edited by Jón Jóhannesson, et al., published in 1946. These dates are based on internal saga evidence and are generally accepted as reliable. Most English royal records can be closely dated. Some of the Yorkshire charters are dated. Most of those which are not, have been assigned dates by W. Farrer or C.T. Clay. I have used these dates unless otherwise stated. When available, specific dates are noted in the appendices for the births, marriages and deaths of the widows, their husbands and their children. When specific dates are not provided in the sources, available dates relating to other events are used to calculate, as closely as possible, a widow’s date of birth; the earliest and latest possible dates for her marriages, death of each husband and her own death; her age at marriage and widowing; and her children’s birthdates and ages. These datings are based on the following criteria: 1. Canonical age of marriage for girls was twelve, because this was the age at which they were thought to acquire the ability to procreate.1 Thus twelve has been taken as the earliest age for marriage of women in both Iceland and Yorkshire, with thirteen as the earliest age for bearing children. 2. Widows are assumed no longer to have been fertile after the age of forty-two. I have chosen this age based on the Icelandic evidence. Eight widows are known to have been older than twelve (and thus not subject to the minimum default age) at first marriage. The average of their minimum ages is seventeen.2 Because there is no

1 Menuge, Medieval English Wardship, 85. 2 These widows were Halldóra Tumadóttir (17+), Jórunn Kálfsdóttir (23+), Solveig Sæmundardóttir (18+), Þuríðr Ormsdóttir (26+), Helga Sæmundardóttir (14+), Þórdís Snorradóttir (14+), Ingunn Sturludóttir (14+) and Ingibjörg Sturludóttir (13). See appendix 1 for further details. 314 key to appendices EYC , iii, p. 87), and Alice 3 EYC , i, no. 546, p. 426; xi, 96, pp. 103–4). All of these children reached SS , i, 63; Hallbera Einarsdóttir had ten 116–7. In Yorkshire, Agnes d’Aumale seven full siblings ( ents, her sibling’s birth dates, own marriage and children’s birth. I have used these dates to narrow the possible period for a widow’s own date of birth when necessary. For example, Hallbera Einarsdóttir married Þorgeirr Hallason, and they had ten legitimate children who reached adulthood. The sagas give the birth date of their second eldest son as 1140, and he had three younger brothers. Allowing for a gap of one half years evidence of widows having had children more than twenty-five years apart, I have added to seventeen to reach forty-two. duced children in a subsequent marriage. If widow produced child after remarriage, or she was forty-one younger at widowing, she is considered young enough to have been fertile when her husband died. If was forty-two or over, she is considered infertile. Widows who were at least thirty but possibly older than forty-two, are considered to have been nearing or probably the end of fertility. If evidence suggests that a widow was probably younger than forty-two and possibly thirty, she is considered young enough to be fertile. If the evidence indicates that she was probably older than forty-one, is considered infertile. Finally, if a widow’s age is too broad, her fertility considered indeterminate. Thus, a woman who had ten children and gave birth to her first child in 1200, would have given last child no earlier than 1214. It seems unlikely that a woman who had six or more children (common in Iceland, not unusual in Yorkshire) would have been physically capable of giving birth every year. For example, in Iceland Steinunn Hrafnsdóttir had six children, SS , ii, 9; Halldóra Tumadóttir eight, i, 52; Kolfinna Hallsdóttir 3 5. When known, I have taken into consideration in my calculations the birth and marriage dates of a widow’s par- nine, de St. Quintin had seven children from one marriage ( adulthood. 3. I have based my calculations of fertility on two factors—the age the widow in question and whether she pro- 4. In figuring dates of birth for a widow’s children, I have allowed maximum two births every three years. key to appendices 315 SS , ii, 9–10). SS , i, 236–7, 299–300). So for purposes of calculating ages, if a boy is involved in raid, attack or protecting kinsman 4 There is also some evidence for liaisons before a first marriage, although age often more difficult to determine. One example is Þorvarðr Þorgeirsson’s extra-marital relationship, at seventeen, with Yngvildr Þorgilsdóttir, which resulted in a child the following year ( SS , i, 72–3, 116). This information is useful assessing ages of men’s mothers. did not fight. between births, Hallbera could not, therefore, have had her last child before 1144, and thus she not been born before 1102. Her eldest child, which may have a daughter, could not, therefore, before 1115. Ingibjörg, as Hallbera and Þorgeirr’s second eldest daughter, could not have been born 1116. Ingibjörg had a legitimate son in 1145, and was therefore married by 1144. She could not then have been born after 1132, and her parents must have married by 1130 at the latest since Ingibjörg had least one elder sibling. Her mother Hallbera was thus born no later than 1118. So Hallbera’s birth between 1102 and 1118, her marriage between 1114 and 1130, her children born no earlier than 1115 later 1160. Ingibjörg was between 1116 and 1132, she married 1128 1144. If we add another piece of information to this example, we can further narrow the known dates. The sagas indicate that Hallbera was married to Þorgeirr by 1120. Therefore, her date of birth was between 1102 and 1108, marriage took place 1114 1120, and her children were born no earlier than 1115 later 1150. outside of marriage. There is evidence for age at first marriage high-ranking men in the contemporary sagas, for example, Hrafn Oddsson, nineteen ( SS , ii, 9–10, 70); Kolbeinn Arnórsson ungi twenty i, 287, 318–9); Snorri Sturluson, twenty-one ( SS , i, 142, 229, 237); and Sturla Sighvatsson, twenty-four or friend, I have used sixteen as a minimum age at the time of action. Hrafn Oddsson protested at sixteen that he was too young to have gained much experience in military expeditions. ( 4 7. Icelandic boys were generally in their mid-teens before they took part direct action, even if themselves 6. Icelandic men are assumed to have been at least 18 marriage and no younger than 16 when fathering a child 316 key to appendices SS , ii, 91). Although there were younger boys 5 Glanvill , 82; Menuge, Medieval English Wardship 2. Glanvill states that boys in military wardship England came of age at twenty-one, and I have followed other scholars in using this age as the end of minority for children.

seven). Usually I have referred to widows in the manner which they are most sources or the secondary reading. However, I have occasionally added descriptions or chosen between surnames for sake of clarity. family farm, two smaller farms, a small farm and movables or be called ‘wealthy’ in the sagas. In England, she had to hold land in at least three vills. For a widow be considered ‘very wealthy’, Iceland she had possess least two large farms, several smaller farms or the equivalent of at 100 hundreds in twelfth century and 200 hundreds in the thirteenth; England, she had to hold land at least ten vills or equivalent of five knights’ fees. such. Second, if a woman, who was not an heiress, held or made grant from land known to have belonged her natal kin, it has been considered dowry. Third, if a woman held or made grant from land known to have 5 who accompanied military expeditions, there is no evidence that they actually took part in the fighting that might result. For a detailed dis- who accompanied military expeditions, there is no evidence that they actually took part in the fighting might result. For cussion of boys’ transition to adulthood, see Nic Percivall, ‘Teenage Angst: The Structures and Boundaries Adolescence in Twe lfth- Thriteenth-Century Iceland’, in Youth and Age the Medieval North , ed. by S. Lewis-Simpson, The Northern World, vol. 42 (Leiden, 2008), 127–49, especially pp. 42–3 for the age when boys would begin to take action on military expeditions. 8. Descriptions and symbols: • Names: names given do not imply the significance of any particular familial connection or identity (see chapter • Wealth: For a widow to be considered ‘wealthy’, in Iceland she had possess at least one large or important • Dowry and dower: land is noted as dowry or dower in several instances. First, if it specifically referred to should Guðmundr Ormsson apparently went on his first expedition at sixteen, when he said that ‘he had reached such an age himself decide about expeditions’. ‘kveðst svá aldrs kominn, at hann myndi sjálf ráða ferðum sínum.’ ( key to appendices 317 italics were illegitimate. bold received a substantial portion of family lands. denotes uncertainty. indicates that widow in question was nearing the end of fertility, i.e. she at least 30 years old. indicates that the widow in question was probably nearing end of fertility. not applicable. denotes a lover. been held by her husband or his kin, it has considered dower. It is often difficult to distinguish between inheritance and dowry, especially when the woman in question was an heiress. All such natal family land held by heiresses has been considered inheritance unless otherwise stated. between women from different social ranks is implied in the term. herself. (For example, if she married a higher-ranking man, I have noted the rank her parents conferred on at birth.) as ‘alive in XXXX’. the column applies to widow in question.

• The term heiress is used to describe a woman who had no brothers, but may have sisters. No distinction • Rank denotes the status or rank of family to which a widow belonged, not necessarily • People known to have been alive at a certain date, but for whom there is no subsequent information, are listed 3 ? ! indicates probable fertility / infertility or age marriage of children. # ! # n/a ♥ in • Widows • Widows underlined were daughters or granddaughters of chieftains tenants-in-chief. in • Widows • Widows with an asterisk * were wealthy. • Ages given with a + indicate the least number of years possible. APPENDIX 1

ICELANDIC WIDOWS

Icelandic widow widow’s husband or lover ♥ date age at date of age at birth date marriage / marriage / husband’s husband’s relationship relationship death / end death / end began relationship relationship Kolfinna Hallsdóttir 1080–1102 Þorgils Oddason 1092–1114 12–29 1151 49–71 Björg by 1091 Hneitr by 1103 12+ 1117–1118 26+ Hallbera Snorradóttir by 1092 Mág-Snorri by 1104 12+ 1118 26+ Yngvildr Þórðardóttir* by 1093 unknown by 1105 12+ by 1118 14+ Ingimundr félag est. 1119 26+ 1169 unknown if Einarsson ♥ alive Álof Þorgeirsdóttir 1096–1127 Erlendr í Svínaskog 1108–1139 12–35 by 1140 13–35 Hvamm-Sturla 1132–1140 13–35 23 July 1183 n/a Þórðarson ♥ Hallbera Einarsdóttir 1102–1108 Þorgeirr Hallason 1114–1120 12–18 1170 62–68 Þóra Þorgeirsdóttir 1115–1131 Heðinn Eilífsson 1127 or later 12+ unknown unknown Eyjólfr Einarsson unknown 12+ unknown unknown Ingibjörg Þorgeirsdóttir 1116–1132 Helgi Eiríksson 1128–1144 12–28 1145–1148 13–32 Hvamm-Sturla 1148 16–32 23 Jul 1183 n/a Þórðarson Yngvildr Þorgilsdóttir* 1118–1124 Halldórr Bergsson 1130–1150 12–32 1151–1152 27–34 Þorvarðr Þorgeirsson ♥ early 1157 31–40 1158–1159 34–41 Bishop Klængr 1159–1165 32–41 27 Feb 1176 50–59 Þorsteinsson ♥ icelandic widows 319 alive alive alive age at age at husband’s husband’s death / end relationship date of of date husband’s husband’s death / end relationship age at age at marriage / relationship date date 11631184 12–26 33–47 1183 23 Jul 1188 18 Jun 32–46 37–51 1159 13–35 1166 2 Nov 20–42 began marriage / 1145–1167 12–34 1177 18 Mar 22–44 1161–1172 12–28 1184 24–40 1157–1173 12–28 1188 18 Jun 27–43 1172–1184 26–38 1197 alive if unknown relationship ♥ inn ♥ inn inn ♥ skeifa sterki augði sterki Þórðarson Garða-Snorri later 1189 or 28+ unknown if unknown Þorleifr Þorleifr Eyjólfr á VöllumEyjólfr 1177 by 14–37 1182–1190 19–50 Sigurðr OrmssonSigurðr 1187 27–43 1235 n/a Tumi Kolbeinsson Tumi Ari Þorgeirsson Ari Þorgilsson Ari Þorgilsson Arnórr Kolbeinsson 1172–1176 13–40 1180 if unknown husband or loverhusband or widow’s widow’s birth date birth 1134–1146 Hallsson Ingjaldr 1146–1170 12–36 21 Oct 11711144–1158 Bersi Halldórsson 25–37 1156–1173 12–26 1204 46–60 * 1124–1146 unknown 1158 by 12–34 1159 by 12–35 Appendix 1 ( cont .) widowIcelandic Pálsdóttir*Þorlaug Sturludóttir Þuríðr 1133–1155 Þorsteinsson Þórir Böðvarsdóttir*Guðný 1137–1151Arnþrúðr Fornadóttir* Hvamm-Sturla Halldóra Gizurardóttir 1140–1163Þuríðr Gizurardóttir*Gizurardóttir Kolfinna 1144–1160 Snorri 1145–1161 Þorgilsson Ari 1152–1175 12–35 1177 by 14–37 Guðrún BrandsdóttirGuðrún 1132–1159 Þórðarson Páll 1146–1171 12–39 1171 12–39 Úlfheiðr Gunnarsdóttir 320 appendix 1 alive age at age at 32–48 32–54 husband’s husband’s death / end relationship 1221 1212 date of of date husband’s husband’s death / end relationship age at age at marriage / relationship date date began marriage / 1176–1182 12–18 1182 by 12–18 1163–1184 12–33 1186 14–35 relationship ♥ ♥ augði Þórðr SturlusonÞórðr 1191 19–40 1237 10 Apr n/a Hermundarson Hermundarson Þórðr BöðvarssonÞórðr 1183 13–19 1220 49–56 Eiríkr Hákonarson later 1187 or 20+ unknown if unknown husband or loverhusband or Hallr KleppjárnssonHallr 1198–1209 18–40 Christmas Þórarinn ÞorkelssonÞórarinn 1172–1187 20–35 1179–1203 27–50 by 1173by Hauksson Teitr 1185 by 12–41 1186 13+ widow’s widow’s birth date birth 1158–1180 Önundarson Þorfinnr 1192 12–34 May 10 1197 17–39 * 1154 by Helgason Einarr 1163–1166 12+ 1180 27 May 26+ * 1164–1186 Kálfr Guttormsson 1178–1199 12–35 1234 21 Feb 48–70 * Appendix 1 ( cont .) widowIcelandic Ingibjörg Guðmundardóttir ÞorvarðsdóttirGuðný 1162–1167 Brandsson Þorgeirr Þorvarðsdóttir Ósk 1179 Þórólfsdóttir*Otkatla Gizurardóttir Vilborg Sigmundardóttir*Ásdís 1170 by 12–17 1173–1189 GuðmundardóttirÞóra Guðmundarson Teitr 1186 13 Aug Arnórr Tumason 1174–1185 1182 by Þorvaldr Gizurarson 1200–1201 19–24 1196–1197 12+ 12–28 12–23 Christmas 1 Sept 1235 1186 50–61 16+ Snælaug HögnadóttirSnælaug 1164–1170 Hreinn Guðrún Bjarnadóttir*Guðrún 1151–1172Ragnheiðr Aronsdóttir* Ásgrímsson Þorvarðr 1152–1167 Brandsdóttir Guðný Úlfsson Ámundi 1164–1179 12–27 1171–1186 19–34 icelandic widows 321 alive age at age at husband’s husband’s death / end relationship date of of date husband’s husband’s death / end relationship age at age at marriage / relationship date date est. 1224 24–40 23 Sept 1241 n/a 1231 14–31 1245 22 Jul 28–45 began marriage / 1211–1224 12–25 5 Sept 1241 29–42 1189–1190 14+ 1190–1198 15+ unknown n/a relationship félag ♥ ♥ ♥ ungi Svínfellingr grikk grikk Sigurðr Hrafn BrandssonHrafn 1189 14+ 1190 15+ Hákon ÞórðarsonHákon 1190–1196 15+ 1198 23+ Snorri Sturluson Sturluson Snorri husband or loverhusband or Hákon Þórðarson ♥ Þórðarson Hákon (during 3rd marriage) 3rd (during (during 2nd marriage) (during Sigmundr GunnarssonSigmundr 1235 31–40 1244 alive if unknown by 1175by Þorvarðsson Símon 1187 12+ 1189 14+ widow’s widow’s birth date birth * 1195–1205 Sighvatsson Sturla 1223 18–28 1238 21 Aug 33–43 * 1200–1217 Arnórsson Kolbeinn * 1184–1200 Þorvaldsson Björn 1212–1215 12–31 1221 17 Jun 21–37 * 1200–1215 Sighvatsson Tumi 1241 26–41 1244 19 Apr 29–44 Appendix 1 ( cont .) widowIcelandic Tumadóttir*Halldóra Ormsdóttir Hallveig 1180–1181 Hrafnsdóttir*Steinunn * Kálfsdóttir Jórunn Sturluson Sighvatr 1192–1203 Hrafnsdóttir*Herdís 1194–1211 1198 Oddr Álason Kolbeinsson Brandr 1195–1204Solveig Sæmundardóttir Njálsdóttir*Álfheiðr 1234–1240 1213–1222 17–18 Kársson Eyjólfr Ormsdóttir Þuríðr 23–40 1199–1212 1238 Sæmundardóttir 21 Aug Helga 12–30 1216 1246 19 Apr Jónsson Ormr 57–58 1234 13 Jan 35–52 12–21 31–42 1222 3 Apr 18–27 Guðrún Þórðardóttir* 322 appendix 1 alive alive alive age at age at husband’s husband’s death / end relationship date of of date husband’s husband’s death / end relationship age at age at marriage / relationship date date 1224 14–20 1228 6 Aug 18–24 1216 13+ 1216 13+ began Oct 1253 13 22 Oct 1253 13 marriage / 1228–1231 18–27 1228–1231 18–27 1229–1232 19–28 1234 13 Jan 24–30 1252 or later1252 or 13+ 1309 24 May if unknown 1228 or later1228 or 13+ unknown if unknown relationship ♥ ♥ ♥ kotkarl Auðkýlingr Vatnsfirðingr Oddr Álason Þjóðólfr Þjóðólfr Hallr Gizurarson Hallr Eyjólfr Kársson ♥ Kársson Eyjólfr Óláfr Æðeyingr Óláfr Þórðr ÞorvarðssonÞórðr 1259 Nov 19 unknown if unknown Kolbeinn Bjarnason Kolbeinn husband or loverhusband or by 1203by Grímsson Þórarinn 1215 by 12+ 1216 13+ widow’s widow’s birth date birth 1225–1238 Oddr Þórarinsson 1250 12–25 1255 14 Jan 17–30 * 1240 * 1204–1210 Þorvaldr Snorrason * Valgerðr Árnadóttir*Valgerðr Hallsdóttir*Jóreiðr 1212 by 1212 by Sturluson Þórðr Narfason Þórðr 1224 1224 by 12+ 12–40 1237 10 Apr 1225 by 25+ 13–41 Appendix 1 ( cont .) widowIcelandic Snorradóttir Þórdís BöðvarsdóttirHelga Randalín 1215–1245 Filippussdóttir SturludóttirIngunn Sámsson Páll ÞorsteinsdóttirGuðrún later 1239 or 1230–1235 later 1227 or Sturludóttir Ingibjörg Ormsson Sæmundr Benedikt 12+ 1249 later 1251 or unknown 14–19 unknown 12+ 1252 13 Apr unknown 17–22 unknown Steinunn Brandsdóttir Steinunn HalldórsdóttirEirný 1245 by Illugason Ásbjörn 1257 12+ 1258 22 Jan 13+ Þórhildr GíslsdóttirÞórhildr 1203 by unknown 1215 by 12+ 1216 by 13+ APPENDIX 1 A

ICELANDIC WIDOWS (CONTINUED)

Icelandic widow widow’s date widow’s age widow’s children age of children at of death at death father’s death or end of relationship Kolfinna Hallsdóttir alive 1151 49+ Oddi, Einarr, Hallbera, Valgerðr, Álof, Álfdís, dead or grown Yngvildr, Ingibjörg, Guðrún Björg alive 1118 26+ Steinþórr, Finnbogi, Rannveig, Hergerðr teens Hallbera Snorradóttir alive 1120 28+ Grímr teens Yngvildr Þórðardóttir* alive 1120 27+ Helga, Hallfríðr oldest 12+ unknown Álof Þorgeirsdóttir 1136–1148 18–52 Guðleif unknown Helga, Valgerðr, Sveinn, Þuríðr, Sigríðr grown Hallbera Einarsdóttir 1179 71–77 Einarr, Þorvarðr, Þórðr, Ingimundr, Ari, Þóra, dead or grown Ingibjörg, Þórný, Gríma, Oddný Þóra Þorgeirsdóttir alive 1128 13+ unknown n/a unknown n/a Ingibjörg Þorgeirsdóttir 1160 28–44 Einarr infant-3 Steinunn, Þórdís grown Yngvildr Þorgilsdóttir* alive 1185 61+ none n/a Sigríðr infant Jóra 3–16 Úlfheiðr Gunnarsdóttir* 1200 54–76 none n/a Klemet, Guðmundr, Guðrún, Gunnarr dead, 5, infant-4, dead Guðrún Brandsdóttir alive 1174 15+ none n/a Kolbeinn kaldaljós, Halldóra infant-7 324 appendix 1 a n/a n/a n/a n/a 14+ grown dead, 2 infant-22 infant-16 unknown unknown younger than 6 than younger of relationship younger than 13 than younger age of children at children at age of father’s death or end or death father’s , Þorgerðr daughter grown, son , Dufgus, Hróðbjartr unknown Ósk nonenone n/a n/a none Helga unknown unknown unknown krókr Böðvarr, Halla Böðvarr, Þorsteinn, Snorri Þorsteinn, Einarr, KleppjárnEinarr, most 13 at oldest widow’s children widow’s at least three, Björn least three, at Valla-Brandr, Klængr Valla-Brandr, Svertingr, Jón Jón Svertingr, Krákr, Halldórr, Eyvindr, Tómas, Guðfinna Tómas, Eyvindr, Halldórr, Krákr, unknown at death widow’s age widow’s 1224 66–80 biskupsefni Teitr of death alive 1197alive 51+ none 1222alive 42+ n/a none n/a * 1180 alive 26+ * Ragnheiðr Aronsdóttir* 1203 alive 36+ Birna Hallbera, Margrét, Tófa, Þórðr, Guðrún Bjarnadóttir*Guðrún 1195–1212 23–61 Appendix 1 A ( cont .) widowIcelandic Pálsdóttir*Þorlaug date widow’s Sturludóttir Þuríðr Böðvarsdóttir* 1177Guðný autumn 22–44 1221 6 Nov Arnþrúðr Fornadóttir* 70–84Halldóra Gizurardóttir 1197 alive Þuríðr Gizurardóttir* Vigdís Helga, Snorri, Sighvatr, Þórðr, 34+ Gizurardóttir Kolfinna 1224 1189 alive 18, 13, 5, 1–17, 64–80 28+ Ingibjörg Guðmundardóttir Álfheiðr Halldóra, Arnórr, Kolbeinn, ÞorvarðsdóttirGuðný 11, newborn, 3–4, 1–3 1187 alive 20+ Guðný Brandsdóttir Guðný icelandic widows (continued) 325 n/a n/a n/a n/a n/a n/a n/a 6, 5 5, 1–4 21–40 grown infant-5 unknown unknown oldest 10+ oldest youngest 16 not yet born-5 yet not dead or grown, grown, dead or of relationship age of children at children at age of father’s death or end or death father’s , Markús, , Markús, kakali , Tumi, Steinvör , Tumi, none none none none none none Eyjólfr Guðrún , Sigríðr, Herdís, Arnbjörg Herdís, , Sigríðr, 13, 18–19, 6 Klængr, Ormr Klængr, Kálfr, Þorgeirr Kálfr, widow’s children widow’s Sveinbjörn, Steinunn Sveinbjörn, Böðvarr, Þorleifr, Markús Þorleifr, Böðvarr, Halldóra, Gizurr, Kolfinna Gizurr, Halldóra, Þórðr krókr Þórðr infancy in died 2, all least at at death widow’s age widow’s of death alive 1186alive 13+ Haukr unknown alive 1198alive 23+ * 1241 25 Jul 41–57 * 1240 alive 54+ Jórunn Guttormr, father, killed with Otkatla Þórólfsdóttir*Otkatla 1186 alive Appendix 1 A ( cont .) widowIcelandic date widow’s Þorvarðsdóttir Ósk Gizurardóttir Vilborg Sigmundardóttir*Ásdís GuðmundardóttirÞóra 1221 alive 1243 alive 32+ 58+ Tumadóttir*Halldóra ungi Kolbeinn Ormsdóttir Hallveig 1247 Hrafnsdóttir*Steinunn * Kálfsdóttir Jórunn 1242 alive 66–67 Hrafnsdóttir*Herdís Þórðr Kolbeinn, Sturla, Tumi, 39+ 1259 alive 1242 alive Halla Herdís, Oddr, Óláfr, Guðlaugr, Hrafn, 48+ 8, daughters son oldest 38+ Guðrún Þórðardóttir* Snælaug HögnadóttirSnælaug 1249 78–85 326 appendix 1 a n/a n/a n/a n/a n/a 1–29 infant 1, 2–4 infant-2 infant-4 infant-22 of relationship age of children at children at age of all younger than 15 than all younger father’s death or end or death father’s , Rikiza infant-4 gríss none n/a none Helga Sturla daughter daughter unknown n/a unknown unknown unknown unknown Kolfinna, Einarr Kolfinna, widow’s children widow’s Jón, Guðný, Þuríðr, Ingunn Þuríðr, Guðný, Jón, 28+ none n/a at death widow’s age widow’s 1245 of death alive 1216alive 13+ 1267alive Grímr 29+ Guðmundr unknown * 1254 17 Apr 49–59 * 1259 alive 19+ none n/a * Aug alive * 1244 alive 34+ * * 1245 alive 30+ Sighvatr infant-2 Eirný HalldórsdóttirEirný 1258 alive 13+ unknown n/a Steinunn Brandsdóttir Steinunn Appendix 1 A ( cont .) widowIcelandic Solveig Sæmundardóttir date widow’s Ormsdóttir Þuríðr Sæmundardóttir Helga GíslsdóttirÞórhildr Snorradóttir Þórdís 1216 alive 13+ BöðvarsdóttirHelga Randalín Filippussdóttir 1228 alive SturludóttirIngunn ÞorsteinsdóttirGuðrún 13+ Sturludóttir Ingibjörg 1252 alive 1252 alive Guðrún 13+ 17+ unknown Álfheiðr Njálsdóttir*Álfheiðr 1251 alive Þóra Ormr, Guðmundr, Sæmundr, 39+ yet born, not 16–29, 7, Valgerðr Árnadóttir*Valgerðr Hallsdóttir*Jóreiðr 1237 alive 1253 alive 25+ 41+ APPENDIX 2

YORKSHIRE WIDOWS

Yorkshire widow widow’s husband or date marriage / age at date of age at birth date lover ♥ relationship marriage / husband’s husband’s began relationship death / end death / end relationship relationship Emma de Port* by 1066 William de Percy I by 1078 12+ c. 1096 30+ Agnes de Arches* 1085–1113 Herbert de St. Quintin 1115–1125 12–32 1119–1128 16–37 Robert de Fauconberg 1119–1129 16–37 1120–1130 17–38 William Foliot 1120–1130 17–38 1130 or later 22+ Emma de Gant* by 1096 Alan de Percy I by 1109 12+ 1130–1135 34+ Alice, wife of Richard by 1098 Walter de Argentom by 1110 12+ by 1111 13–37 de Percy Richard de Percy by 1111 13–37 1120–c. 1133 22+ Cecily de Rumilly I* by 1100 William Meschin by 1112 12+ 1130–1135 30+ Henry de Tracy c. 1138 35 + 1165 n/a Avice Meschin* 1104–1113 William de Curcy II c. 1125 12–21 c. 1135 22–31 William Paynel c. 1135 22–31 1145–1147 32–41 Walter de Percy 1145–1153 32–41 unknown unknown if alive Matilda Meschin* 1105–1117 Philip de Belmeis 1117–1130 12–25 1138–1158 21–41 Hugh de Mortimer 1138–1158 21–41 1180–1181 unknown if alive Alice de Rumilly I* 1107–1126 William fitz Duncan c. 1138 12–31 1152–1154 26–47 Alexander fitz Gerold 1155–1156 29–49 1178 52–71 328 appendix 2 ing alive alive alive age at age at 55. husband’s husband’s death / end relationship 1153 18 less than c. 1148 22–32 date of of date husband’s husband’s death / end relationship 2 age at age at 12–38 1156 20–40 marriage / relationship 1 began 1140–1150 12–36 1151 23–37 relationship date marriage / date II lover ♥ husband or husband or Adam de Brus IIAdam 1151–1156 23–40 1197 if unknown Robert de Gant 1153 18 less than 1191 n/a de Flamville Roger 1143 20–23 1168–1169 45–49 c. 1136 de Curcy Richard 1145–1148 13 less than birth date birth * 1120–1123 de Brus I Adam 1132–1136 12–16 1143 20–23 * the battle of It is likely that Rohaise and Gilbert were married by Ranulf, earl of Chester, shortly after the captured during Alice Paynel’s marriage was made when could have been no more than twelve years old. However, the circumstances surround 1 2

Appendix 2 ( cont .) widowYorkshire widow’s d’Aumale*Agnes 1114–1128 de Roumare William de Clare*Rohaise de Arches Juetta 1116–1136Alice Paynel Gilbert de Gant 1141–1155 Lincoln in 1141 (M. Abbott, ‘The Gant Family in England, 1066–1191’, unpublished PhD thesis, University of Cambridge, 1973, 38). However, Lincoln in 1141 (M. Abbott, ‘The Gant Family England, 1066–1191’, unpublished PhD thesis, University of Cambridge, 1973, 38). since there is no securely dated evidence to place the marriage, possible date range for their marriage must remain 1141–11 before the her marriage were exceptional (see above, pp. 97–9 and below, 402–8). There are cases where high-ranking girls married one of minimum canonical age of twelve (although the marriage was often consummated at a later date), and it is possible that Alice these exceptions. Robert Robert fitz 1156–1163 20–40 1167–1175unknown if Alice de St. Quintin*Alice de St. 1116–1126Fulk Robert fitz 1128–1138 12–22 de Merc Eustace 1148–1163 22–47 1175 alive if unknown yorkshire widows 329 age at age at husband’s husband’s death / end relationship date of of date husband’s husband’s death / end relationship age at age at marriage / relationship began by 1165by 12+ 1166 by n/a 1143–1175 12–44 1184 36–53 1171–1195 12–41 1202 37–57 1157–1167 12–28 1179 24–40 relationship date marriage / date ♥ Kildale lover ♥ Aumale Warwick husband or husband or de Birkin John 1202 37–57 1227 alive n/a de Moreville Richard 1166 by 13+ 1177–1181 24+ by 1153by de Puiset Hugh birth date birth * 1145–1165 of de Percy William * 1140–1155 Gilbert Pipard 1157–1170 12–30 1191–1192 36–52 * 1131–1148 of earl William Ralph d’Aubigny 1181–1182 37–38 1191–1192 47–49 Ralph de Valognes*Sibyl 1143–1144 deAgnes Flamville Robert de Ros 1155–1156 12–13 Robert de Courtenay 1162–1163 1191–1195 II de Percy William 18–20 1164–1166 36–55 20–23 1207–1209 1172–1175 52–69 28–32 Geoffrey Hose 1171–1182Appendix 2 ( cont .) 23–41 widowYorkshire 1192–1193 widow’s Percy de Matilda 44–53 Geoffrey * deAgnes Percy Cecily de II * Rumilly 1139–1155 de Warenne*Gundreda 1132–1149 1140–1148 of count William de Louvain Joscelin de Valognes Peter Alice de II Rumilly 1154–1161 1152–1160 12–29 12–20 1179–1180 de Percy* Adeliza 1160 30–48 III de Curcy William 12–20 1160–1164 12–24 1171 23–31

330 appendix 2 alive age at age at husband’s husband’s death / end relationship date of of date husband’s husband’s death / end relationship age at age at marriage / relationship 1180 12–22 1189 21–31 began relationship date marriage / date Essex lover ♥ husband or husband or Mandeville, earl of I de Forz William Baldwin de Béthune 1190 1195 22–32 27–37 1195 1212 27–37 44–54 birth date birth 1157–1163 de Kyme Simon 1170–1176 12–19 1220 57–63 1158–1168 de William * 1161–1172 Henry de Cornhill 1173–1192 12–31 1193 21–32 * * Rohaise, daughter of of daughter Rohaise, Robert Gerold fitz Warin 1193–1197 21–36 1216 44–55 Appendix 2 ( cont .) widowYorkshire widow’s of countess Hawise Aumale de Brus*Isabel 1157–1178Alice de Curcy Henry de Percy 1188–1192 12–34 1197–1198 Mauduit Roger 19–41 1198–1219 20–41 1219 alive if unknown

APPENDIX 2 A

YORKSHIRE WIDOWS (CONTINUED)

Yorkshire widow widow’s date widow’s widow’s children age of children at of death age at father’s death or end death of relationship Emma de Port* alive 1097 31+ Alan de Percy I, Walter, William, Richard de eldest in late teens / Percy of Dunsley early 20s Agnes de Arches* alive 1143 30+ Walter (d.s.p.), Alan (d.s.p.), Alice 1–12 Peter unknown William, Henry, Hugh unknown Emma de Gant* Dec 1135 39+ William de Percy II, Walter, Henry eldest of age Alice, wife of Richard alive 1160 61+ Richard d’Argentom unknown de Percy William, Alexander, Celeste, Christina teens (or older?) Cecily de Rumilly I* 1151–1155 51+ Matthew, Ranulf, Avice, Matilda, Alice I dead, 18+, 17–31, 13–30, 4–29 none n/a Avice Meschin* c. 1176 63–72 William de Curcy III, Robert, Jordan 0–5 Alice Paynel younger than 12 Robert de Percy unknown Matilda Meschin* alive 1167 50+ Philip, Ranulf, Adeliza eldest grown Roger grown Alice de Rumilly I* 1187 61–81 William de Egremont, Cecily II, Amabel, Alice II all less than 16 none n/a Agnes d’Aumale* alive 1166 38+ William de Roumare III, Robert 0–10 Peter, Isabel de Brus unknown 332 appendix 2 a n/a n/a 5–25 1–10 11–21 teens ? teens 6, 0–10 grown ? grown less than 15 less than less than 14 less than of relationship daughters unknown daughters 17–25, 16–24, others 17–25, 16–24, others father’s death or end or death father’s eldest son less than 13, less than eldest son Sibyl none Hawise Geoffrey Alice de Gant Eleanor, Alice Eleanor, ), Matilda, Agnes ), Matilda, d.s.p. ( widow’s childrenwidow’s children at age of Margaret, Rohaise Margaret, Adam de Brus II, William Adam William de Curcy IV, Alice IV, de Curcy William Hugh

none

death age at age at widow’s widow’s

c. 1224 76–84 of death * 1215 60–75 none n/a * 1202–1204 54–73 none n/a * 1202–1206 79–86 * 1166–1176 30–40 none n/a Alice de St. Quintin*Alice de St. 1166 alive 40+ Denise, Agnes, Henry, Walter, Robert, William, none none de Valognes*Sibyl 1212 alive n/a n/a 68+ de Ros II Everard de Gant Avice 0–7 grown Gunnora Alice, Matilda, 6–10 Appendix 2 A ( cont .) widowYorkshire date widow’s de Clare*Rohaise de Arches Juetta 1167–1175Alice Paynel 31+ Percy de Matilda * deAgnes Percy Cecily de II * Rumilly de Warenne* Gundreda 1201–1204 1188–1190 52–72Alice de II Rumilly 33–51 Lucy, Ralph, Matilda, Joscelin, Richard, Henry,

yorkshire widows (continued) 333 n/a 0–9 0–4 grown grown 4–7, 0–6 unknown unknown of relationship father’s death or end or death father’s none Robert de Brus Philip de Kyme Philip Henry de Puiset Henry widow’s childrenwidow’s children at age of Alan de Moreville Alan William de Forz II de Forz William William de Percy III, Henry de Percy William Alice

death age at age at widow’s widow’s

1214 46–56 of death alive 1205alive 27+ alive 1182alive 29+ 1228–1231 65–74 * 1214–1226 49–81 William Walter, unknown * 1225 53–64 Joan 0–19 * * none deAgnes Flamville n/a of daughter Rohaise, Robert Margaret 13–22 Appendix 2 A ( cont .) widowYorkshire date widow’s de Percy* Adeliza of countess Hawise Aumale de Brus* Isabel Alice de Curcy

APPENDIX 3

TYPES OF PROPERTY ACQUIRED BY WIDOWS AND DEGREE OF WEALTH

Property listed as held by widows (about whom enough information exists) is almost certainly only part of the total wealth which they held. Property is listed as ‘specified’ if details of the property are known (e.g., name of farm or vill; number of carucates or bovates; number of knights’ fees; total value of movables; etc.), ‘part specified’ if some details are known (e.g., dower established as being in two vills, but only one is named; dowry established as movables, but of indeterminate value), and ‘unspecified’ if no details of the acquired property are known. When there is no reference to property at all, it is not known if any property was acquired. Property which a widow might have acquired is ‘possible’. In the ‘brideprice / dower’ column, details are given of property, when known, for each marriage. For example, ‘1st specified, 2nd unspecified’ denotes that details about property acquired as dower from a first marriage have been established, whereas dower is known to have been acquired from a second marriage, but it is of unknown composition.

Icelandic widow inheritance inheritance dowry dower / partner’s type of other degree of and/or brideprice property acquisition wealth dowry (not named unknown as dower) Kolfinna Hallsdóttir not wealthy Björg specified not wealthy Hallbera specified not wealthy Snorradóttir Yngvildr unspecified wealthy Þórðardóttir* Álof Þorgeirsdóttir specified not wealthy types of property acquired by widows & degree of wealth 335 2nd very at 1st at wealth wealthy wealthy wealthy wealthy wealthy wealthy at at wealthy widowing; widowing; not wealthy not wealthy not not wealthy wealthy not other degree of type of specified specified unknown unspecified acquisition acquisition part specified specified specifiedspecified specified very specified specified wealthy property partner’s partner’s as dower) (not named(not brideprice dowry dower / specified dowry and/or and/or specified wealthy specified * Úlfheiðr Gunnarsdóttir Ragnheiðr Aronsdóttir* Guðrún Guðrún Bjarnadóttir* Appendix 3 ( cont .) widowIcelandic inheritance inheritance Hallbera Einarsdóttir Yngvildr Þorgilsdóttir* Pálsdóttir* Þorlaug Guðný Böðvarsdóttir* Arnþrúðr Fornadóttir* Þuríðr Gizurardóttir* Kolfinna Gizurardóttir 336 appendix 3 2nd at 1st at wealth wealthy wealthy wealthy wealthy wealthy at at wealthy widowing; widowing; other degree of type of unknown acquisition acquisition specifiedspecifiedspecifiedspecified wealthy wealthy not wealthy wealthy property partner’s partner’s as dower) unspecified very (not named(not brideprice dowry dower / specified unspecifiedunspecified unspecified specified wealthy not dowry and/or and/or part part specified specified * specified wealthy * * * Guðrún Þórðardóttir* Appendix 3 ( cont .) widowIcelandic inheritance inheritance Ingibjörg Guðmundardóttir Þorvarðsdóttir Ósk Otkatla Þórólfsdóttir* Ásdís Sigmundardóttir* Þóra Guðmundardóttir Halldóra Tumadóttir* Hallveig Ormsdóttir Steinunn Hrafnsdóttir* Guðný Guðný Brandsdóttir types of property acquired by widows & degree of wealth 337 very wealth wealthy wealthy wealthy wealthy wealthy wealthy wealthy wealthy wealthy not wealthy not not wealthy not other degree of part part type of specified specified specified possible– unknown acquisition acquisition specified specified specified specified specified very specified property partner’s partner’s as dower) (not named(not specified brideprice dowry dower / specified specified wealthy dowry and/or and/or unspecified specified very * * * * *part *part Jóreiðr Hallsdóttir* Jóreiðr Steinunn Steinunn Brandsdóttir Árnadóttir* Valgerðr Appendix 3 ( cont .) widowIcelandic inheritance inheritance * Kálfsdóttir Jórunn Hrafnsdóttir* Herdís Solveig Sæmundardóttir Ormsdóttir Þuríðr Helga Sæmundardóttir Snorradóttir Þórdís Randalín Filippussdóttir Sturludóttir Ingunn Ingibjörg * Sturludóttir Álfheiðr Njálsdóttir*Álfheiðr specified wealthy 338 appendix 3 not not very very wealth wealthy wealthy wealthy wealthy wealthy wealthy wealthy wealthy wealthy wealthy other degree of type of specified very unknown acquisition acquisition property partner’s partner’s as dower) (not named(not 1st specified, specified,

specified specified marriage marriage specified, no specified, unknown

brideprice 1st and 3rd 1st and 1st and 2nd 1st and 1st and 2nd 1st and 2nd and 3rd 2nd and details about details about 2nd 2nd no details about no details about no details about dowry dower / specified specified specified 1st dowry and/or and/or specified specified specified specified specified * Emma de Port* Yorkshire widowYorkshire inheritance inheritance de Arches* Agnes Emma de Gant* Cecily de I * Rumilly * Meschin Avice Matilda Meschin Alice de I * Rumilly d’Aumale* Agnes Alice, wife of of wife Alice, de Percy Richard Appendix 3 ( cont .) Alice de St. Alice de St. Quintin* types of property acquired by widows & degree of wealth 339 very very very very very wealth wealthy wealthy wealthy wealthy wealthy wealthy wealthy wealthy wealthy other degree of part part type of specified specified unknown acquisition acquisition property partner’s partner’s as dower) unspecified (not named(not 1st 3rd specified, specified specified brideprice 1st and 2nd 1st and 1st, 2nd, 3rd 3rd 1st, 2nd, specified, no details about details about 1st 2nd unspecified no details about no details about dowry dower / specified 2nd and 1st specified unspecified specified 2nd specified, dowry and/or and/or specified specified * specified specified very * specified * specified very Sibyl de Valognes* Sibyl Appendix 3 ( cont .) widowYorkshire inheritance inheritance de Clare* Rohaise de Arches Juetta Alice Paynel Percy de Matilda * deAgnes Percy Cecily de II * specified Rumilly de Gundreda Warenne* Alice de II * Rumilly 340 appendix 3 very very very wealth wealthy wealthy wealthy wealthy other degree of specified wealthy specified wealthy type of unknown acquisition acquisition property partner’s partner’s as dower) (not named(not 2nd marriage marriage unknown brideprice unspecified, unspecified, 1st specified, no details about no details about part dowry dower / specified specified unspecified specified dowry and/or and/or specified specified * specified * * * Agnes deAgnes Flamville Appendix 3 ( cont .) widowYorkshire inheritance inheritance de Percy* Adeliza of countess Hawise Aumale de Brus* Isabel Alice de Curcy Rohaise, daughter daughter Rohaise, Robert of APPENDIX 4

DESCENT OF LANDS AND POWER

Icelandic widow date of first daughter with heiress brother(s) chieftaincy / chieftaincy / chieftaincy / widowing brother(s) inherited tenancy- tenancy- tenancy- who received majority of in-chief to in-chief to in-chief to substantial property widow with widow without brother(s) family lands brother(s) brother(s) Þóra Þorgeirsdóttir 1127 or later Ingibjörg Þorgeirsdóttir 1145–1148 Yngvildr Þorgilsdóttir* 1151–1152 Úlfheiðr by 1159 Gunnarsdóttir* Þuríðr Sturludóttir 1171 Guðrún Brandsdóttir 1171 Ragnheiðr Aronsdóttir* 1171–1186 Arnþrúðr Fornadóttir* by 1177 Þorlaug Pálsdóttir* 1177 Guðný Brandsdóttir* 1180 Guðný Böðvarsdóttir* 1183 Þuríðr Gizurardóttir* 1184 Otkatla Þórólfsdóttir* 1186 Guðný Þorvarðsdóttir 1186 to illegitimate to illegitimate brother brother Guðrún Bjarnadóttir* 1186 342 appendix 4 to to tenancy- sister’s son sister’s brother(s) in-chief to in-chief to chieftaincy /

tenancy- brother(s) in-chief to in-chief to chieftaincy / widow without

chieftaincy

tenancy- brother(s) in-chief to in-chief to widow with chieftaincy /

property inherited majority of of majority

heiress brother(s) stepfather brothers) (had half- brother(s) brother(s) substantial substantial family lands who received daughter with daughter later 11861197 1204 1216 widowing * 1189 * 1221 Hallveig to * 1234 to property * * 1228 Jóreiðr Hallsdóttir*Jóreiðr 1225 by Guðrún Þórðardóttir Appendix 4 ( cont .) widowIcelandic first of date Gizurardóttir Vilborg Gizurardóttir Kolfinna Ingibjörg 1188 Guðmundardóttir Halldóra Gizurardóttir Sigmundardóttir*Ásdís Ormsdóttir Hallveig 1221 Hrafnsdóttir*Herdís BöðvarsdóttirHelga 1222 Snorradóttir Þórdís 1227 or Þorvarðsdóttir Ósk Steinunn Brandsdóttir Steinunn descent of lands and power 343 brother half-sister’s half-sister’s husband tenancy- brother(s) in-chief to in-chief to chieftaincy /

tenancy- brother(s) in-chief to in-chief to chieftaincy / widow without to to

son tenancy- brother(s) in-chief to in-chief to widow with eventually to to eventually chieftaincy /

to husband’s husband’s to property inherited half-sister majority of of majority

heiress brother(s) brother but also to but brother(s) brother(s) substantial substantial family lands who received daughter with daughter 1255 1238 widowing * 1253 wealth much * 1245 * * * to 1244 property Appendix 4 ( cont .) widowIcelandic first of date Hrafnsdóttir*Steinunn GuðmundardóttirÞóra 1234 Tumadóttir*Halldóra Solveig 1235 Sæmundardóttir 1238 Ormsdóttir Þuríðr Sæmundardóttir Helga * Kálfsdóttir Jórunn SturludóttirIngunn Sturludóttir Ingibjörg 1246 1252Randalín Filippussdóttir Álfheiðr Njálsdóttir*Álfheiðr 1241 344 appendix 4

sisters sisters legitimate legitimate tenancy- brother(s) in-chief to in-chief to chieftaincy /

brother(s) chieftaincy / tenancy-in-chief to widowto without to

tenancy-in- chieftaincy / chief to widowchief to with brother(s)

sisters legitimate legitimate property inherited majority of of majority

heiress brother(s)

brother(s) brother(s) substantial substantial family lands who received daughter with daughter 1189 1220 c. 1148 c. 1135 widowing * 1202 * 1191–1192 * 1138–1158 * 1184 * 1143 * 1193 * 1153 * * Alice de St. Quintin* Alice de St. Yorkshire widowYorkshire first of date de Arches*Agnes Emma de Gant*Cecily de I * Rumilly 1119–1128* Meschin Avice 1130–1135Matilda Meschin 1130–1135 de Arches Juetta d’Aumale*Agnes Alice de I * Rumilly Alice Paynel de Clare*Rohaise 1152–1154 de Warenne*Gundreda 1151 * de Percy Adeliza 1160 Cecily 1156 de II * Rumilly * deAgnes Percy 1177–1181 Percy de Matilda to 1179 of countess Hawise Aumale 1179–1180 Alice de II Rumilly Alice de Curcy de Brus*Isabel 1197–1198 Agnes deAgnes Flamville of daughter Rohaise, Robert Appendix 4 ( cont .) APPENDIX 5

INFORMATION ABOUT REMARRIED WIDOWS’ CIRCUMSTANCES BEFORE REMARRIAGE

This appendix contains information about the circumstances of those women who remarried. Thus, if a woman remarried once, details about her first marriage and her circumstances at widowing are listed. If she remarried twice, details about her first and second marriage, and the circumstances at her first and second widowing, are listed. No details of widowing following her final marriage or about liaisons will be found in this appendix. (See appendix 6 for this information.)

Icelandic widow number year of fertile at not fertile children under age / at least one child of widowing / end end of at end of unmarried at end of grown / married at marriage of relationship relationship relationship relationship end of relationship Ingibjörg Þorgeirsdóttir 1 1145–1148 Þuríðr Sturludóttir 1 1171 n/a n/a Guðrún Brandsdóttir 1 1171 n/a n/a Ragnheiðr Aronsdóttir* 1 1171–1186 ?? Arnþrúðr Fornadóttir* 1 by 1177 Þuríðr Gizurardóttir* 1 1184 Guðný Þorvarðsdóttir 1 1186 ?? Guðrún Bjarnadóttir* 1 1186 ? ? Kolfinna Gizurardóttir 1 1188 ! Guðrún Þórðardóttir* 1 1189 n/a n/a Guðrún Þórðardóttir* 2 1190 n/a n/a Ingibjörg Guðmundardóttir* 1 1197 n/a n/a Herdís Hrafnsdóttir* 1 1222 Ingibjörg Sturludóttir* 1 1253 n/a n/a 346 appendix 5

n/a n/a at least child one at grown / married at end of relationship relationship unmarried end of at children under age /

?? n/a ! n/a n/a n/a n/a ?? n/a at end of end of at not fertile not relationship end of end of fertile at fertile at relationship c. 1148 c. 1135 year of of relationship widowing / end 11 1130–11352 ! # 1145–1147 11 ! # 1153 2 1160 1 1171 1189 1 1111 by of marriage * 1 1138–1158 * 1 1143 * Yorkshire widowYorkshire number de Arches*Agnes de Arches*Agnes Cecily de I * Rumilly * Meschin Avice 1Matilda Meschin de Arches 2Juetta * Meschin Avice 1119–1128 d’Aumale*Agnes 1120–1130 Alice de I * Rumilly * Alice Paynel de Clare*Rohaise de Gundreda 1 1 Warenne* de 1Gundreda 1152–1154 Warenne* 1151 of countess Hawise Aumale 1156 ! Appendix 5 ( cont .) of wife Alice, de Percy Richard de Valognes*Sibyl 1 1162–1163 Alice de St. Quintin*Alice de St. 1 de Valognes*Sibyl 2 1172–1175 information about remarried widows’ circumstances 347 ?

at least child one at grown / married at end of relationship ? relationship unmarried end of at children under age /

! at end of end of at not fertile not relationship end of end of fertile at fertile at relationship year of of relationship widowing / end 1 1197–1198 2 1195 1 1202 of marriage * 1 1191–1192 ! # ! # n/a n/a * 1 1193 * Appendix 5 ( cont .) widowYorkshire number Alice de II Rumilly Alice de Curcy of countess Hawise Aumale de Brus* Isabel Agnes deAgnes Flamville* APPENDIX 6

INFORMATION ABOUT WIDOWS’ CIRCUMSTANCES AT END OF FINAL MARRIAGE AND INCLUDING SUBSEQUENT LIAISONS

This appendix contains information about the circumstances of widows at the end of their final relationship, including those who did not remarry and those who took lovers. Information about earlier marriages and widowing is in appendix 5. Brief details can be found in appendix 6a about widows who made a second or third marriage but did not outlive their final husband, or their lover if they took one in widowhood. Appendix 6a also contains details of women when it cannot be determined if she outlived her final husband or lover. Information about the first marriages of the widows in 6a can be found in appendix 5.

Icelandic widow number of year of fertile at not fertile children under age / at least one child marriage widowing / end end of at end of unmarried at end of grown / married at of relationship relationship relationship relationship end of relationship Björg 1 1117–1118 ? ? Yngvildr 1 by 1118 ? ? Þórðardóttir* Hallbera 1 1118 ? ? Snorradóttir Álof Þorgeirsdóttir 1 by 1140 ?? Kolfinna 1 1151 Hallsdóttir Yngvildr 1 1151–1152 n/a n/a Þorgilsdóttir* Yngvildr liaison 1158–1159 Þorgilsdóttir* information about widows’ circumstances 349

n/a n/a at least one child grown / married at end of relationship !

relationship unmarried at end of children under age / n/a n/a n/a n/a at end of not fertile relationship ! ! ! end of fertile at relationship 1186 1177 1198 year of of relationship widowing / end 1 by 1159 1 1 11701 118323 1182–1190 ! #1 ! ! # 1204 liaison 1166 liaison by 1182 liaison 1176 liaison 1188 ! n/a n/a marriage Úlfheiðr Gunnarsdóttir * Úlfheiðr Gunnarsdóttir * Snælaug Högnadóttir Otkatla Þórólfsdóttir* Appendix 6 ( cont .) Icelandic widow number of Hallbera Einarsdóttir Yngvildr Þorgilsdóttir* Þorlaug Pálsdóttir*Guðný 1 Böðvarsdóttir* Guðný Böðvarsdóttir* Arnþrúðr Fornadóttir* Halldóra Gizurardóttir Guðrún Þórðardóttir * 350 appendix 6

man relationship) at least one child daughter (previous grown / married at end of relationship mistress of powerful

relationship unmarried at end of children under age /

! at end of not fertile relationship

end of fertile at relationship 1220 1234 year of of relationship widowing / end 1 2 121211 ? 12211 1221 ? 1228 1 !1 1234 1235 liaison 1228–1231 liaison 1234 marriage Snælaug Högnadóttir Jóreiðr Hallsdóttir* 1 by 1225 Appendix 6 ( cont .) Icelandic widow number of Ingibjörg Guðmundardóttir * Ásdís Sigmundardóttir* Hallveig Ormsdóttir * Þórdís Snorradóttir * Þórdís Snorradóttir * Ósk Þorvarðsdóttir *Steinunn Hrafnsdóttir* 1 Þórdís Snorradóttir * Þóra Guðmundardóttir information about widows’ circumstances 351

n/a at least one child grown / married at end of relationship

n/a relationship unmarried at end of children under age / ?

at end of not fertile relationship ! ? end of fertile at relationship 1241 1244 1246 1252 1253 year of of relationship widowing / end 1 11 1238 12381 1 1245 #1 # ! 1255 n/a n/a marriage * Álfheiðr Njálsdóttir* Appendix 6 ( cont .) Icelandic widow number of Halldóra Tumadóttir* Solveig Sæmundardóttir Þuríðr Ormsdóttir *Helga Sæmundardóttir* Jórunn Kálfsdóttir * 1 Ingunn SturludóttirIngibjörg 1 Sturludóttir * 1 Randalín Filippussdóttir * 352 appendix 6

daughter daughter n/a married at least child one at (previous marriage) (previous (previous marriage) (previous (previous marriage) (previous marriage) (previous grown / married at end of relationship

young n/a relationship (this marriage) (this marriage) ? (this marriage) unmarried end of at children under age /

# # ! # at end of end of at not fertile not relationship

# end of end of fertile at fertile at relationship c. 1096 / end of / end of relationship year of widowing widowing of year 1 1220 1 1179 32 1192–11933 1207–1209 1212 of marriage * 1 1184 ! # ! # n/a n/a * 2 1168–1169 * 2 1216 * * * Appendix 6 ( cont .) Emma de Port* 1 Rohaise, daughter Rohaise, Robert of Alice de Curcy Yorkshire widowYorkshire number Emma de Gant* de Arches Juetta Alice de I * Rumilly Cecily de II 1 Rumilly 2* deAgnes Percy Matilda de Percy 1130–1135 de Gundreda 1 1178 Warenne* Alice de II * Rumilly # 1179–1180 of countess Hawise Aumale ! # Sibyl de Valognes*Sibyl 3 1191–1192 APPENDIX 6 A

INFORMATION REGARDING WIDOWS WHO DO NOT SURVIVE LAST RELATIONSHIP

died before husband or widow’s date number of unknown if widowed widow’s date number of lover of death marriage of death marriage Álof Þorgeirsdóttir 1136–1148 liaison Yngvildr Þórðardóttir* 1120 or later félag Cecily de Rumilly I* 1151–1155 2 Þóra Þorgeirsdóttir 1128 or later 2 Ingibjörg Þorgeirsdóttir 1160 2 Alice de St. Quintin* 1166 or later 2 Alice Paynel* 1166–1176 2 Agnes d’Aumale* 1166 or later 2 Guðrún Bjarnadóttir* 1195–1212 2 Matilda Meschin* 1167 or later 2 Agnes de Flamville* 1214–1226 2 Rohaise de Clare* 1167–1175 2 Þuríðr Gizurardóttir* 1224 2 Guðrún Brandsdóttir 1174 or later 2 Hallveig Ormsdóttir* 1241 félag Avice Meschin* c. 1176 3 Guðný Þorvarðsdóttir 1187 or later 2 Kolfinna Gizurardóttir 1189 or later 2 Þuríðr Sturludóttir 1197 or later 2 Isabel de Brus* 1205 or later 2 Helga Böðvarsdóttir 1228 or later 2 Herdís Hrafnsdóttir* 1242 or later 2 Guðrún Þorsteinsdóttir 1252 or later 2 Ingibjörg Sturludóttir* 1259 or later 2 APPENDIX 7

REMARRIAGE, LORDSHIP, KINSHIP AND RANK

If a column is blank, there is no evidence of lordly involvement in remarriage. There is too little information to determine the chieftain of Þóra Þorgeirsdóttir (chieftain rank, remarried), Álof Þorgeirsdóttir (farmer, liaison), Úlfheiðr Gunnarsdóttir (large farmer, liaison), Guðrún Brandsdóttir (large farmer, remarried), Kolfinna Gizurardóttir (chieftain, remarried), Vilborg Gizurardóttir (chieftain), Guðrún Þórðardóttir (farmer, remarried, liaison) Þórhildr Gíslsdóttir (unknown, liaison), Helga Böðvarsdóttir (chieftain, remarried) and Guðrún Þorsteinsdóttir (chieftain, remarried).

Icelandic widow date of widow’s chieftain or lord remarried chieftain or liaison chieftain or widowing rank at widowing lord involved in lord involved remarriage in liaison Björg 1117–1118 farmer Hafliði Másson, but asked rival Þorgils Oddason for aid when husband killed Hallbera Snorradóttir 1118 farmer Þorgils Oddason, who was rival of her uncle Hafliði Másson Yngvildr Þórðardóttir* by 1118 farmer Þórðr Þorvaldsson Ingibjörg Þorgeirsdóttir 1145–1148 chieftain father Þorgeirr chieftain father Hallason remarriage, lordship, kinship and rank 355 brother chieftain chieftain in liaison lord involved lord liaisonor chieftain remarriage chieftain father chieftain lord involved in lord

remarriedor chieftain dýri lover Sölvason Bárðarson Þórðarson Þorgilsson Þorgilsson son Einarr Einarr son Guðmundr Guðmundr Þorgeirsson chieftain Ari chieftain at widowing at Þorgilsson as Þorgilsson father-in-law father-in-law Hvamm-Sturla Hvamm-Sturla Þorvaldsson inn Sveinbjarnarson Sturla Þórðarson Sturla chieftain or lord or chieftainlord rank farmer farmer widow’s widow’s 1171 chieftain Hvamm- father widowing * 1180 large Kolfinna Hallsdóttir Kolfinna 1151 large Appendix 7 ( cont .) widowIcelandic of date Þorgilsdóttir*Yngvildr 1151–1152 EinarsdóttirHallbera chieftain Sturludóttir Þuríðr Einarr brother 1170 chieftainArnþrúðr Fornadóttir* Þorvarðr son 1177 by chieftain Pálsdóttir*Þorlaug uncle maternal 1177 chieftain Böðvarsdóttir*Guðný Páll father 1183 chieftainchose but none Ragnheiðr Aronsdóttir* 1171–1186 chieftain Sveinbjörn uncle Ragnheiðr Aronsdóttir* 1179–1203 Brandsdóttir Guðný chieftainHrafn cousin first 356 appendix 7 in liaison lord involved lord liaisonor chieftain remarriage chieftain father chieftain father chieftain lord involved in lord remarriedor chieftain dýri dýri dýri Hallsson maternal uncle Óláfr uncle Guðmundr Guðmundr Guðmundr teenage son teenage Þorgeirsson Þorsteinsson at widowing at until remarrieduntil Þorvaldsson inn Þorvaldsson inn Þorvaldsson inn chieftain or lord or chieftainlord Sigurðr Ormsson Sigurðr Kolbeinn Tumason Tumason Kolbeinn rank farmer widow’s widow’s 1197 chieftain Guðmundr father 1212 chieftain had but none, 1204 chieftain Gizurrfather widowing * * Appendix 7 ( cont .) widowIcelandic Þuríðr Gizurardóttir* of date 1184 chieftain ÞorvarðsdóttirGuðný son young 1186 chieftainArnþrúðr Fornadóttir*Þorvarðrfather 1182–1190 chieftain Ingibjörg uncle maternal Guðmundardóttir Halldóra Gizurardóttir Ingibjörg Guðmundardóttir Otkatla Þórólfsdóttir*Otkatla 1186 Bjarnadóttir*Guðrún large 1186 chieftain uncle husband’s remarriage, lordship, kinship and rank 357 chieftain chieftain in liaison father-in-law lord involved lord liaisonor chieftain

chieftain remarriage aid of powerful of aid remarriage with with remarriage lord involved in lord resisted resisted

remarriedor chieftain killed natal kin natal father-in- ally Þórðr Þórðr ally Þórðarson Gizurarson teenage son teenage Sturluson to to Sturluson law Þorvaldr law at widowing at supported by by supported Jónsson, then Jónsson, brother Þórðr Þórðr brother Sturluson, but but Sturluson, when husband when husband chose brother’s brother’s chose asked Sighvatr’s Sighvatr’s asked husband’s death husband’s protect her after her after protect Sturluson for aid aid for Sturluson chieftain or lord or chieftainlord rank farmer widow’s widow’s 1216 farmer Sighvatr widowing * 1221 chieftain Sæmundr uncle Jóreiðr Hallsdóttir*Jóreiðr 1225 by large Steinunn Brandsdóttir Steinunn Appendix 7 ( cont .) widowIcelandic of date Sigmundardóttir*Ásdís Ormsdóttir Hallveig 1221 chieftain had but none, Hrafnsdóttir*Herdís 1222 chieftain but none, Snælaug HögnadóttirSnælaug 1220 unknown Þorleifr son 358 appendix 7 chieftain chieftain Sturluson in liaison father Snorri Snorri father lord involved lord liaisonor chieftain

remarriage lord involved in lord

remarriedor chieftain , ungi Iceland husband Þórðarson her district marital kin marital marital kin marital chieftain in chieftain Þorvaldsson Þorvaldsson instability in instability at widowing at supported by by supported supported by by supported second cousin second cousin due to political political to due Arnórsson of her daughter’s her daughter’s of chieftain or lord or chieftainlord rank widow’s widow’s 1238 chieftain but none, widowing * 1234 chieftain Kolbeinn * * 1228 chieftain Þórðr stepson Appendix 7 ( cont .) widowIcelandic Snorradóttir Þórdís of date Þorvarðsdóttir Ósk Hrafnsdóttir*Steinunn 1234 chieftain GuðmundardóttirÞóra no but none, 1235 Tumadóttir*Halldóra chieftain 1238 Solveig Gizurr son Sæmundardóttir chieftain but none, Valgerðr Árnadóttir*Valgerðr 1237 farmer Böðvarr stepson remarriage, lordship, kinship and rank 359 in liaison lord involved lord liaisonor chieftain marriage) (from first first (from remarriage Þorvaldsson in-law Gizurr Gizurr in-law chieftain father- chieftain lord involved in lord remarriedor chieftain kakali kakali Ormsson Þórðarson Böðvarsson Þórarinsson Þorvaldsson Kolbeinsson at widowing at law Þorvarðr Þorvarðr law son Sæmundr Sæmundr son cousin Brandr Brandr cousin chieftain Þorgils Þorgils chieftain chieftain or lord or chieftainlord Þórðr Sighvatsson Sighvatsson Þórðr Sighvatsson Þórðr rank farmer widow’s widow’s 1255 chieftain brother-in- widowing * 1253 chieftainSturla father * 1245 chieftain second husband’s * * 1244 chieftain brother-in-law Eirný HalldórsdóttirEirný 1258 farmer husband’s Appendix 7 ( cont .) widowIcelandic of date Ormsdóttir Þuríðr Sæmundardóttir Helga * Kálfsdóttir Jórunn SturludóttirIngunn 1246 Sturludóttir Ingibjörg 1252 chieftain chieftain Gizurr uncle paternal Randalín Filippussdóttir Álfheiðr Njálsdóttir*Álfheiðr 1241 large 360 appendix 7 liaison lord involved in lord liaisonor chieftain

lord lord king 1st husband’s 1st husband’s 1st husband’s 1st husband’s lord involved lord in remarriage

remarriedor chieftain kingking king king Aumale Aumale remarriage 1st and 2nd 1st and at widowing at husband’s lord lord husband’s Alan de Percy I de Percy Alan Alan de Percy I, de Percy Alan who became her Stephen count of of count Stephen of count Stephen chieftain or lord or chieftainlord brother-in-law at at brother-in-law 1st husband’s lord lord 1st husband’s chief chief chief rank comital widow’s widow’s in-chief, in-chief, baronage baronage c. 1135 tenant- c. 1096 tenant-in- by 1111by unknown lord 1st husband’s widowing 1120–1133 unknown brother-in-law Yorkshire widowYorkshire of date de Arches*Agnes 1119–1128 de Arches*Agnes honorial 1120–1130 honorial Emma de Gant*Cecily de I * Rumilly 1130–1135 1130–1135* Meschin Avice tenant-in- tenant-in- Appendix 7 ( cont .) Richard of wife Alice, Percy de Emma de Port* Richard of wife Alice, Percy de remarriage, lordship, kinship and rank 361 liaison lord involved in lord liaisonor chieftain

king king brother widow’s lord widow’s lord involved lord from husband from in remarriage king—payment king—payment remarriedor chieftain II king king king king king king Mowbray widow’s own own widow’s at widowing at lord Roger de Roger lord chieftain or lord or chieftainlord William de Percy de Percy William 1st husband’s lord lord 1st husband’s chief rank comital comital comital comital comital widow’s widow’s in-chief, in-chief, in-chief, in-chief, in-chief, in-chief, baronage baronage c. 1148 honorial widowing * 1138–1158 tenant- * 1143 honorial * 1153 tenant-in- Appendix 7 ( cont .) widowYorkshire of date Matilda Meschin de Arches Juetta * Meschin Avice 1145–1147 tenant- d’Aumale*Agnes Alice de I * Rumilly 1151 1152–1154Alice Paynel tenant- tenant- de Clare*Rohaise 1156 tenant- Alice de St. Quintin* Alice de St. 362 appendix 7 liaison lord involved in lord liaisonor chieftain

lord involved lord from husband from husband from in remarriage king—payment king—payment king—payment

remarriedor chieftain king king king king king king Percy Mowbray widow’s own own widow’s at widowing at lord Roger de Roger lord sister Matilda de Matilda sister chieftain or lord or chieftainlord chief rank comital comital comital widow’s widow’s in-chief, in-chief, in-chief, in-chief, baronage baronage baronage chief, royal chief, 1160 tenant- 1171 tenant- widowing 1177–1181 tenant-in- * 1168–1169 honorial Appendix 7 ( cont .) widowYorkshire of date de Gundreda Warenne* de Arches Juetta de Gundreda Warenne* de Percy* Adeliza Alice de I * Rumilly Cecily 1178 de II * Rumilly 1179 tenant- tenant-in- Sibyl de Valognes*Sibyl 1162–1163 honorial de Valognes*Sibyl 1172–1175 honorial remarriage, lordship, kinship and rank 363 liaison lord involved in lord liaisonor chieftain king king king king— fined with fined with unsuccessful lord involved lord in remarriage remarriedor chieftain king kingkingking king king fined with kingking king king at widowing at chieftain or lord or chieftainlord chief chief chief chief rank comital comital comital widow’s widow’s in-chief, in-chief, in-chief, in-chief, baronage chief, royal chief, 1189 tenant- 1195 tenant- widowing 1192–1193 tenant- * 1191–1192 tenant-in- * 1184 tenant-in- * 1193 tenant-in- * * Sibyl de Valognes*Sibyl 1191–1192 honorial Appendix 7 ( cont .) widowYorkshire of date * deAgnes Percy Percy de Matilda 1179–1180 of countess Hawise tenant-in- Aumale Alice de II Rumilly de Gundreda Warenne* Alice de Curcy of countess Hawise Aumale de Brus*Isabel 1197–1198 tenant-in- 364 appendix 7 liaison lord involved in lord liaisonor chieftain

lord involved lord in remarriage

remarriedor chieftain king king fined with kingking king king fined with at widowing at Peter de Brus Peter chieftain or lord or chieftainlord 1st husband’s lord lord 1st husband’s chief rank comital widow’s widow’s in-chief, in-chief, baronage baronage chief, royal chief, 1212 tenant- 1220 honorial widowing * 1202 honorial * 1207–1209 tenant-in- * 1216 tenant-in- * * Appendix 7 ( cont .) widowYorkshire of date Alice de II Rumilly of countess Hawise Aumale Alice de Curcy Rohaise, daughter of of daughter Rohaise, Robert Agnes deAgnes Flamville APPENDIX 8

SEALS OF THE YORKSHIRE WIDOWS

widow date shape design / legend reference motif 1 Rohaise de 1147–63 oval lady, fleur-de- SIGIL . . . ROHAIS VXORIS BL, Harl. Ch. 50. F. 32; Seals BM, ii, no. Clare* lys / lily in both GILLEBER . . . E GANT 6645, p. 386; Topographer, i, 318. hands [as in Seals BM] 2 Alice de 1155–6 round geometrical SIGILLVM HAELIZ DE seal lost, as described by Dodsworth in Rumilly I* motif RVMELI MS Dodsworth viii, f. 11. [as in MS Dodsworth, viii, f. 11] 3 Rohaise de 1156–75 oval eight chevrons . . . ILLVM ROEISA. . . . BL, Harl. Ch. 55. E. 13; Topographer, i, Clare* . . . SSE LINCO . . . 319. 4 Alice de St. 1166–80 oval lady . . . ILL . . . M ALI . . . St. John’s College Library, Oxford, MS 320, Quintin* Pilkington Misc 39; charter, with photo of seal, printed in EYC, xi, no. 96, pp. 103–4. 5 Matilda de 1175–94 oval lady SIGILLVM MATILDIS seal lost, as described by Dodsworth in Percy* COMITISE WARWIC MS Dodsworth viii, f. 17. [as in MS Dodsworth, viii, f. 17] 6 Hawise early oval lady . . . AEWIDIS BL, Add. Ch. 20,559; Seals BM, ii, no. countess of temp. COMIT . . . AMA . . . (on 6566, p. 374. Aumale* John counterseal) 366 appendix 8

urch of Bridekirk Bridekirk of urch , ii, no. no. BM , ii, Seals , vol. 2, no. 2, no. , vol. PRO Seals 396–7. 6732, p. 402. 6732, p. The Lords of Holderness, Holderness, of Lords The (Oxford, 1979), plate 8. 1979), plate (Oxford, ed. L.C. Loyd and D.M. Stenton, Stenton, D.M. and L.C. Loyd ed. English, (London, 1899), no. 1200, p. 433. 1200, p. 1899), no. (London, , ed. J.H. Round Round J.H. 918–1206 , ed. France, xv (Oxford, 1950), no. 444, p. 311. 444, p. 1950), no. xv (Oxford, Northamptonshire Record Society, Society, Record Northamptonshire Calendar of Documents Preserved in in Preserved Documents of Calendar 1086–1260: A Study in Feudal Society Feudal in 1086–1260: A Study , Seals of Book Hatton’s Christopher Sir , ii, no. 6704, pp. 6704, pp. no. BM , ii, 92; Seals P1977, p. PRO, DL, 27/132; DL, PRO, Photograph of seal reproduced in Barbara in Barbara seal reproduced of Photograph ., vi, 271. There is, however, no extant seal. no extant is, however, 271. There ., vi, Angl Mon. , plate 8] , plate Seals BM ] Seals none legend reference ESSEXE [as in SIG. . . . HAWIS DE . HAWIS SIG...... DE . . DE BL, Harl. Ch. 57. E. 24; [as in photographic [as in photographic reproduction in English, in English, reproduction ALB . ARLA C . TISSE SIGLLVM. . . . DE . DE RVMELI SIGLLVM. Lords of Holderness of Lords motif left hand on breast on tortoise her left hand in right hand, hand, in right on hip, flower flower hip, on bird of prey on large cinquefoil cinquefoil large oval bird lady, on

John early early temp. c. 1200 oval eagle standing 1200–25 oval a holding lady, 1210–15 oval left hand lady, * * de widow date shape / design Curcy Hawise Alice de Alice de Aumale Warenne* Gundreda countess of of countess Rumilly II * Rumilly 8 10 reads ‘and with my seal appended I corroborate’ (‘et sigilli mei appositione corroboravi’). corroboravi’). sigilli mei appositione (‘et I corroborate’ seal appended my with ‘and reads Appendix 8 ( cont .) the ch of the granting regarding her charter of copy had a seal. A sixteenth-century too, Meschin, Avice that suggests Evidence 7 9 APPENDIX 9

NAMING PATTERNS—SONS

widow son with same son with same son with son with same son with same name as father name as paternal same name name as mother’s name as father’s grandfather as maternal brother (or other kin (relative) grandfather maternal relative) Kolfinna Hallsdóttir eldest son Oddi second son Einarr (great-uncle) Hallbera Einarsdóttir eldest son Einarr fourth son Ingimundr; fifth son Ari (uncle and great-grandfather) Ingibjörg Þorgeirsdóttir only son Einarr Úlfheiðr Gunnarsdóttir* third son Gunnarr Guðrún Brandsdóttir only son Kolbeinn kaldaljós Guðný Böðvarsdóttir* eldest son Þórðr eldest son Þórðr third son Snorri (uncle) Arnþrúðr Fornadóttir* second son Snorri Þuríðr Gizurardóttir* eldest son second son Arnórr Kolbeinn (uncle and great- grandfather) 368 appendix 9

(uncle and and (uncle grandfather) grandfather) kin (relative) son withson same ungi and Þórðr krókr Þórðr and fourth and sixth and fourth name as father’s name as father’s (uncle and great- and (uncle (uncle and great- and (uncle sons Þórðr kakali Þórðr sons eldest son Klængr eldest son great-grandfather) eldest son Böðvarreldest son (great-grandfather)

Kolbeinn eldest son grandfather) son withson same (uncle and great- and (uncle brother (or other other (or brother name as mother’s name as mother’s maternal relative) maternal third son Kolbeinn Kolbeinn son third son son

born) Ormr son withson same name as maternal as maternal grandfather Tumi (eldest Tumi youngest sons younger Tumi Tumi younger son dead before deadson before

Kleppjárn grandfather son withson same name as paternal name as paternal Haukr son only second Gizurr son only

Sturla second son eldest and son withson same name as father * second son son * second * * Guttormr son only Guðrún Bjarnadóttir* Guðrún Appendix 9 ( cont .) widow Guðmundardóttir Ingibjörg Þorvarðsdóttir Ósk Gizurardóttir Vilborg Sigmundardóttir* Ásdís Guðmundardóttir Þóra Tumadóttir* Halldóra Ormsdóttir Hallveig Snælaug HögnadóttirSnælaug Böðvarr eldest son naming patterns—sons 369 son son

(uncle) (uncle) grandfather) grandfather) grandfather) kin (relative) son withson same name as father’s name as father’s Guðlaugr (great- Guðlaugr son Oddr (great- son marriage) Eyjólfr Eyjólfr marriage) Guðmundr (great- Guðmundr eldest son (from 1st (from eldest son grandfather); fourth fourth grandfather); Sveinbjörn Sveinbjörn grandfather) grandfather) grandfather) son withson same (uncle and great- and (uncle brother (or other other (or brother name as mother’s name as mother’s maternal relative) maternal only son Jón (great- Jón son only from 2nd marriage)from son withson same name as maternal as maternal grandfather Sturla son only Hrafn eldest son Kálfr eldest son second son second (1st son second grandfather son withson same name as paternal name as paternal

Grímr son only died) Oddr Eyjólfr (from 1st (from (pregnant (pregnant marriage) marriage) when husband when husband son withson same name as father * * Sighvatr son only Appendix 9 ( cont .) widow Hrafnsdóttir*Steinunn son fourth * Kálfsdóttir Jórunn Hrafnsdóttir*Herdís eldest son Solveig Sæmundardóttir Ormsdóttir Þuríðr Sturludóttir Ingunn Steinunn Brandsdóttir Steinunn Álfheiðr Njálsdóttir*Álfheiðr Ormr son third 370 appendix 9

(uncle) (great-uncle) kin (relative) (1st from 2nd (1st from Walter (uncle) Walter eldest brother) son withson same third son Roger Roger son third name as father’s name as father’s marriage—father’s marriage—father’s second son Ranulf Ranulf second son (uncle); second son second son (uncle);

Robert second son nd son Walternd son William eldest son marriage) (1st from 3rd 3rd (1st from son withson same and great-uncle) and brother (or other other (or brother name as mother’s name as mother’s (great-grandfather (great-grandfather maternal relative) maternal Ranulf second son William son second son withson same name as maternal as maternal grandfather

grandfather son withson same name as paternal name as paternal eldest son Williameldest son eldest son William eldest son William eldest son seco Ranulf second son William William from 3rd 3rd from third son son third marriage) eldest son son eldest eldest son son eldest second son son second Philip (from (from Philip William (1st William 1st marriage) son withson same name as father * Appendix 9 ( cont .) widow Emma de Port* de Arches* Agnes Emma de Gant* Cecily de I * Rumilly * Meschin Avice Matilda Meschin Alice, wife of Richard de Richard of wife Alice, Percy naming patterns—sons 371

kin (relative) son withson same name as father’s name as father’s eldest son Henry eldest son (great-grandfather)

brother) (great-uncle) son withson same (great-uncle and and (great-uncle brother (or other other (or brother name as mother’s name as mother’s maternal relative) maternal mother’s illegitimate illegitimate mother’s William son second Henry eldest son William William William only son son only son withson same name as maternal as maternal grandfather

second son grandfather son withson same name as paternal name as paternal eldest son Williameldest son Adam Robert Joscelin William William only son son only from 3rd 3rd from third son son third from 2nd from marriage) eldest son eldest son marriage); second son William (1st William Geoffrey (1st son withson same name as father * son eldest Appendix 9 ( cont .) widow Alice de I * Rumilly d’Aumale* Agnes de Arches Juetta * deAgnes Percy de Warenne*Gundreda eldest son Alice de St. Quintin*Alice de St. eldest son 372 appendix 9 son son brother) grandfather) kin (relative) son withson same only son Philip name as father’s name as father’s (father’s younger younger (father’s marriage—great- William (from 1st (from William

son withson same brother (or other other (or brother name as mother’s name as mother’s maternal relative) maternal son withson same name as maternal as maternal grandfather

eldest (from 1st (from marriage) grandfather son withson same name as paternal name as paternal Everard son only only son Philip (second (second William William William from 1st from only son son only marriage) marriage) second son son second Henry (2nd son withson same name as father * son second * * Agnes deAgnes Flamville Sibyl de Valognes* Sibyl Appendix 9 ( cont .) widow of countess Hawise Aumale de Brus* Isabel Rohaise, daughter of of daughter Rohaise, Robert APPENDIX 9 A

NAMING PATTERNS—DAUGHTERS

widow daughter with daughter with daughter with daughter with same daughter with same name as same name same name name as mother’s same name as mother as paternal as maternal sister (or other father’s kin grandmother grandmother maternal relative) (relative) Kolfinna Hallsdóttir eldest daughter third daughter Hallbera Álof and seventh daughter Guðrún (one great- grandmother each) Hallbera Einarsdóttir third daughter Þórný (great-aunt) Ingibjörg Þorgeirsdóttir second daughter Þórdís (2 great- grandmothers and aunt) Úlfheiðr Gunnarsdóttir* only daughter Guðrún (great- aunt) Guðný Böðvarsdóttir* second daughter eldest daughter Vigdís Helga Þuríðr Gizurardóttir* second daughter eldest daughter Álfheiðr Halldóra 374 appendix 9 a

daughter daughter (relative) father’s kin father’s only daughter daughter only Herdís (great- grandmother) grandmother) same name as daughter with daughter eldest daughter eldest daughter Guðrún (great- Guðrún Kolfinna (aunt) Kolfinna Halldóra (aunt); (aunt); Halldóra second daughter second daughter

eldest (great-aunt) grandmother) grandmother) grandmother) daughter Halla Halla daughter eldest daughter eldest daughter eldest daughter eldest daughter Birna (from 1st (from Birna sister (or other other (or sister Halldóra (great- Halldóra Herdís (aunt and and (aunt Herdís marriage—great- name as mother’s name as mother’s maternal relative) maternal great-aunt); second great-aunt); daughter with same daughter

Arnbjörg same name as maternal as maternal grandmother 2nd marriage) daughter with daughter Halla (1st from (1st from Halla daughter second

as paternal as paternal same name grandmother daughter with daughter

mother same name as daughter with daughter Snælaug Högnadóttir Snælaug Guðrún Bjarnadóttir*Guðrún Ragnheiðr Aronsdóttir* second daughter daughter fourth Appendix 9 A ( cont .) widow Sigmundardóttir* Ásdís Guðmundardóttir Þóra Hrafnsdóttir* Steinunn naming patterns—daughters 375

daughter daughter (relative) great-aunt) father’s kin father’s Þuríðr (great- Guðný (great- Guðný same name as daughter with daughter grandmother); grandmother); second daughter second daughter grandmother and and grandmother (father’s half-sister) (father’s

daughter daughter Adeliza (great-aunt) only daughter daughter only sister (or other other (or sister name as mother’s name as mother’s maternal relative) maternal Steinunn (aunt and and (aunt Steinunn great-grandmother) third daughter Alice daughter third daughter with same daughter

Alice daughter only Alice daughter only Cecily same name as maternal as maternal grandmother daughter with daughter

eldest daughter daughter eldest Þóra Matilda as paternal as paternal same name grandmother daughter with daughter second daughter daughter second

daughter only only Alice mother same name as daughter with daughter *eldest * Álfheiðr Njálsdóttir* Álfheiðr Appendix 9 A ( cont .) widow Hrafnsdóttir* Herdís Sæmundardóttir Solveig Cecily de I * Rumilly * Meschin Avice Matilda Meschin Alice de I * Rumilly daughter third 376 appendix 9 a (relative) father’s kin father’s same name as daughter with daughter Alice (from 1st Alice (from eldest daughter eldest daughter marriage—aunt) 1

daughter daughter daughter daughter Hawise great-aunt) (great-aunt) (great-aunt) daughter Alice daughter third daughter daughter third Matilda; fourth fourth Matilda; sister (or other other (or sister daughter Agnes Agnes daughter 2nd marriage— Matilda; second second Matilda; (illegitimate aunt) (illegitimate name as mother’s name as mother’s maternal relative) maternal Rohaise (2nd from (2nd from Rohaise daughter with same daughter only only Avice Agnes marriage) same name as maternal as maternal grandmother daughter with daughter Alice (from 1st Alice (from eldest daughter daughter eldest Hawise as paternal as paternal same name grandmother daughter with daughter eldest daughter only mother from 2nd from marriage) Rohaise (2nd Rohaise same name as daughter with daughter * eldest daughter daughter *eldest * only daughter daughter * only The name Hawise is a variant of the Avice. 1 Appendix 9 A ( cont .) widow de Clare*Rohaise de Arches Juetta daughter third Alice Paynel * deAgnes Percy Cecily de II * Rumilly Alice de St. Quintin*Alice de St. eldest daughter naming patterns—daughters 377

from 3rd 3rd from (relative) Alice (2nd father’s kin father’s (great-aunt) grandmother) same name as daughter with daughter second daughter second daughter marriage—great- only daughter Alice daughter only sister (or other other (or sister (great-aunt and and (great-aunt name as mother’s name as mother’s maternal relative) maternal great-grandmother) daughter with same daughter

Alice same name as maternal as maternal only daughter daughter only grandmother daughter with daughter

as paternal as paternal same name grandmother daughter with daughter

Alice daughter only mother same name as daughter with daughter * Sibyl de Valognes* Sibyl Appendix 9 A ( cont .) widow de Warenne* Gundreda of countess Hawise Aumale APPENDIX 10

REFERENCES

This appendix contains references to appendices 1 to 7 and to appendix 9. (References to seals can be found in appendix 8.) Under the subheading ‘marriage, husband’, the numbers (1), (2) and (3) signify the number of marriage or husband. The subheading ‘death’ includes references to last known dates at which widows were still alive, signified by ‘(living)’.

Icelandic widows appendix references Kolfinna Hallsdóttir marriage, husband—SS, i, 13, 63, 68 (husband’s death) children—SS, i, 63, 68 property—SS, i, 68 kinship—SS, i, 13, 49 chieftain—SS, i, 68 death—SS, i, 68 (living) Björg marriage, husband—SS, i, 12, 19 (husband’s death) children—SS, i, 12, 16–17 property—SS, i, 12, 19–20 chieftain—SS, i, 12, 19–20 death—SS, i, 19–20 (living) Hallbera Snorradóttir marriage, husband—SS, i, 20 (husband’s death) children—SS, i, 20, 27–30 property—SS, i, 20, 27 kinship—SS, i, 20 chieftain—SS, i, 27 death—SS, i, 27 (living) references 379 appendix references appendix , i, 117 SS , i, , i, 66, 117 52, 66, 117, 129; (2) SS , i, SS , i, , i, 35, 116, 124 (husband’s death) 35, 116, 124 (husband’s SS , i, , i, 23 SS , i, 64 SS , i, , i, 66, 116 SS , i, 52, 66, 76, 129 SS , i, , i, 23 SS , i, 52, 64 SS , i, , i, 116–7 SS , i, 116–7 SS , i, children— 35, 66, 116 SS , i, kinship— 123–5 SS , i, chieftain— 125 SS , i, death— 2) and husband—(1 marriage, husband—(1) marriage, children— 52, 66, 117, 129 SS , i, kinship— 66 SS , i, chieftain— 76 SS , i, death— , i, 23 SS , i, liaison— children— 23 SS , i, property— 23 SS , i, chieftain— 52, 64 SS , i, liaison— children— 64 SS , i, property— 52, 66 SS , i, death— birth— birth— marriage, husband— marriage, marriage, husband— marriage, marriage, husband— marriage, Appendix 10 ( cont .) widowsIcelandic Einarsdóttir Hallbera Þorgeirsdóttir Þóra Þorgeirsdóttir Ingibjörg Yngvildr Þórðardóttir* Yngvildr Álof Þorgeirsdóttir Álof 380 appendix 10 , i, 53, 130 (husband’s 53, 130 (husband’s SS , i, appendix references appendix , i, 63, 69 (husband’s death) 63, 69 (husband’s SS , i, death) 118 (husband’s SS , i, (2) death); 55, 104–5 (husband’s SS , i, 105–6 SS , i, , i, 117, 230 SS , i, 117–8, 143 SS , i, 87 53; SS , ii, SS , i, 106 SS , i, , i, 230 72–3, 117; (2) SS , i, SS , i, liaison—(1) children— 72–3 SS , i, property— 63, 450 SS , i, kinship— 68–9 SS , i, chieftain— 230 (living) SS , i, death— husband— marriage, death) 117–8, 120, 121 (lover’s SS , i, liaison— children— 118 SS , i, property— 117–8 SS , i, kinship— 143 SS , i, death— 53, 55 birth— SS , i, husband— marriage, death) children— 53, 55 SS , i, kinship— children— 105–9 SS , i, property— 105–7 SS , i, kinship— 106–7 SS , i, chieftain— 106 SS , i, death— marriage, husband— marriage, marriage, husband— marriage, * Appendix 10 ( cont .) widowsIcelandic Þorgilsdóttir* Yngvildr Pálsdóttir* Þorlaug Úlfheiðr Gunnarsdóttir Brandsdóttir Guðrún references 381 , i, 234 SS , i, , i, 139 SS , i, , Annales Reseniani, i, 1221, p. 24; Annales regii, 24; Annales regii, 1221, p. i, , Annales Reseniani, appendix references appendix , i, 88, 94 (husband’s death); (2) death); 88, 94 (husband’s SS , i, (2) death); 139 (husband’s SS , i, 76; 114, 229 (husband’s death) 52, 76; 114, 229 (husband’s SS , i, , i, 52, 229, 236–7, 271, 303 SS , i, 139, 176, 187–8, 196–8, 272 SS , i, , i, 52, 64 SS , i, birth— husband—(1) marriage, , i, 88, 338 SS , i, property— 52, 64, 234, 338 SS , i, kinship— 94 SS , i, chieftain— 234 (living) SS , i, death— death) 229–32, 231 (lover’s SS , i, liaison— children— 114, 231–2, 236–7, 271, 303 SS , i, property— 52, 102, 229–32, 271, 303 SS , i, kinship— 229–32 SS , i, chieftain— Annaler 303; Islandske SS , i, death— 326 1221, p. viii, Annaler, 126; Gottskalks 1221, p. iv, children— 139–40, 187 SS , i, property— 139 SS , i, kinship— 187 SS , i, chieftain— 187 (living) SS , i, death— marriage, husband— marriage, marriage, husband—(1) husband—(1) marriage, Appendix 10 ( cont .) widowsIcelandic Sturludóttir Þuríðr Böðvarsdóttir* Guðný Arnþrúðr Fornadóttir* 382 keyappendix to appendices 10 382 , i, 54, SS , i, , i, 60 SS , i, , i, 52, 232 SS , i, , Henrik Høyers Annaler, iii, 1204, iii, Annaler, Høyers , Henrik appendix references appendix , Annales regii, iv, 1224, p. 127; Skálholts-Annaler, v, 1224, v, 127; Skálholts-Annaler, 1224, p. iv, , Annales regii, , Annales regii, iv, 1224, p. 127; Skálholts-Annaler, v, 1224, v, 127; Skálholts-Annaler, 1224, p. iv, , Annales regii, , i, 60, 229, 231 (husband’s death); (2) death); 60, 229, 231 (husband’s SS , i, , i, 53, 164; 133, 229 (husband’s death); (2) death); 53, 164; 133, 229 (husband’s SS , i, , i, 134 (husband’s death), 232; (2) death), 134 (husband’s SS , i, Islandske Annaler 60; Islandske SS , i, , i, 60 SS , i, 229, 231 SS , i, 52, 205 SS , i, , i, 53, 164 SS , i, , i, 60 SS , i, , i, 60 SS , i, p. 62; Annales regii, iv, 1204, p. 122 (husband’s death) 122 (husband’s 1204, p. iv, 62; Annales regii, p. 186 p. 155–7, 164, 239 186 p. birth— husband— marriage, children— 60 SS , i, kinship— 60 SS , i, chieftain— Annaler Islandske death— 60 SS , i, kinship— children— 231 (living) SS , i, death— children— 55, 208, 232 SS , i, property— 56 SS , i, kinship— 303 SS , i, death— marriage, husband—(1) husband—(1) marriage, children— 155–7, 161, 239 SS , i, property— 60, 234–5 SS , i, kinship— 161, 164 SS , i, chieftain— Annaler Islandske death— birth— marriage, husband—(1) marriage, marriage, husband—(1) husband—(1) marriage, Guðrún Bjarnadóttir* Guðrún Appendix 10 ( cont .) widowsIcelandic Halldóra Gizurardóttir Þuríðr Gizurardóttir* Gizurardóttir Kolfinna references 383 , i, 117 SS , i, , i, 257, 258 SS , i, appendix references appendix , i, 117, 125; 134, 161 (husband’s death); (2) death); 117, 125; 134, 161 (husband’s SS , i, , i, 54, 213 (husband’s death) 54, 213 (husband’s 54; (2) SS , i, SS , i, (2) death); 175–8, 190–1 (husband’s SS , i, , i, 76, 88 (husband’s death) 76, 88 (husband’s SS , i, 131 SS , i, , i, 54, 219 SS , i, , i, 257, 259, 288 SS , i, (husband’s death) (husband’s children— 213, 219 SS , i, property— 54, 213 SS , i, kinship— 213 SS , i, chieftain— 213 (living) SS , i, death— husband— marriage, 76 SS , i, property— 76, 77 SS , i, kinship— 88 SS , i, chieftain— 88 (living) SS , i, death— 117 birth— SS , i, husband—(1) marriage, 116–7 SS , i, kinship— 117 SS , i, chieftain— 131 SS , i, kinship— children— 288 SS , i, property— 175–8 SS , i, kinship— 190–1 SS , i, chieftain— 288 (living) SS , i, death— marriage, husband— marriage, marriage, husband—(1) husband—(1) marriage, * husband—(1) marriage, * Guðný Brandsdóttir Guðný Högnadóttir Snælaug Appendix 10 ( cont .) widowsIcelandic Guðmundardóttir Ingibjörg Þorvarðsdóttir Guðný Ragnheiðr Aronsdóttir* 384 appendix 10 appendix references appendix , i, 205, 257, 369–70 (husband’s death) 205, 257, 369–70 (husband’s SS , i, 160–2 SS , i, death) 60, 161 (husband’s SS , i, death) 53, 287 (husband’s SS , i, , i, 60–2, 237, 243, 250, 302, 401–2 (husband’s death) 60–2, 237, 243, 250, 302, 401–2 (husband’s SS , i, , i, 257, 369–70, 444 SS , i, 53, 243–4, 287 SS , i, 60–2, 243, 250, 299 SS , i, children— 55, 208, 257 SS , i, property— 205 SS , i, kinship— i, 444 chieftain—SS, 444 (living) SS , i, death— 162 SS , i, property— 160–2 SS , i, kinship— SS , 161–2 (living) death— husband— marriage, 60 SS , i, kinship— 161 (living) SS , i, death— children— 311 SS , i, property— 287 SS , i, chieftain— 287 (living) SS , i, death— children— 14, 29 237, 458; SS , ii, SS , i, kinship— 302–4 SS , i, chieftain— 29 (living) SS , ii, death— marriage, husband— marriage, marriage, husband— marriage, marriage, husband— marriage, * husband— marriage, Otkatla Þórólfsdóttir* Otkatla Appendix 10 ( cont .) widowsIcelandic Þorvarðsdóttir Ósk Gizurardóttir Vilborg Sigmundardóttir* Ásdís Guðmundardóttir Þóra references 385 , i, 169–70, 171 SS , i, , Annales Reseniani, i, 1241, p. 25; Henrik 25; Henrik 1241, p. i, , Annales Reseniani, appendix references appendix , i, 171, 196, 199 (husband’s death) 171, 196, 199 (husband’s SS , i, , i, 168, 169 (husband’s death); (2) death); 168, 169 (husband’s SS , i, , i, 270–1, 282 (husband’s death) 270–1, 282 (husband’s SS , i, , i, 302, 367 (husband’s death) 302, 367 (husband’s SS , i, , i, 52, 53, 234–6, 250, 258, 289, 371, 434–8 (husband’s death) 52, 53, 234–6, 250, 258, 289, 371, 434–8 (husband’s SS , i, , ii, 4–5 52, 234–6, 258, 299, 300, 434–8; SS , ii, SS , i, , i, 52, 270–1, 304, 315, 445, 453 SS , i, 9 447; SS , ii, SS , i, (husband’s death); (3) death); (husband’s Høyers Annaler, iii, 1241, p. 65 1241, p. iii, Annaler, Høyers , i, 169–71, 199 SS , i, liaison— 168 SS , i, property— 199 (living) SS , i, death— children— 440 SS , i, property— 53, 234–6, 289 SS , i, kinship— 4–5 440; SS , ii, SS , i, chieftain— 85 SS , ii, death— marriage, husband—(1) husband—(1) marriage, husband— marriage, 302–4 SS , i, liaison— children— 271, 299, 302–4 SS , i, property— 242–3, 302, 347, 447 SS , i, kinship— 282, 302 SS , i, chieftain— Annaler 452; Islandske SS , i, death— children— 447 SS , i, property— 9 54; SS , ii, SS , i, kinship— 360 SS , i, chieftain— 9 (living) SS , ii, death— marriage, husband— marriage, marriage, husband— marriage, * * Appendix 10 ( cont .) widowsIcelandic Tumadóttir* Halldóra Ormsdóttir Hallveig Hrafnsdóttir* Steinunn Guðrún Þórðardóttir 386 appendix 10 , i, 389; SS , i, , Henrik Høyers Annaler, iii, 1254, p. 66 1254, p. iii, Annaler, Høyers , Henrik appendix references appendix , i, 264, 267, 292 (husband’s death); ii, 239; (2) ii, death); 264, 267, 292 (husband’s SS , i, , ii, 79 (husband’s death), 83 death), 79 (husband’s 443; SS , ii, SS , i, 285, 299–300, 301, 326–9, 334, 357, 360, 409, 435–6 SS , i, , ii, 87–9 (husband’s death) 87–9 (husband’s SS , ii, , ii, 10 SS , ii, , ii, 81, 85 525; SS , ii, SS , i, 1 326–9, 360, 447, 472, 505; SS , ii, SS , i, 87–9 54; SS , ii, SS , i, , ii, 10 SS , ii, (husband’s death) (husband’s children— 264, 267 SS , i, property— 54, 264, 267, 239 SS , i, kinship— 10 (living) SS , ii, death— marriage, husband— marriage, children— 71, 81, 83 260, 367, 512, 525–6; SS , ii, SS , i, property— 83 257, 444, 525; SS , ii, SS , i, kinship— 81 SS , ii, chieftain— 525–6 (living) SS , i, death— husband—(1) marriage, husband— marriage, children— 446–7 SS , i, property— 51, 242, 299–300, 326–9, 409, 411 SS , i, kinship— 446–7 SS , i, chieftain— Annaler 505; Islandske SS , i, death— children— 90–1 SS , i, property— 87–9, 96 SS , ii, kinship— 89 SS , ii, chieftain— 96 (living) SS , ii, death— marriage, husband— marriage, * Appendix 10 ( cont .) widowsIcelandic * Kálfsdóttir Jórunn Hrafnsdóttir* Herdís Solveig Sæmundardóttir Álfheiðr Njálsdóttir* Álfheiðr references 387 appendix references appendix , ii, 48 (husband’s death) 48 (husband’s 447; SS , ii, SS , i, death) 69 (husband’s 345, 398; SS , ii, SS , i, death) 264, 265 (husband’s SS , i, 262 SS , i, , ii, 49 SS , ii, 262 SS , i, children— 49 – SS , ii, property 49 347, 447; SS , ii, SS , i, kinship— 49 SS , ii, chieftain— 48–9 (living) SS , ii, death— husband— marriage, 70 398; SS , ii, SS , i, property— 10, 345 SS , i, kinship— 69–70 SS , ii, chieftain— 70 (living) SS , i, death— husband— marriage, 264 SS , i, property— 264 SS , i, kinship— 265 SS , i, chieftain— 265 (living) SS , i, death— 262 SS , i, liaison— children— 262 SS , i, kinship— 262 (living) SS , i, death— marriage, husband— marriage, * * husband— marriage, Steinunn Brandsdóttir Steinunn Gísladóttir Þórhildr Appendix 10 ( cont .) widowsIcelandic Ormsdóttir Þuríðr Sæmundardóttir Helga 388 appendix 10 appendix references appendix , i, 53, 55, 302, 304, 322–3 (husband’s death) 53, 55, 302, 304, 322–3 (husband’s SS , i, death) 303, 401 (husband’s SS , i, 10, 309–11 SS , i, 104 SS , ii, 517 death); 474, 516 (husband’s SS , i, , ii, 1–2, 10, 67 55, 322–3, 360, 363, 471; SS , ii, SS , i, 288 10, 309–11, 480; SS , ii, SS , i, 253 517; SS , ii, SS , i, marriage, husband— marriage, husband— marriage, , i, (1) 360; (2) 360, 363, 365, 367 (lover’s death) (1) 360; (2) 360, 363, 365, 367 (lover’s SS , i, liaison— children— 28, 67, 160 322–3, 358, 361, 363; SS , ii, SS , i, property— 53, 242, 322–3, 365 SS , i, kinship— 1–2, 28, 67 360; ii, SS , i, chieftain— 67 (living) SS , ii, death— 401 SS , i, property— 386 SS , i, kinship— 401 (living) SS , i, death— children— 309, 321 SS , i, property— 309–11 SS , i, kinship— 310 SS , i, chieftain— 480 (living) SS , i, death— 104 SS , ii, kinship— children— 517 SS , i, property— 517 SS , i, chieftain— 517 (living) SS , i, death— marriage, husband— marriage, marriage, husband— marriage, marriage, husband— marriage, * Appendix 10 ( cont .) widowsIcelandic Snorradóttir Þórdís Böðvarsdóttir Helga * Randalín Filippussdóttir Valgerðr Árnadóttir* Valgerðr Hallsdóttir* Jóreiðr references 389 , ii, 149, SS , ii, appendix references appendix , i, 480, 482–4, 487, 490–4 (husband’s death); death); 480, 482–4, 487, 490–4 (husband’s SS , i, , ii, 86, 90, 100 (husband’s death) 86, 90, 100 (husband’s SS , ii, , i, 11 SS , i, 293 death), 215, 220 (husband’s SS , ii, , i, 326 SS , i, , i, 527 160; (2) SS , i, birth— marriage, husband— marriage, 90, 100 SS , ii, property— 90 SS , ii, kinship— 100 (living) SS , i, death— marriage, husband—(1) husband—(1) marriage, , i, 11 SS , i, kinship— 480 SS , i, property— 480, 490–4 SS , i, kinship— 494, 527 SS , i, chieftain— 527 (living) SS , i, death— 215 SS , ii, kinship— 220 ii, chieftain—SS, marriage, husband— marriage, * 149, 160 SS , ii, 490–4; birth— SS , i, Appendix 10 ( cont .) widowsIcelandic Sturludóttir Ingunn Þorsteinsdóttir Guðrún Sturludóttir Ingibjörg Eirný HalldórsdóttirEirný husband— marriage, 390 appendix 10 , xi, , xi, ., no. ., no. ., , xi, pp. 2, pp. , xi, , xi, p. 94; CP , p. , xi, EYC , xi, p. 94 p. , xi, EYC Whitby cart Whitby cart , i, , i, Red Book ii, nos. 1201, 1202, ii, EYC , i, p. 420; EYC p. , i, , iii, no. 1331, p. 53; 1331, p. no. , iii, , xi, 186; CP , xi, p. , iv, Angl. 94; Mon. p. , xi, , xi, p. 368 p. CP , xi, EYC ., no. 26, pp. 28–30; 26, pp. ., no. , ii, no. 868, p. 241 (husband’s death); EYC death); 241 (husband’s 868, p. no. , ii, , x, p. 440 CP , x, p. , xi, p. 94; (3) EYC p. , xi, , Cambridgeshire, 199b–c, Hampshire, 46b–c; 199b–c, Hampshire, , Cambridgeshire, EYC appendix references appendix , iii, nos. 1331–2, 1335, 1337, p. 53–6, 58–9 nos. 1331–2, 1335, 1337, p. , iii, , i, pp. 207–8 pp. , i, Red Book ii, p. 430, nos. 1201–3, 1207, pp. 481–5; 430, nos. 1201–3, 1207, pp. p. ii, , i, pp. 419–20; EYC pp. , i, , xi, pp. 1–3, 351–2, no. 2, p. 21 2, p. 1–3, 351–2, no. pp. , xi, EYC ., no. 26, pp. 28–30 26, pp. ., no. , x, pp. 437–8 (including husband’s death); death); husband’s 437–8 (including CP , x, pp. , x, pp. 439–40 (including husband’s death); husband’s 439–40 (including CP , x, pp. , i, p. 419–20; EYC p. , i, ., ‘Memorial’, pp. 2–3 (living) pp. ., ‘Memorial’, ., no. 26, pp. 28–30; 26, pp. ., no. , xi, p. 1 (including husband’s death), no. 1, p. 20; 1, p. no. death), husband’s 1 (including p. , xi, , iii, nos. 1331–7, pp. 53–9; nos. 1331–7, pp. , iii, , i, p. 420–1; EYC p. , i, , ‘Memorial’, p. 3; p. , ‘Memorial’, , iii, nos. 1331–2, pp. 53–4 (living) nos. 1331–2, pp. , iii, iii, nos. 1331–2, 1334, pp. 53–5; nos. 1331–2, 1334, pp. , iii, , x, p. 438; EYC CP , x, p. , x, pp. 439–40; Whitby cartCP , x, pp. EYC pp. 207–8; EYC pp. death) 2 (husband’s p. ‘Memorial’, Whitby cart. 26, pp. 28–30 (husband’s death); death); 28–30 (husband’s 26, pp. p. 2 (including husband’s death) husband’s 2 (including p. xi, p. 368; (2) EYC p. xi, p. 368 p. 481–5 1207, pp. 353–6; Whitby cart marriage, husband—(1) husband—(1) marriage, marriage, husband— marriage, children— 437–8, 444; DB CP , x, pp. property— , x, p. 438 CP , x, p. lord— Whitbydeath— cart marriage, husband— marriage, children— children— EYC property— EYC lord— 439–40; EYC CP , pp. property— 439–40 CP , x, pp. lord— Whitbydeath— cart EYC death— Yorkshire widows Yorkshire de Arches* Agnes Emma de Gant* Emma de Port* Appendix 10 ( cont .) references 391 , ii, , ii, EYC , xi, p. 8 p. , xi, , ii, no. 900, no. , ii, , vii, nos. 7, 9, , vii, EYC EYC EYC , ii, pp. 241–3 (death of of 241–3 (death pp. , ii, , ii, p. 221; (2) p. , ii, Angl. Mon. , ii, no. 900, p. 243); 900, p. no. , ii, EYC ., ‘Memorial’, p. 7 and no. 74, p. 69 (reprinted 69 (reprinted 74, p. no. 7 and p. ., ‘Memorial’, , vii, pp. 4–6 (including husband’s death), death), husband’s 4–6 (including pp. , vii, St 53–60; 1–7, 38–49, nos. 2–11, pp. pp. , vii, , iii, no. 1861–2, pp. 467–8; 1861–2, pp. no. , iii, EYC , nos. 3, 5, 6, pp. 30–5; , nos. 3, 5, 6, pp. appendix references appendix , x, p. 438; (2) EYC 8; CP , x, p. p. , xi, Whitby cart , ii, p. 221; v, p. 125 p. 221; v, p. , ii, Angl. Mon. EYC , i, p. 353; EYC p. CP , i, , xi, p. 224 p. , xi, ., p. 65, n. 2, ‘Memorial’, p. 7 and no. 74, p. 69 (reprinted 69 (reprinted 74, p. no. 7 and p. 65, n. 2, ‘Memorial’, ., p. ., ‘Memorial’, p. 7 and no. 74, p. 69 (reprinted 69 (reprinted 74, p. no. 7 and p. ., ‘Memorial’, ., no. 74, p. 69 (reprinted 69 (reprinted 74, p. ., no. EYC ., p. 65, n. 2, ‘Memorial’, p. 7 p. 65, n. 2, ‘Memorial’, ., p. iii, no. 1861, p. 467; 1861, p. no. , iii, , vii, nos. 9, 17, pp. 58–9, 64–5 nos. 9, 17, pp. , vii, , vii, pp. 4–6 pp. , vii, x, p. 319; EYC 353; x, p. p. CP , i, Whitby cart , ii, no. 900, p. 243); 900, p. no. , ii, 59–60 nos. 10–11, pp. death), husband’s 6 (including p. , vii, , nos. 3, 5, 6, pp. 30–5; , nos. 3, 5, 6, pp. EYC EYC 125 p. ., v, Angl 57–9, 61–2, 70; Mon. 13–5, 22, pp. Bees nos. 2–3, 7, pp. 53–5, 57; St Bees nos. 2–3, 7, pp. husband) 438 243); CP , x, p. p. no. 900, p. 243); 900, p. no. (living) EYC property— EYC lord— EYC death— children— marriage, husband—(1) husband—(1) marriage, children— Whitby cartproperty— Whitby cartlord— Whitbydeath— cart ) cont. Appendix 10 ( Appendix Cecily de I * Rumilly Yorkshire widows Yorkshire de Percy Richard of wife Alice, 2) and husband—(1 marriage, 392 appendix 10 , CP , x, , i, CP , i, Hen II , 27 Hen , x, p. 439 CP , x, p. , iii, no. 1864, p. 1864, p. no. , iii, , vi, p. 6, 31, no. 6, 31, no. p. , vi, , p. 203 , p. , vii, p. 7 (husband’s 7 (husband’s p. , vii, , vi, pp. 6, 31, nos. 66, pp. , vi, EYC EYC Antiquities of Shropshire Antiquities , ix, pp. 271–2; PR CP , ix, pp. , x, p. 319; EYC CP , x, p. , x, p. 439; EYC CP , x, p. , vi, nos. 33, 46–8, 66, 73, pp. 114–5, nos. 33, 46–8, 66, 73, pp. , vi, EYC Antiquities of Shropshire Antiquities , i, 225 (husband’s death); (2) death); 225 (husband’s , i, Red Book , p. 25 II , p. 23 Hen , pp. 202–3 , pp. PR appendix references appendix , vii, p. 7; p. , vii, , vii, pp. 8–9 (including husband’s death) husband’s 8–9 (including pp. , vii, , iii, nos. 1862–5, pp. 467–75; nos. 1862–5, pp. , iii, EYC , vii, p. 7; p. , vii, EYC , v, p. 491; vi, p. 878; p. 491; vi, p. , v, Angl. 7, 38–49; Mon. pp. , vii, , vi, pp. 262–3; Eyton, 262–3; Eyton, pp. , vi, Angl. Mon. , vol. 1, p. 105 for a correction; a correction; 105 for 1, p. see HKF , vol. 353, but p. CP , i, , vii, p. 7 p. , vii, , vii, pp. 8–9, 38–49 pp. , vii, , iii, nos. 1861–4, pp. 467–73; nos. 1861–4, pp. , iii, , vii, p. 8 (including husband’s death); (2) death); husband’s 8 (including p. , vii, , vi, pp. 6, 31; pp. , vi, , vi, p. 31; EYC p. , vi, vi, pp. 6, 31, nos. 33, 51, 66, pp. 114–5, 133, 155; 6, 31, nos. 33, 51, 66, pp. pp. , vi, , x, p. 319; EYC CP , x, p. , iii, pp. 468–9 pp. , iii, , vi, pp. 262–3; Eyton, 262–3; Eyton, pp. , vi, Angl. Mon. p. 203; EYC p. death); 17 (husband’s p. p. 319; EYC p. a correction; 105 for 1, p. see HKF , vol. 353 but p. 473; EYC (3) death); 105 (husband’s 1, p. HKF , vol. death); 130–1; EYC 48, pp. 878 p. , vi, Angl. 1, 105–7; Mon. 155, 162; HKF , vol. 73, pp. 129–31, 155, 162; EYC marriage, husband—(1) husband—(1) marriage, 271 (living) CP , ix, p. death— marriage, husband—(1) husband—(1) marriage, children— EYC property— of Shropshire Antiquities lord—Eyton, children— children— EYC property— EYC lord— EYC death— ) * cont. Appendix 10 ( Appendix * Meschin Avice Matilda Meschin Yorkshire widows Yorkshire references 393 Hen 2 Hen , vii, CP , vii, PR , i, pp. pp. , i, Red Book , x, nos. 67, 88, Chronica Chronica , vii, pp. 10–12 pp. , vii, EYC , no. 15, pp. 43–4 15, pp. , no. , p. 191; II , p. Hen , iii, nos. 1385–6, 1388, pp. nos. 1385–6, 1388, pp. , iii, 33 Calendar of Inquisitions Inquisitions of 493; Calendar , p. PR , vii, pp. 9–10, 38–49 , nos. 12–19, 21–30, pp. , vii, , no. 15, pp. 43–4; EYC 15, pp. , no. , vii, p. 670 p. 27; CP , vii, II , p. 2 Hen PR EYC , x, no. 88, p. 135 for a correction 135 for 88, p. , x, no. , ii, pp. 12, 35; EYC pp. , ii, , vii, pp. 12–13 pp. , vii, appendix references appendix , iii, nos. 1385–6, 1388, pp. 96–100; nos. 1385–6, 1388, pp. , iii, , vii, pp. 13–6, nos. 16–7, 28–9, 88, 112, pp. 63–6, 74–6; 13–6, nos. 16–7, 28–9, 88, 112, pp. pp. , vii, , x, no. 88, p. 135 88, p. , x, no. , nos. 12, 13, 15, pp. 40–4; , nos. 12, 13, 15, pp. , vii, p. 670 (including husband’s death); death); husband’s 670 (including p. CP , vii, , i, p. 353; St. Bees p. CP , i, , vii, pp. 12–13, nos. 24, 27–29, 44, p. 71, 73–6, 86–7; 12–13, nos. 24, 27–29, 44, p. pp. , vii, , i, p. 101; EYC p. , i, , ii, p. 35 and EYC 35 and p. , ii, EYC St. Bees , ii, no. 707 no. , ii, , x, nos. 67, 88, pp. 116–7, 135 (including husband’s death); (2) death); husband’s 116–7, 135 (including , x, nos. 67, 88, pp. , iii, no. 1475, pp. 168–70; 1475, pp. no. , iii, 12; EYC p. , ii, , ii, p. 12, no. 677, pp. 34–6; 677, pp. 12, no. p. , ii, , vol. 2, 376; HKF , vol. p. , i, Red Book p.155; , ii, Angl. 37–8; Mon. II , pp. 11 Hen , ii, p. 35 (living) p. , ii, , i, pp. 224–5, 430–2; St. Bees pp. , i, 9–10; Red Book , vii, , p. 191; EYC II , p. 33 Hen PR , i, p. 353; EYC p. CP , i, 96–100; EYC Monasterii de Melsa p. 670, but see EYC 670, but p. (including husband’s death), no. 13–15, 16 (husband’s death), 28–9, pp. 61–4, 74–6; 28–9, pp. death), 13–15, 16 (husband’s no. death), husband’s (including 353; EYC p. (2) CP , i, 430–2 pp. , i, 28; Red Book II , p. 150, 181 60–78; 32, pp. 1302–1307 Rolls, Close of 224–5, 430–2; Calendar Miscellaneous 155; EYC p. pp. 116–7, 135 pp. , i, pp. 352–3 pp. birth— CP , i, marriage, husband (1)— husband marriage, children— marriage, husband—(1) husband—(1) marriage, children— EYC property— EYC property— EYC lord— PR death— 670; p. CP , vii, lord— death— EYC death— ) cont. Appendix 10 ( Appendix Alice de I * Rumilly d’Aumale* Agnes Yorkshire widows Yorkshire 394 appendix 10 , , EYC , xi, , xi, , p. 68; II , p. 9 Hen , iii, p. 59, no. 59, no. p. , iii, Harl. Ch. Harl. EYC EYC , xi, p. 96, no. 94, pp. 94, pp. 96, no. p. , xi, , i, p. 319; PR p. , i, , xi, p. 95, no. 96, pp. 103–4; 96, pp. 95, no. p. , xi, 55.E.13, printed Ch. 55.E.13, printed 318; Harl. p. , i, , xi, p. 96 p. , xi, EYC , iii, no. 1338, p. 59; 1338, p. no. , iii, EYC , i, no. 544, p. 424; EYC 544, p. no. , i, ., v, p. 491 p. ., v, Angl Cart.); Mon. (Rufford , xi, p. 96 (including husband’s death), no. 94, pp. 94, pp. no. death), husband’s 96 (including p. , xi, , xi, pp. 96, 104 (including husband’s death); (2) death); husband’s 96, 104 (including pp. , xi, , ed. C.T. Clay, Clay, C.T. vii , ed. Deeds, ., 143b; Yorkshire Chart Rot. , i, nos. 543, 546, pp. 422–4, 426; nos. 543, 546, pp. , i, Topographer in Ch. 55.E.13, printed 318; Harl. p. , i, appendix references appendix EYC , ed. C.T. Clay, YAS, Rec. Ser., lxxxiii Rec. Ser., YAS, Clay, C.T. vii , ed. Deeds, Yorkshire , E xviii, f.180, new , E xviii, 99b (Kirkstead MS Vespasian Cotton , i, no. 541, pp. 419–21 (including husband’s death); death); husband’s 419–21 (including 541, pp. no. , i, BL Loan 41 EYC 491; p. ., v, Angl Mon. , vii, pp. 672–3 (including husband’s death); husband’s 672–3 (including pp. CP , vii, EYC , xi, p. 94 p. , xi, (Rufford Cart.); EYC (Rufford , E xviii, f.180, new , E xviii, 99b (Kirkstead Vespasian 319; MS Cotton p. , i, 55.E.13, printed in Topographer Ch. 55.E.13, printed Harl. , xi, p. 94; (2) EYC p. , xi, , i, no. 541, 543, 545–6, pp. 419–26; 541, 543, 545–6, pp. no. , i, , i, no. 541, 543–6, pp. 419–26; 541, 543–6, pp. no. , i, , xi, no. 96, pp. 103–4 (living) 96, pp. no. , xi, , vii, pp. 672–3 pp. 96; CP , vii, p. , xi, , iii, no. 1335, pp. 55–6 1335, pp. no. , iii, , p. 41 (living) II , p. 13 Hen , vii, p. 673; p. CP , vii, EYC 50.F.32, printed in Topographer printed Ch. 50.F.32, Harl. , iii, pp. 242–3 pp. CP , iii, , i, p. 423, no. 544, p. 424; EYC 544, p. 423, no. p. , i, , iii, nos. 1335–8, pp. 55–9; nos. 1335–8, pp. , iii, , vii, p. 673 p. 101–2; CP , vii, EYC 491 p. ., v, Angl 101–2; Mon. in Topographer Cart.); BL Loan 41 (including husband’s death); death); husband’s (including 673; p. CP , vii, 50.F.32, printed in Topographer printed 50.F.32, death); 319 (husband’s p. i, death); Cart.) (husband’s iii, p. 59; EYC p. iii, 55–6; EYC 1335, pp. pp. 94–5, no. 96, pp. 103–4; 96, pp. 94–5, no. pp. 127–8 pp. 1932), nos. 372–3, (Wakefield, EYC 127–8, 203 pp. 3, appendix and 1932), nos. 372–3 lxxxiii (Wakefield, Rec. Ser., YAS, EYC lord— PR death— children— property – property marriage, husband (1)— husband marriage, children— EYC property— EYC lord— EYC death— birth— marriage, husband—(1) husband—(1) marriage, ) cont. Appendix 10 ( Appendix de Clare* Rohaise Yorkshire widows Yorkshire Quintin* Alice de St. references 395 , ii, no. 1214, no. , ii, , no. 183, , no. , i, p. 415 p. , i, , vol. 3, p. 76; 3, p. , vol. Durham 12, 90–1; Durham , ii, EYC nos. 45, 51, 61, pp. 128–9, nos. 45, 51, 61, pp. , ii, p. 12 (including husband’s husband’s 12 (including p. , ii, , iii, nos. 1768, 1864, pp. 391, nos. 1768, 1864, pp. , iii, , i, p. 415, no. 555, pp. 433–4 555, pp. 415, no. p. , i, , vol. 3, p. 76; EYC 3, p. , vol. , x, p. 319; EYC (2) CP , x, p. EYC , i, pp. 418–21 pp. , i, Red Book EYC EYC , ii, pp. 12, 90–1 pp. , ii, EYC , i, p. 433 p. , i, Red Book , vi, pp. 31–3, pp. , vi, , vi, pp. 31–4, nos. 72, 75, 77, 80, pp. 160–1, 31–4, nos. 72, 75, 77, 80, pp. pp. , vi, Historians of Church of York , i, p. 419 p. , i, 12; Red Book p. , ii, , ii, p. 12 p. , ii, appendix references appendix , no. 183, p. 131; 183, p. , no. EYC , ii, no. 1214, p. 488; 1214, p. no. , ii, , vi, p. 34 p. , vi, , x, p. 319; EYC CP , x, p. Historians of Church of York EYC , nos. 183, 389, pp. 131, 249; , nos. 183, 389, pp. , i, nos. 535–8, 548–55, pp. 413–7, 428–34; nos. 535–8, 548–55, pp. , i, , iii, no. 1768, p. 391 1768, p. no. , iii, , i, pp. 415–6; EYC pp. , i, , iii, no. 1768, p. 391; EYC 1768, p. no. , iii, , i, pp. 415, no. 555, pp. 433–4; 555, pp. 415, no. pp. , i, , vi, pp. 31–4, nos. 45–7, 49–52, 61, 72, 75, 77, 80, pp. 128–34, 151–2, 31–4, nos. 45–7, 49–52, 61, 72, 75, 77, 80, pp. pp. , vi, , vi, pp. 31–4, no. 52, pp. 133–4; 52, pp. 31–4, no. pp. , vi, Mowbray Charters 418–21; Mowbray pp. , i, 432; Red Book 553, p. no. , i, EYC EYC p. 488; EYC p. 490 p. v, Angl. 105; Mon. 1, p. 163–7, 170–1; HKF , vol. (including husband’s death), no. 555, pp. 433–4; 555, pp. no. death), husband’s (including 131 p. death); 105 (husband’s 1, p. 133, 151–2; HKF , vol. 473; EYC 490 p. v, Angl. 160–1, 163–7, 170–1; Mon. Mowbray Charters (2) Mowbray death); Charters Mowbray (including husband’s death); death); husband’s (including 4.11.Spec.55; Muniments Cathedral children— , x, p. 319; EYC CP , x, p. property— 674; p. CP , vii, death— EYC death— EYC lord— EYC lord— children— EYC property— ) * husband—(1) marriage, cont. * husband—(1) marriage, Appendix 10 ( Appendix de Arches Juetta Alice Paynel Yorkshire widows Yorkshire 396 appendix 10

, , xi, pp. pp. , xi, 4 John EYC , xi, pp. 5–6, pp. , xi, xi, pp. 1–5, pp. , xi, , p. 33 II , p. 26 Hen PR EYC , lxii, pp. 1–2; pp. , lxii, , i, no. 231, pp. 231, pp. no. , i, , p. 98; PR I , p. 7 Ric , i, p. 14; EYC p. , i, , x, pp. 444–5 CP , x, pp. Fines, Yorkshire , nos. 900, 905, 14; cart. Percy , lxii, pp. 1–2 pp. , lxii, no. 231, pp. 189–90; 231, pp. no. , i, , p. 162; PR I , p. 6 Ric , ed. W. Stubbs, RS, li, 4 vols (London, 1868– (London, 4 vols RS, li, Stubbs, W. , ed. EYC , xi, p. 5, nos. 38, 48–9, 60, pp. 45–6, 53–4, 61; 5, nos. 38, 48–9, 60, pp. p. , xi, appendix references appendix , xi, pp. 5, 81, nos. 36, 38–67, 89, pp. 43–66, 85–9; PR 5, 81, nos. 36, 38–67, 89, pp. pp. , xi, , ed. C.T. Clay, YAS, Rec. Ser., cxxiii Rec. Ser., YAS, Clay, C.T. , ed. Fasti Minster York , p. 49 , p. , xi, no. 85, pp. 85–9; 85, pp. no. , xi, 1 Ric I, pp. 214–5; 1 Ric I, pp. , xi, no. 50, pp. 54–6 50, pp. no. , xi, 4 John Fines, Warwickshire 1–2; Fines, pp. , lxii, , p. 86; PR II , p. 34 Hen , x, p. 444; EYC CP , x, p. death); husband’s 445–7 (including CP , x, pp. II, p. 76; EYC II, p. , xi, pp. 1–7, nos. 68–89, pp. 66–89; 1–7, nos. 68–89, pp. pp. , xi, , no. 218, p. 178; 218, p. , no. , xi, nos. 88–9, pp. 85–9 nos. 88–9, pp. , xi, , x, p. 447; PR CP , x, p. 31 Hen Chronica Magistri Rogeri de Houedene Magistri Chronica death) husband’s 363 (including p. xii, CP, 289 and p. 71), ii, 76; PR II , p. 31 Hen 49; Fines,p. Yorkshire 45–66, 83–9 nos. 38–67, 88–9, pp. 66–9, 73–5; 68–70, 76–8, 89, pp. no. death) (husband’s 6–7, nos. 84–7, pp. 77–81; Fines, Yorkshire 6–7, nos. 84–7, pp. 69–70 pp. 23, i, no. 1958), (Wakefield, 189–90; EYC Whitby cart. marriage, husband— marriage, husband— marriage, , x, pp. 444–5; EYC CP , x, pp. property— PR lord— children— PR 445; CP , x, p. death— EYC lord— 448 CP , x, p. death— , nos. 14, 22, 236, 1092; EYC cart. 445–7; Percy CP , x, p. property— ) * 444; EYC birth—CP , x, p. cont. Appendix 10 ( Appendix Percy de Matilda * deAgnes Percy Yorkshire widows Yorkshire references 397

., vi, ., vi, Angl Mon. , p. 83; PR I , p. 5 Ric , i, p. 353 p. 474; CP , i, , p. , vol. 3, 124; HKF , vol. , p. ., p. 172 ., p. de Fin Rot. 4 John , no. 91; , no. , p. 161; PR II , p. 33 Hen , vii, pp. 19–20, 38–49, no. 31, p. 77; 31, p. 19–20, 38–49, no. pp. , vii, , vol. 1, p. 112 1, p. HKF , vol. EYC , p. 11; PR II , p. 6 Hen PR appendix references appendix , nos. 27–8, 225, pp. 53–7, 250, and illustrative illustrative 53–7, 250, and , nos. 27–8, 225, pp. , nos. 17, 18, 20, 27, 225, pp. 46, 48, 53–5, 250, illustrative 46, 48, 53–5, 250, illustrative , nos. 17, 18, 20, 27, 225, pp. , nos. 27–8, 225, pp. 53–7, 250, and illustrative documents documents illustrative 53–7, 250, and , nos. 27–8, 225, pp. , no. 91; , no. , p. 124; Cartae, p. Antiquae , vol. 1, p. 112; vol. 3, p. 120; (2) 3, p. 112; vol. 1, p. 360–2; HKF , vol. pp. , i, Red Book ., vi, p. 214); p. ., vi, Angl Mon. St. Bees 4 John , illustrative documents no. 6, pp. 530–3 6, pp. no. documents , illustrative , vol. 1, p. 112; 1, p. HKF , vol. 11, 37, 89b; pp. , i, Finium 471; Excerpta è Rotulis p. , iii, , vii, p. 78 p. , vii, , vii, pp. 10–11, no. 16, pp. 63–4 16, pp. 10–11, no. pp. , vii, , i, p. 123; PR p. , i, Finium Excerpta è Rotulis St. Bees , vol. 1, p. 112; vol. 3, p. 120 3, p. 112; vol. 1, p. HKF , vol. , p. 137 II , p. 28 Hen p. 214); Cartaep. Antiquae 120 p. , ed. F.W. Maitland, PRS, (London, 1891), pp. 35, 1891), pp. PRS, (London, Maitland, F.W. 1194–1195 , ed. I, A.D. Richard King of in Ch. 57.E.24 (printed 123; Harl. p. , i, Finium 38; Excerpta è Rotulis 120 3, p. vol. , p. 69; PR I , p. 10 Ric Harl. Ch. 120; (3) Harl. 3, p. 112; vol. 1, p. 123; HKF , vol. p. , i, Finium Excerpta è Rotulis in 57.E.24 (printed in St. Bees Cumbrie Chronicon 530–3, and 6, pp. no. documents death) husband’s (including 530–3, 549–50; nos. 6, 31, pp. documents PR 549–50 31, pp. no. lord—See lord—See EYC death— Three Rolls of the King’s Court in the Reign Reign the in Court King’s the of Rolls Three 252, 278, 282; pp. , i, Fees of Book property— children— birth— EYC children— 353; St. Bees p. CP , i, property— marriage, husband— marriage, EYC death— , i, p. 353; St. Bees p. CP , i, lord— marriage, husband—(1) husband—(1) marriage, ) cont. Appendix 10 ( Appendix Cecily de II * Rumilly de Warenne* Gundreda Yorkshire widows Yorkshire 398 appendix 10 St. , Feet , nos. 14, 453, , pp. 94–5 , pp. , p. 41; II , p. 12 Hen ., vi, p. 271; p. ., vi, Angl Mon. 11 John PR , no. 453, pp. 449–51, and 449–51, and 453, pp. , no. , pp. 94–5 , pp. in St. Bees Cumbrie Chronicon , lxii, pp. 1–2 pp. , lxii, , x, p. 441; PR CP , x, p. vi, vi, Angl. 41; Mon. II , p. 12 Hen , p. 94–5 (including husband’s death); death); husband’s 94–5 (including , p. , pp. 79, 352; St. Bees , pp. vi, p. 869 p. vi, Angl. 46; Mon. II , p. 28 Hen 11 John , nos. 89, 93, pp. 73, 75; , nos. 89, 93, pp. PRO Fines, PR , vii, no. 32, p. 78; 32, p. no. , vii, 11 John PR Rot. de Fin. Rot. Fines, Yorkshire vi, pp. 836, 869; pp. vi, Angl. 144; Mon. ., p. Chart Rot. , pp. 79, 352; St. Bees , pp. appendix references appendix , x, p. 443; PR CP , x, p. pp. 16–9, 38–49, nos. 32, 88, 112, pp. 78, 150, 181; 16–9, 38–49, nos. 32, 88, 112, pp. pp. , vii, , no. , no. cart. Percy 442 and 36–40; CP , x, p. nos. 25–30, pp. , xi, , x, p. 441; xi, p. 91; PR p. 441; xi, CP , x, p. , i, p. 353; EYC p. CP , i, Rot. de Fin. Rot. , illustrative documents no. 5, pp. 527–30; 5, pp. no. documents , illustrative , xi, p. 91 p. 408; CP , xi, p. , i, 46; Red Book II , p. 28 Hen 9 Hen II, p. 58 (husband’s death); (2) death); 58 (husband’s II, p. 9 Hen , vii, p. 19 p. , vii, , vii, pp. 10–1, no. 16, pp. 63–4 16, pp. 10–1, no. pp. , vii, PR usband’s death); (3) death); usband’s , xvii, no. 93; no. , xvii, , xi, nos. 79, 89, pp. 75, 85–9; nos. 79, 89, pp. , xi, , illustrative documents no. 6, pp. 530–3 and 530–3 and 6, pp. no. documents , illustrative 16 Hen II, p. 37; EYC II, p. 16 Hen p. 474 (including husband’s death); death); husband’s 474 (including p. 271; p. ., vi, Angl 353; Mon. p. (2)— CP , i, of Fines illustrative documents no. 6, pp. 530–3; 6, pp. no. documents illustrative 73, 75; , nos. 89, 93, pp. PRO Fines, PR 481, pp. 42–3, 449–51, 481–2, and illustrative documents nos. 5, 6, 15, pp. 527–32, nos. 5, 6, 15, pp. documents illustrative 42–3, 449–51, 481–2, and 481, pp. 311; p. ., v, Angl 45–6, 49, 51–2, 54, 57–60, 64, 199; Mon. , pp. cart. 537–8; Fountains 271 p. vi, 869; PR p. 1092 (h Bees EYC , i, p. 353; EYC p. CP , i, property— St. Beeslord— EYC death— marriage, husband (1)— husband marriage, children— , nos. 6, 1092; cart. Percy property— , x, pp. 441–3 CP , x, pp. lord— 91 (living) p. 443; xi, CP , x, p. death— marriage, husband—(1) husband—(1) marriage, * birth—EYC ) cont. Sibyl de Valognes* Sibyl Appendix 10 ( Appendix Alice de II Rumilly Yorkshire widows Yorkshire references 399 1 enry. nother Mowbray Red ys. , lxii, no. 326, p. 86 326, p. no. , lxii, , iii, p. 359 p. , iii, Fines, Yorkshire , lxii, no. 326, p. 86; lxvii, no. 892, p. 72; 892, p. no. 86; lxvii, 326, p. no. , lxii, , p. 42 (husband’s death) 42 (husband’s II , p. 27 Hen , ii, p. 90; (2) EYC p. , ii, , xi, nos. 253–4, 297, pp. 323–4, 364–5; nos. 253–4, 297, pp. , xi, ., 537 de Fin 503; Rot. p. , i, appendix references appendix , xi, nos. 89, 253–4, 297, pp. 85–9, 323–4, 364–5 nos. 89, 253–4, 297, pp. , xi, , i, p. 416; EYC p. , i, , xi, nos. 253–4, pp. 323–4 nos. 253–4, pp. , xi, EYC , lxii, no. 326, p. 86 326, p. no. , lxii, ., 537 de Fin 90–1; Rot. pp. , ii, , x, p. 442; EYC CP , x, p. , p. 68 and PR 68 and II , p. 24 Hen , i, pp. 416, 503; Fines, Yorkshire pp. , i, , xi, no. 254, p. 324 (living) 254, p. no. , xi, , xi, no. 89, pp. 85–9 89, pp. no. , xi, , x, p. 442; EYC CP , x, p. , i, no. 25, pp. 71–2; 25, pp. no. , i, Fasti Minster York , i, p. 419; PR p. , i, , i, p. 503; EYC p. , i, EYC Book Fines,death— Yorkshire children— 442; EYC CP , x, p. property— EYC lord— EYC death— EYC property— 418–21; EYC pp. , i, Red Book lord— marriage, husband—(1) husband—(1) marriage, husband— marriage, children— * ) cont. In an explanatory note, this source describes the William de Percy, son of Agnes, named in fine as widowed co-he ir- 1 Appendix 10 ( Appendix * de Percy Adeliza Yorkshire widows Yorkshire deAgnes Flamville prioress of Nun Monkton. Fines, Yorkshire , lxvii, no. 892, p. 72. Charters , no. 222, p. 157. It is much more likely that this William de Percy was a lineal descendant of Agnes Flamville, who had mar ried William de Percy of Kildale and who had been given Kirkhammerton by her mother Juetta Arches in 1202. EYC , i, 503. Agnes Flamville had two sons by William de Percy, Walter, her heir, and William, Walter a son heir called William. The in th is fine fine, dated probably either Agnes de Flamville’s son or grandson. Agnes’ husband William died in 1202, so he cannot be the this 1 Dec 1226. The dispute was between William and the prioress of Nun Monkton, founded by Agnes’ grandfather, de Arches, o ver land previously given to the nunnery by Agnes, further suggesting that was of Arches fee. A later fine names Agnes de Flamville as grandmother of William son Walter, her heir, this being involved in the ongoing dispute over Kirkhammerton with a Furthermore, the land in question, Kirkhammerton, was not part of Percy fee, but held by Arches family Mowbra ess Agnes de Percy and Henry Percy. However, this is not possible, since married Joscelin Louvain her son was H 400 appendix 10 , ii, , ii, , vii, , vii, , ii, no. no. , ii, Rot. Rot. , ii, p. 25 p. , ii, , ii, p. 45; p. , ii, , iii, p. 306; p. , iii, EYC EYC EYC , ii, no. 668, no. , ii, , i, no. 617, pp. 617, pp. no. , i, EYC EYC Houedene , x, p. 449; Percy (2) CP , x, p. , v, p. 334; (2) p. , v, Angl. Mon. , Angl. Ch. 20,559; Mon. Add. , iii, p. 306 (husband’s death); death); 306 (husband’s p. , iii, , iii, no. 1376, p. 88; 1376, p. no. , iii, EYC , iii, p. 306 p. , iii, , i, nos. 548–9, pp. 428–9; nos. 548–9, pp. , i, , v, p. 334 p. , v, Angl. Mon. Chronica Monasterii de Melsa Monasterii Chronica Houedene EYC , vii, nos. 34–5, 45–6, pp. 79–80, 87–8; nos. 34–5, 45–6, pp. , vii, EYC , v, p. 334 p. , v, Angl. Mon. appendix references appendix , p. 42 (husband’s death); 42 (husband’s I , p. 10 Ric , i, no. 617, pp. 486–7; 617, pp. no. , i, , iii, no. 1376, p. 88; 1376, p. no. , iii, vol. ii, pp. 3, 73 (husband’s death); death); 3, 73 (husband’s pp. ii, vol. , ii, p. 25 p. , ii, , i, p. 353 (including husband’s death); death); husband’s 353 (including p. CP , i, death); husband’s 448 (including CP , x, p. ., 189a; BL Chart 3; Rot. p. ii, vol. EYC , iii, no. 1376, p. 88; 1376, p. no. , iii, , i, p. 355; EYC p. CP , i, , vi, p. 321; p. , nos. 24, 57, 863, 864; CRR vi, cart. 449; Percy CP , x, p. , p. 42 I , p. 10 Ric , nos. 24, 57; , vii, nos. 34–5, 45–6, pp. 79–80, 87–8; nos. 34–5, 45–6, pp. , vii, , i, p. 354 (including husband’s death); death); husband’s 354 (including p. 163; (3) CP , i, I , p. 6 Ric 668, pp. 24–5 668, pp. EYC PR , i, p. 353–4 (including husband’s death); death); husband’s 353–4 (including p. CP , i, 37; EYC p. iv, 486–7; Ralph de Diceto death); ., 189a (husband’s Chart 449; PR 24–5; CP , x, p. pp. Chronica Monasterii de Melsa Monasterii 78–80, 87–8; Chronica 20–1, 38–49, nos. 33–5, 45–6, pp. pp. 45; Ralph de Dicetop. 334 p. v, cart. marriage, husband—(1) husband—(1) marriage, PR lord— 448–9 (living) CP , x, pp. death— , i, p. 353; EYC p. CP , i, property— children— , no. 435; , no. cart. 448; Percy CP , x, p. property— ., 189a; Houedene Chart 354–5; Rot. p. CP , i, lord— 355 p. CP , i, death— children— * husband—(1) marriage, ) cont. Appendix 10 ( Appendix Aumale of countess Hawise de Brus* Isabel Yorkshire widows Yorkshire 401 keyreferences to appendices 401 CRR , ix, , iii, , iii, Rotuli Rotuli EYC , iii, pp. 470–1 pp. , iii, Calendar of Documents Documents of Calendar , no. 80, pp. 55–6; 80, pp. , no. , no. 1200, p. 433 1200, p. , no. , ii, 863; , ii, cart. Fountains Abstract , 54; EYC , i, pp. 42, pp. , i, Finium Excerpta è Rotulis , iii, pp. 470–1 (including husband’s death) husband’s 470–1 (including pp. , iii, EYC , no. 80, pp. 55–6, 80, pp. , no. , xi, pp. 98, 100 pp. , xi, , xi, pp. 89–98, nos. 92, 95, pp. 100, 102–4; 89–98, nos. 92, 95, pp. pp. , xi, appendix references appendix , xi, p. 98 p. , xi, , ii, p. 222; Fines, p. , ii, Richard Rot. Chart. 380; Rot. p. , i, , iii, pp. 470–1 (including husband’s death); (2) death); husband’s 470–1 (including pp. , iii, EYC , xi, pp. 97–8, 100 (husband’s death), 104, no. 95, pp. 95, pp. 104, no. death), 97–8, 100 (husband’s pp. , xi, , i, p. 154 p. , i, Fees of 491; Book p. ., v, Angl ., 255; Mon. de Fin Rot. EYC , no. 1200, p. 433; 1200, p. , no. EYC , iii, pp. 471–2; EYC pp. , iii, , ii, p. 222; Fines, p. , ii, Richard Rot. 47; Rot. p. , i, Finium 319; Excerpta è Rotulis 21; ix, p. p. 225, CRR , iv, , p. , iii, p. 471 p. , iii, , xi, p. 100 p. , xi, , xi, p. 97, no. 95, pp. 102–3 95, pp. 97, no. p. , xi, , iii, p. 471 p. , iii, ., v, p. 491; EYC p. ., v, Angl Mon. Rotuli Curiae Regis Curiae Rotuli , transcribed and edited by J. McNulty, YAS, Rec. Ser., lxxvii, xc, 2 vols 2 vols xc, lxxvii, Rec. Ser., YAS, McNulty, J. by edited and , transcribed Rot. de Fin. Rot. ., 255 de Fin x, 242 (husband’s death); 102–3; CRR , ix, 319, x, 242 (husband’s 47; death), (husband’s in of MarySallay St. of Abbey Cistercian the of Chartulary 21; The p. 319; iv, p. Craven 79–81; pp. nos. 534, 537, 1933–4), ii, (Wakefield, Curiae Regis Preserved in France Preserved in France in Preserved Documents of 471; Calendar p. EYC lord— 1224; no. CRR , xiii, death— marriage, husband— marriage, children— EYC property— Rotuli Curiae Regis Curiae Rotuli property— EYC death— children— EYC lord— * birth— EYC ) * husband—(1) marriage, cont. Appendix 10 ( Appendix Alice de Curcy Yorkshire widows Yorkshire Robert of Rohaise daughter APPENDIX 11

AVICE MESCHIN’S MARRIAGES AND THE INHERITANCE OF HER DAUGHTER ALICE PAYNEL

The version of Alice Paynel’s genealogy accepted in this book was detailed at length by W. Farrer and C.T. Clay in Early Yorkshire Charters, and it has been the accepted version for some time.1 The question of Alice Paynel’s inheritance turns on the complex reconstructions of the Paynel, Curcy and Rumilly genealogies. The first two are especially complex given the recurrence of the forename ‘William’ in these families, often in successive generations, and the difficulty of disentangling these identifications because charters and other documents do not always make it clear which William is in question. All are bedevilled by the fact that twelfth-century charters are rarely dated, and are often difficult to assign to anything but the broadest of date ranges. Steve Flanders has recently proposed significant changes to the accepted genealogies and dating of the Curcy family, with implications for the Paynels. He has also proposed new interpretations of the evidence on the Rumilly sisters and their respective ages and marriages. While the Rumilly sisters’ ages and Alice de Rumilly’s first marriage seem less likely to need amendment (see above, pp. 108–9), Flanders’s proposals for the reconsideration of the Paynel and Curcy genealogies, and for Avice’s first two marriages, carry some conviction, but raise a number of questions which require further discussion. Flanders raises the question of whether Alice was the half-sister or the cousin of Hugh, Fulk, Thomas and John, a question that is ger- mane to arguments about her inheritance vis-à-vis her brothers. This introduces the related question of the dates and order of her mother Avice’s marriages. Flanders here argues against the long-accepted

1 EYC, iii, pp. 468–70 and vii, pp. 1–7, 31–4. See also HKF, i, pp. 104–6; I.J. Sanders, English Baronies: A Study of Their Origin and Descent, 1086–1327 (Oxford, 1960), 55, 143; Dalton, Conquest, 181, 270; idem, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography Online, eds H.C.G. Matthew and B. Harrison (Oxford, first published 2004, current edition Oct 2009), Paynel family, , accessed 21 Nov 2009; Crouch, King Stephen, 287. avice meschin’s marriages 403 view of the Paynel genealogy. He maintains that Avice first married William Paynel, who died by 1129, and had Alice Paynel. According to the evidence of the Northamptonshire Survey, Avice then married William de Curcy II by 1129. According to Flanders, this made William de Curcy II Avice’s second husband. He states that their son and heir, William de Curcy III, was in control of the Curcy barony by 1151 and was thus born no later than about 1130. Flanders also argues that there were two William Paynels. The first married Avice and founded Drax priory in Yorkshire, conventionally dated between 1130 and 1139, although Flanders argues this date must be at least a few years earlier. The second William Paynel married the daughter of William fitz Wimund and had Hugh, Fulk, Thomas, John and possibly Gertrude. It was this William, and not Alice’s father, who founded the abbey of Hambye in Normandy between 1145 and 1147 and died shortly thereafter.2 Flanders asserts that these two William Paynels were first cousins. He states that one was the son of Hugh Paynel, who inherited the Norman Paynel lands in Les Moutiers-Hubert and Hambye from his father William de Bricqueville-sur-Mer; the other was the son of Hugh’s younger brother Ralph Paynel, Domesday tenant, who inherited his father William de Bricqueville-sur-Mer’s acquired English lands in Drax and West Rasen. Flanders’s argument is based first on a reconstruction of the Curcy genealogy, exceptionally problematic given the recurrence of the name William in consecutive generations, and thus the difficulty of identification. The Red Book of 1166 shows that at that date a William de Curcy held both the Stogursey inheritance (which had passed to him via his father), and part of the Meschin inheritance (which he held on the part of his mother, whom Flanders thus—surely correctly— identifies as Avice de Rumilly).3 This William’s father had been alive in and perhaps after 1135, since he is associated with the ‘new enfeoff- ments’ in the Red Book.4 It thus seems clear that we have an earlier Curcy who was married to Avice de Rumilly. That this must have been

2 Steve Flanders, De Courcy: Anglo-Normans in Ireland, England and France in the Eleventh and Twelfth Centuries (Dublin, 2008), 55–60. 3 A grant of Avice Meschin, confirming her mother’s gift to Embsay priory of certain lands (East Keswick, Wike, Rawdon and possibly Weeton) which can be traced to the Meschin barony in the Red Book, is made ‘for the health of my soul and of the soul of William de Curcy my son’ (‘pro salute anime mee et Willelmi de Curci filii mei’). EYC, iii, no. 1862, pp. 467–8, Red Book, i, 224–5. 4 ‘de novo feffamento.’ Red Book, i, 225. 404 appendix 11

William II, son of William de Curcy I, can be seen in the descent of the lands of successive heirs in the Curcy family.5 This is in line with the Northamptonshire Survey, which makes Avice and William de Curcy II married in the mid- to late 1120s. This same Avice married a William Paynel, with whom she had a daughter, Alice.6 In Flanders’s view the traditional sequence of these two marriages— Curcy followed by Paynel—should be reversed. A major argument here is the age of Alice Paynel at marriage. Her marriage took place 1145–8.7 This means that Alice could have been born no later than c. 1135. Since her mother was married to a Curcy in 1135, and possibly in the late 1120s, Flanders suggests that the marriage to Paynel must have preceded that to Curcy. This argument has considerable strength. However, two facts give cause for caution, both concerning the dates of William Paynel. The first is the normally accepted date of William’s foundation of Drax priory, post 1130. While there is good reason to believe that the foundation charter of Drax cannot date before 1130, this date is not beyond question.8 But second, William Paynel was certainly alive at Michaelmas 1130, when he occurs in the Yorkshire Pipe Rolls render- ing account of 40 marks.9 If the marriage to Paynel preceded that to Curcy, the evidence of the Northamptonshire Survey would have to be discounted, which is possible. And the Paynel marriage would have to have ended between 1130 and 1135, which is also possible. But the traditional reconstruction remains a strong possibility— namely a marriage to Curcy before 1130, as attested by the Northamp- tonshire Survey; the death of William de Curcy c. 1135; and the remarriage of Avice and the birth of Alice very early during the disturbed

5 For an account of the descent of the de Curcy lands, see EYC, iii, pp. 468–72, and Flanders, De Courcy, 45–50. 6 A notification by Avice of her grant of the advowson of the church of Saltby to her husband’s foundation of Drax states that her gift was made ‘for the soul of William Paynel my husband . . . by the assent of the lord Robert de Gant and Alice my daughter wife of the same Robert’ (‘pro anime Willelmi Paganelli mariti mei . . . assensu domini Roberti de Gant et Adelicie filie mee uxoris ejusdem Roberti’).EYC , iii, no. 1864, p. 473. Another charter makes it clear that the daughter in question here was Alice Paynel, listed as such (‘Adeliz Paganel filia mea’) as a witness to her mother’s confirmation of the gift of land in Saltby to Drax, made earlier by William Paynel. EYC, vi, no. 66, p. 155. 7 A charter of Richard de Curcy and Alice his wife to Alexander bishop of Lincoln confirming a gift made by a Paynel tenant can be dated no later than early 1148, due to Alexander’s death in February 1148. EYC, vi, no. 51, p. 133. 8 EYC, vii, no. 13 and following note, pp. 86–8, at 88. 9 PR 31 Henry I, p. 29. avice meschin’s marriages 405 period following the death of Henry I in 1135. The evidence for the latest definitive date at which William de Curcy II is known to have been alive is 1135, as stated above, and therefore Alice’s mother cannot have married William Paynel and given birth to Alice before 1136. This reconstruction would see Alice Paynel no more than twelve, and possibly younger, when she married Richard de Curcy as her first husband between 1145 and 1148. Although such a young age at first marriage was not impossible in the twelfth century, especially if the king wished it, it was uncommon. Yet there is reason to believe that Alice’s marriage could have occurred when she was very young. Here the evidence, and lack thereof, of the Paynel lands, and for the number of William Paynels, is important. Flanders asserts that Avice could not have married Curcy first and then Paynel because Curcy was alive throughout the 1140s.10 But

10 Flanders makes this assertion based on evidence from the Red Book (i, 224–5), which lists the Meschin barony as a sub-entry of the barony of William de Curcy III. He maintains that this sub-entry demonstrates that the Meschin lands of William de Curcy II’s wife Avice were administered separately to the Curcy lands prior to 1166, an administration he dates to the period of the civil war during the reign of King Stephen. This administration he assigns to Richard de Curcy, a loyal supporter of Stephen, a kinsman of William de Curcy II and later the first husband of Alice Paynel. Through the intervention of another Curcy, Robert III of Normandy, Flanders argues that Richard was placed as steward, with effective control, over these lands by Stephen, forcing his kinsman William II to retreat to his inherited Curcy lands in Oxfordshire and to keep a low profile during the civil war. Flanders provides as evidence for Richard’s control over the lands of William II’s wife Avice and his stepdaughter’s Paynel inheritance the description in the chronicles of the period of Richard ‘as one of the “powerful and prudent men” who assembled at York’ (De Courcy, 106). He contin- ues that in order to be described as such, Richard needed substantial lands in northern England; since ‘he flashes briefly across the northern scene without obvious landholding antecedents’, Flanders states that the Meschin and Paynel lands must have been those which Richard controlled (De Courcy, 107). Flanders, De Courcy, 105–111. The argument for William de Curcy II being alive in the 1140s is based on the assumption that Richard had effective control over the lands given to his kinsman in right of his wife by the king, but that the king reserved this control to Richard. But an equally plausible argument for the Meschin lands being administered separately—if this did in fact occur—was that the traditional order of Avice’s marriages is correct, first Curcy and then Paynel. Thus, William de Curcy III would have been a minor when his father died and his mother remarried William Paynel. It is possible that William Paynel did not acquire the wardship of his stepson William de Curcy III, and thus it would have been William III’s guardian who administered his Curcy inheritance, while William Paynel administered his wife’s Meschin lands along with his own. The documentary evidence supports the latter alternative, because the extant sources show that only Avice had any control over the Meschin lands in this period (EYC, iii, no. 1862, pp. 467–8, and possibly no. 1863, pp. 472–3). Richard’s control was limited to that over the Paynel lands, and this only as husband of Avice’s daughter Alice Paynel after their marriage (EYC, vi, nos. 45, 51 and 61, pp. 128–9, 133, 151–2). 406 appendix 11 there is no securely dated documentary evidence for this.11 If Curcy was still alive in the mid-1140s, then the order of the marriages was reversed; it would have been extremely unlikely that Avice married William Paynel c. 1145 and their daughter Alice was born and then married within three years. If this is true, then William Paynel must have died before 1130, and therefore a second William Paynel must have founded Hambye between 1145 and 1147. Flanders thus recon- structs the Paynel genealogy and construes two Williams: one married to Avice, father of Alice, founder of Drax, and dead by 1130; the other married to William fitz Wimund’s daughter, father of Hugh, Fulk and their siblings, founder of Hambye between 1145 and 1147, and dead shortly thereafter. In this revised genealogy, Alice would have been the second cousin of Hugh and Fulk, not their half-sister. Although Flanders is right to be wary that all ‘Williams’ in this family are the same person, this reconstruction is based on suppo- sition. Flanders contends that Ralph Paynel, the Domesday tenant in England, had an older brother Hugh who inherited the Norman Paynel lands in Les Moutiers-Hubert and Hambye and passed them on to his son William, father of Hugh, Fulk, Thomas and John. Ralph did have a brother Hugh; whether he was older and whether he inherited and passed on these lands or not is another matter. There is no evidence that Ralph’s brother Hugh lived past 1091, nor that he had a son named William, or indeed any children; Ralph was certainly alive in the early 1120s and had a son called William. Furthermore, there is no evidence which places Les Moutiers-Hubert or Hambye in the possession of this Hugh or his brother Ralph. Thus, it is not possible to say which Paynel family member held these lands before the future Henry II restored (‘reddidisse’) to Hugh Paynel (brother of Fulk, Thomas and John) all of his father’s barony in both Normandy and England between 1151 and 1153, an arrangement which does not appear to have taken effect as worded in the charter.12

11 There is a charter of William de Curcy II in which he confirmed his father’s grant to the abbey of Abingdon and made a further gift of his own. This charter was confirmed by Stephen during the siege of Wallingford, in 1139, in 1146 or in 1152–53. (Keats-Rohan, COEL, entry number 1933, originally published in Regesta Regum Anglo-Normannorum, vol. i, ed. H.W.C. Davis, vol. ii, eds C. Johnson and H.A Cronne, vol. iii and iv, eds H.A. Cronne and R.H.C. Davis, 4 vols (Oxford, 1913– 1969), vol. iii, number 11.) This provides a latest date of 1153 for William II’s charter, but it could equally have been issued anytime from the mid-1120s. 12 EYC, vii, no. 19, pp. 96–8. avice meschin’s marriages 407

Of course a lack of evidence does not mean that Flanders’s view is incorrect, but the restoration also poses a difficulty. Excluding the possibility that Alice disinherited Hugh and Fulk, due to these men being second cousins rather than brothers, Flanders does not satisfac- torily explain why these lands had to be restored to Hugh. In addition, shortly after Henry II became king of England in 1154, he redistributed the English Paynel lands between Hugh, his brother Fulk and Alice. Alice Paynel and her second husband, Robert de Gant, retained about half of the Paynel lands, albeit not the main estate at Drax, while Hugh and Fulk shared the other half.13 If Hugh and Fulk were Alice’s second cousins and not her half-brothers, then Alice rightly retained Yorkshire lands that had descended to her via her paternal grandmother, a daughter of Ilbert de Lacy.14 These Lacy lands were not part of the Paynel fee before Ralph Paynel married, and thus Hugh and Fulk, via their grandfather Hugh, brother of Ralph, had no claim. Yet it seems that some Lacy lands in Lincolnshire which probably came to Alice’s grandfather through his marriage were transferred to Hugh and Fulk as part of the redistribution by Henry II. Meanwhile, Alice retained some of the Paynel lands which descended via her great-grandfather, i.e., the father of Hugh and Ralph Paynel. A division along the lines of Paynel lands to Hugh and Fulk, and Lacy lands to their second cousin Alice, would have been more in keeping with the customs governing inheritance, yet this did not occur. However, if there was only one William Paynel, son and heir of Ilbert de Lacy’s daughter, and Hugh and Fulk were Alice’s older half-brothers, Hugh and Fulk would have had a strong claim to the Lacy lands. Flanders’s revision of the Paynel genealogy seems to have been formulated to explain the descent of the Paynel lands in the reign of Henry II. But there is an equally plausible explanation of this descent. While a daughter inheriting before brothers seems to have been an unusual occurrence in the twelfth century, it was not one without precedent (see above, p. 92 and note 19). Alice’s early marriage and disinheritance of her brothers can be explained by the fact that Alice’s marriage occurred in a time of civil war. William Paynel’s sons Hugh and Fulk were supporters of the Empress Matilda, and it was certainly

13 See EYC, vi, pp. 56–65, 129–71 for a full account of the descent and redistribution of the Paynel lands. 14 EYC, vi, p. 2–4, 31–4, 59–65. 408 appendix 11 in Stephen’s interest to keep the Paynel lands out of Hugh and Fulk’s hands at their father’s death. By giving the inheritance with their half- sister to a loyal follower, Stephen was able to reward his supporter Richard de Curcy, increase Richard’s political standing and power in the contentious area of the north of England in the 1140s, and keep important lands out of the hands of his enemies. And he could do this all at little or no cost to himself. This case must be considered, especially in default of further evidence and the unproven nature of the alternative. However, whichever case is correct, the arguments put forward concerning female inheritance in chapter four remain largely unchanged. Daughters generally did not disinherit their brothers. If Alice Paynel was the exception among the Yorkshire widows, and Hugh and Fulk were her half-brothers who were disinherited by her, this was a departure from the norm. Furthermore, Alice’s inheritance at Hugh and Fulk’s expense was contingent on the combination of her particular familial situation and the political upheaval of the time (see above, pp. 97–9). Had these circumstances been different, she might never have disinherited her half-brothers, and it was largely due to these circumstances, and not to any particular inheritance custom, that enabled her to succeed to such a large portion of the Paynel family lands. If, on the other hand, Alice Paynel had no brothers and Hugh and Fulk were her cousins, then she, like the other Yorkshire widows who had no brothers, did not inherit to the disadvantage of a male sibling. This interpretation of the Paynel genealogy simply follows what we know of inheritance custom in the mid-twelfth century. GENEALOGIES

KEY TO GENEALOGIES

• Widows are in bold. • Children are not necessarily in the order of their birth. • Legitimate offspring are shown by a solid line, illegitimate offspring by a broken line. • Marriages are denoted by ‘=’, extra-marital relationships by ‘–’. • Not all marriages, liaisons or children are necessarily shown. See appendices 1 and 2 for full details. • d.s.p = died without issue • Numbers next to the symbols ‘=’ and ‘–’ denote the number of relationship. The number generally relates to the person to whom it is nearest, although in several cases it refers a spouse or lover on the far side of another person (genealogies 5, 7, 9, 10, 14, 17, 19 and 20). Thus,

Erlendr = 1 Álof 2—1 Ingibjörg Þorgeirsdóttir 2 (m. 1st Helgi Eiríksson) = 2 Hvamm-Sturla 3 = 1 Guðný 2—Ari

(from genealogy 7) should be read as follows: Álof first married Erlendr. Her second relationship was extra-marital with Hvamm-Sturla (since Álof, a woman, could not marry Ingibjörg Þorgeirsdóttir, another woman), as his first relationship. Ingibjörg Þorgeirsdóttir first married Helgi Eiríksson. She married secondly Hvamm-Sturla as his second relationship. Hvamm-Sturla then married Guðný as his third relationship, and it was her first. Guðný’s second relationship was extra-marital with Ari. • Icelanders marrying into a kin group are shown by first name and patronymic. When in the context of their birth families these people are shown without a patronymic. Thus, Halldóra Tumadóttir is shown as ‘Halldóra’ in genealogies 1 and 4, where she is listed with her siblings among the children of Tumi Kolbeinsson and Þuríðr 412 key to genealogies Gizurardóttir. But she is ‘Halldóra Tumadóttir’ in genealogies 8 and 10, when shown as the wife of Sighvatr Sturluson, who is in the context of his birth family. which they appear. Using the cross references (see genealogy X) will help place widows most fully within their natal and marital kin. • Full details of parentage, siblings, marriages, and children are not listed for each widow on every genealogy in icelandic genealogies 413 r d. 1235 d. Sigurðr Ormsson Grímsson Ingimundr 2 alive 1245 = = see genealogy 3 Þuríðr Ormsdótti 2 no issue = Álfheiðr Sighvatr Tumi d. 1244 d. d. 1224 d. 1238 d. Sighvatr see genealogies 2, 4 Sturluson Þuríðr Gizurardóttir 1 d. 1252 d. Ormsson Sæmundr d. 1265 d. = Hálfdan Sæmundarson Sturla Tumi d. 1184 d. d. 1247 Halldóra 3, 4, 8, 10 see genealogies Steinvör = Ingunn alive 1252 see genealogies 2, 3 Sigríðr Herdís Arnbjörg Ásdís d. 1256 d. alive 1221 Þórðr kakali Þórðr see genealogy 2 Sigmundardóttir Genealogy 1 d. 1166 d. Kolbeinn , == d. 1289 d. Hrafn OddssonHrafn Helga alive 1245 Markús, == Kolbeinn all d. 1238 all d. Þórðr krókr Þórðr Arnórr d. 1221 d. Sægmundardóttir see genealogies 2, 3 d. 1171 d. = Páll Þórðarson Páll no issue ungi d. 1208 d. Kolbeinn = Solveig d. 1254 1 no issue d. 1245 d. Sæmundardóttir Guðný Þuríðr Kolbeinn Kolbeinn see genealogies 3, 8 = Guðrún alive 1174 Brandsdóttir Jórunn Halldóra Sturla alive 1259 d. 1238 d. 2 Kálfsdóttir see genealogy 11 = Þorgeirr Jón d. 1254 d. = Tumi Kálfr d. 1222 d. Brandr d. 1246 d. 1246 d. Arnórr d. 1180 d. kaldaljós Kolbeinn 414 icelandic genealogies 3 a z i 1 2 6 7 k 1235 i d. Sigurðr genealogy Randalín alive 2 Filippussdóttir see = issue = 2 no óttir d d ís Arnbjörg r d rR 1, 4 dd 1255 Her O Helga d. 1 224 Guðmun Gizurardóttir Helga d. genealogies = see Þuríðr 1 Sigríðr = 1221 1239 Arnórr d. d. Þórarinn 1296 d. = Þorvarðr 1184 ungi Tumi

1 d. d r Kolbeinsson 1245 d. 1 22 Helgason Ögmun Kolbeinn Ásdís genealogy alive = see Þóra 1, 3 Genealogy 2 1 245 1191 Jónsson d. alive 1270 Sæmundardóttir genealogies Ormr Solveig Steinunn Ormr d. see Helga d r 1198 d. == d r Sigmun 1252 d. Guðmun 1262 Skeggi d. 1212 Jón d. arson d 1, 3 1236 Njáll d. Sigmun 1 25 alive 1 252 genealogies Álfheiðr alive see Sturludóttir Ingunn = = Sturla d r 1241 1252 Ormr d. d. Svínfellingr Sæmun icelandic genealogies 415 other issue other marriage. d. 1218 d. Tumi Ormr Breiðbælingr d. 1244 d. d. 1309 d. Kolbeinn Sighvatsson Auðkýlingr = = issue Sighvatr other Þorsteinn Halldórsson = Þuríðr Guðrún alive 1245 alive 1252 ungi see genealogy 1 12 inn fróði inn d. 1245 d. Ingigerðr Kolbeinn Kolbeinn = other issue Snorri d. 1241 d. Benedikt = Sturluson Oddr d. 1255 d. d. 1197 d. Þórarinsson * Jón Loftsson Jón Helga = alive 1245 4, 9 d. 1241 Hallveig Ormr d. 1250 d. see genealogies 1, 2 see genealogies d. 1240 d. gríss grandson of Sæmundr Sigfússon Sigfússon Sæmundr of grandson == Magnús prestr Magnús Randalín alive 1267 Guðmundr Rikiza = d. 1210 d. see genealogy 2 d. 1251 d. Guðmundr Filippus Genealogy 3 Ámundason Ámundason Björn d. 1241 d. d. 1221 d. Klængr Þorvaldsson d. 1235 d. Þorðr Þorvaldr d. 1264 d. d. 1268 d. Andréas Gizurarson Halldóra d. 1252 d. Brandsdóttir Ormsson Sæmundr = = 2 d. 1265 d. Hálfdan Sturla Solveig = 1, 2 Þóra Ingunn alive 1243 alive 1252 d. 1247 see genealogy 4 Steinvör see genealogies Halldóra Tumadóttir Halldóra see genealogies 1, 4, 8, 10 Þuríðr = Sturla d. 1238 d. == Guðný d. 1238 d. Sighvatr Sturluson d. 1222 d. Solveig d. 1254 Jón never have been formalized by marriage. been by formalized never have Sæmundr Snorri and Hallveig’s relationship began as a relationship Hallveig’s and Snorri d. 1254 d. formal sexual and business partnership. It might It partnership. business sexual and formal * Snorri and Hallveig’s relationship began as a formal sexual business partnership. It might never have been formalized by * see genealogies 1, 8 416 icelandic genealogies 1186 Teitr d. Álfheiðr Hauksson 1208 1235 Ormsson Haukr d. d. 1238 Sigurðr d. Sighvatr Sturluson Vilborg alive 1186 2 = = , issue 2 no órsson 1204 1 224 d Teitr 1, 2 d. d. 1 247 = Bersi Þorgerðr Halldóra biskupsefni d. Hall Halldóra genealogies 1, 3, 8, 10 see 1 224 Þuríðr d. genealogies 1221 see Arnórr d. Snorri 1 Garða- == = 1237 2 Þórðr d. Sturluson 1208 1189 = 1184 issue d. Tumi Kolbeinn d. no Kolfinna alive Kolbeinsson 1 Lawspeaker 1206 1150 = Teitsson d. d. Helga Hallr of d 1188 sterki the Gizurr Genealogy 4 d. Þorgilsson 1253 1268 inn Hallr celan = d. d. I 3 Ari earl Gizurr = óttir 1 24 3 d s d genealogy alive biskup Álfheiðr 5 , 10 Magnús see Þorval Kolfinna GuðmundardóttirÞóra 1 25 9 Sturludóttir alive Hallr genealogies óra d see Ingibjörg d r Hall 1235 d. Þorval 12 == 1221 Björn d. 1250 Ormr d. = óttir d 3, 9 1196 d. Klængs 1 24 1241 Jóra d. Hallveig d. Klængr Ormsdóttir genealogies see icelandic genealogies 417 d r 1235 d. Þorval Gizurarsson Klængr 1176 = lover d. Þorsteinsson Bishop – 1196 Jóra 3 d. 1159 d by lover e Þorvarðr d Þorgeirsson relationship en 2 Sigríðr 6 11 5 1 Kolfinna alive Hallsdóttir Yngvildr genealogy alive 118 5 see 1 = =– Páll Genealogy 5 órr d cousin) 1151 – 52 ngibjörg Hall Bergsson ason d. by dd Þórðr 1151 =I d. Þorvarðsson O Þorgils = 1228 1284 2 Hallr chieftaincy(given Þórðarson d. Hallbera d. Sturla 4 , 10 1185 = 1 25 3 Einarr d. Jóreiðr Ingibjörg alive 1 25 9 alive genealogies see i dd 1 1151 1263 = O d. = Helga issue alive no 1253 1225 Hallr 1170 1202 the d. Narfi by Þórðr Snorri d. d. Gizurarson d. Lawspeaker Húnbogason 418 icelandic genealogies d 1159 by husban d. Helgason = issue 1 no Gunnarr = 1 2 00 d. Úlfheiðr 2 – Gunnarr d in infancy d ie Rannveig Úlfheðinn 1166 Ari 1183 lover d. d. Þórðarson Hvamm-Sturla 2 issue other Guðrún 7 1160 other d. aughters genealogy Ingibjörg d see Eyjólfr d r Einarsson 1 == = 1237 d r 2 bishop d. Guðmun 1237 d. Ögmun Eiríksson Þóra 1145 – 48 1170 Genealogy 6 alive 11 2 8 d. d. Þorgeirr Hallason Helgi 1 = other Klemet aughters d in infancy d d ie Heðinn Eilífsson 11 7 9 d r d. Hallbera 1189 d. ngimun I Eiríkr cousin) Hákonarson to = = Arason 2 2 wife Einarr chieftaincy 118 7 1207 Guðný d. d rGuðrún Þorvarðr (gave alive 1 1 –= = ngimun Sigríðr I 5 11 5 9 sson d by 1186 d. Þórgeirr Yngvildr genealogy Bran Ari relationship ended see icelandic genealogies 419 d ís 1220 Þórðr d. Markús 2 = óttir d 1188 sterki Þorleifr lover Helga d. Þorgilsson Helga Vig inn Þórðar Ari 1 24 9 d. Snælaug = 2 – Högnadóttir Böðvarr – 1 1241 8, 10 Snorri d. Guðrún 1187 arson 1 22 d d. Böðvarr 1182 Guðný Þórðarson d. lover by Hreinn genealogies d. Hermun see 1238 d. = 1 Sighvatr 3 d ís Þór 1183 d. 1237 Þórðarson Þórðr d. Hvamm-Sturla = 2 2 issue other Steinunn = 6 Genealogy 7 1211 Jón Eiríksson d. 1160 Sveinn Þorgeirsdóttir 1145 – 48) d. genealogy Helgi ( d. d r see m . 1st Bran Þórhallr Ingibjörg Steinunn alive 1 2 16 d r 1197 Bran alive 1180 = Bergþórsson Þorleifr skeifa Grímr Guðný alive 2 = 8 = – 1 2 1216 119 7 d. 1180 Þórarinn Grímsson 8 Einarr Þuríðr d. genealogy alive of see = 1 1136 –4 8 genealogy Þorgeirsdóttir mistress d. d r Hvamm-Sturla see 1171 Álof 1 ngjal d. I Hallsson = Guðleif d r 1140 by Erlen d. 420 icelandic genealogies d r 1244 1179 – 1203 d. Þórarinn Þorkelsson Sigmun alive Gunnarsson = 2 = 2 1193 Aron d. alive 1 2 03 Ragnheiðr Herdís Sveinbjörn Steinunn alive 1 242 1 1 = svarti * d i Eyjólfr issue Birna issue 1171 – 1186 1222 other Úlfsson Ámun d. Atlason Eyjólfr d. Kársson Dufgusson Bárðr (above) Halla 1213 Hrafn Svarthöfði d. r Sveinbjörn = dd 1234 Sveinbjarnarson O d ís Álason d. == 7 d r 9 1171 ngjal d. I Hallsson = 1136 –4 8 genealogy Þorgeirsdóttir d. 1 Steinunn genealogy alive 1 242 see 7 Álof see r Halla Her 2 dd Genealogy 8 – Þuríðr genealogy alive 119 7 issue * other see 2 Dufgus 1183 Svarthöfði d. Þórðarson skeifa Þorleifr Hvamm-Sturla issue other 31 Guðlaugr Óláfr O sons other 1 = issue other 1256 Þórðr kakali 1289 7 , 10 d. Hrafn d. 1238 1 22 d. Sighvatr = d. Böðvarsdóttir 1, 3 == genealogies see Guðný 1 254 Þuriðr Solveig d. genealogies Sæmundardóttir 1, 3, 4 , 10 see = Tumadóttir 1 247 d. issue other genealogies 1238 Halldóra Sturla d. see icelandic genealogies 421 8 marriage. Steinunn genealogy alive 1 242 Hrafnsdóttir see = 1 Hrafn issue other of d ís 1234 r Álason Þór d. lover dd O – 2 3 aughter d 3, 4 * lover Æðeyingr d 1228 – 31 1 24 e d. d relationship Hallveig en Óláfr genealogies d in see d ie 2 aughter d = infancy d ren, 10 chil Genealogy 9 1241 Snorri Þórdís d. Sturluson alive 1 244 genealogy see Ketill Páll 1 =– 1245 d. Órækja Einarr Kolfinna 1241 I llugi d. Þuríðr 1228 d r Snorrason d. Vatnsfirðingr Þorval = 1232 Snorri aughters d. d 1224 óttir d Kolfinna before Einars d. 1232 Þórðr d. * Snorri and Hallveig’s relationship began as a formal sexual business partnership. It might never have been formalized by 422 icelandic genealogies Tumi d. 1244 d. Snorri Þórdís d. 1241 d. alive 1244 see genealogy 9 Steinvör d. 1247 1, 3, 4, 8 see genealogies d. 1256 d. Halldóra Tumadóttir Halldóra Þórðr kakali Þórðr d. 1238 d. d. 1238 d. Sighvatr Þórðr krókr Þórðr d. 1183 d. Þórðr Hvamm-Sturla Þórðarson Hvamm-Sturla Snorri d. 1238 d. Kolbeinn Valgerðr alive 1237 Árnadóttir 1 = Genealogy 10 3 = 1= no issue Guðný d. 1238 d. Markús Þórðr d. 1237 d. d. 1221 Halla = 2 kotkarl see genealogies 7, 8 Þjóðólfr Guðný BöðvarsdóttirGuðný Þórðr Guttormr Þórðr Valgerðr Guðrún = Þorvarðsson Sturla d. 1238 d. 2 = – 2 Sturla no issue d. 1284 d. d. 1195–1212 Helga Böðvarr see genealogy 11 = alive 1228 Guðrún Bjarnadóttir Tumi d. 1222 d. = 12 Ingibjörg alive 1259 Helga see genealogies 4, 5 alive 1263 alive 1 = 12 Þórðardóttir inn sterki no issue = 1 no issue lover d. 1188 d. Páll Sámsson Páll Helga Aradóttir Hallr d. 1253 d. Óláfr Gizurarson Ari Þorgilsson Ari Þorgilsson icelandic genealogies 423 alive 1198 Guðrún Þórðardóttir d. 1212 d. Kleppjárn = 3 Hallr Kleppjárnsson Hallr Hákon d. 1198 d. 2 = dýri and Þórdr Þórarinsson. * Þórðr Þórarinsson Þórðr Þuríðr Einarr Ingibjörg alive 1222 Guðmundardóttir r g n æ l d. 1212 d. = 1 Eyjólfr no issue d. 1182–90 d. Guðmundr dýriGuðmundr = Þorvaldr d. 1197 d. Þorfinnr Valla- Brandr Önundarson Forni augði Söxolfsson Arnþrúðr alive 1197 Snorri Genealogy 11 d. 1198 d. d. 1161 d. Vigdis 12 Flosi d. 1235 d. Þorvaldr Guðmundarson Þorvaldr Guðmundarson d. 1198 d. Þorsteinn Einarr Snorri children d. by 1177 by d. illegitimate Halla Þórðr d. 1237 d. Sturluson Jörundardóttir Brandr d. 1246 d. Kolbeinsson == 2 = =K d. 1234 d. Böðvarr Halla Bjarni d. 1181 d. Kálfr Guttormson Jórunn Guðrún == alive 1259 d. 1195–1212 see genealogy 1 see genealogy 10 Ósk = 1 alive 1240 augði augði d. 1234 d. d. 1178 d. d. 1186 d. Guttormr * It is not known if Þuriðr Guðmundardóttir was married to either father of her sons Guðmundr Þorvaldsson Asgrímr Þorvarðr 424 icelandic genealogies óttir d Steinunn Þorsteins d r d rÞorsteinnHafliði = Sigmun Vilmun = Þórólfr 1186 Otkatla 1130 alive aughter d. Genealogy 12 = MássonHafliði = 1186 d r Eyjólfsson Teitr d. Þuríðr Guðmun 1118 d. Mág-Snorri Þórðr =d Sturluson Grímr 11 2 0 Snorri Hallbera alive yorkshire genealogies 425 1227 e Birkin d alive John 2 = de William a Nun d 1 2 4–2 6 of Agnes Flamville Matil Monkton 1 4 = 1 Prioress 11 4 3 Agnes ale e Percy alive genealogy d e Percy d 1202 d see Kil d. of Walter William e d a d 1168 – 69 uit Roger Flamville d. d Matil e d 1219 Mau c . 1115 . Juetta alive Arches 2 = . p d. Osbern Roger d . s e Brus Hugh = d 2 = de Genealogy 13 1 7 1 2 0 2– 6 Arches Juetta d. Brus c . 1150 William de William d. = 1 alive 1 2 0 5 genealogy Isabel see I e Henry Robert d II 1197 e Brus am = 1 e Brus d d Brus d. 1142 1143 d A d. d. am III d Robert e Percy A 2 = d of 1197 – 98 e Percy aughter d. d d Henry Ralph Wigmore of 1166 Hawise, William d’Aumale Robert of 2 0 alive = e Brus Agnes count 1222 d 1179 d. d. Hawise Aumale genealogy Peter of William see = 1 1130 e III count e e d I II d d Aumale before 1151 d. c . 1161 Stephen d. William Roumare d. Roumare William William Roumare 426 yorkshire genealogies wife 1202 1175 Sibyl Hugh alive alive 1 = sons Foliot 1130 1155 Henry Denise after alive d. William 3 = 2 William Agnes e d 1120 – 30 Robert d. Fauconberg Walter e Merc 1175 1166 d 2 = Peter Henry alive alive 13 Eustace Philip Arches issue 2 = de no alive 11 4 3 genealogy 1166 Agnes see 1 5 Genealogy 14 Walter alive Quintin 1166 St. 2 = 1 de alive genealogy see Alice e e d 1166 d = 1 William alive 1119 – 28 c . 1115 d . Quintin Arches Herbert d. d. St the Osbern

d of Percys stewar . 1148 c Fulk e Percys the d. d 1 5 of stewar = 1 Robert Clare . Quintin Richar St de . . p 116 7–75 wife genealogy d. Alan d . s see Rohaise = 2 . . p d . s Walter William 1167 – 75 Robert d. yorkshire genealogies 427 Sibyl alive 1202 alive d. 1135 d. 1166–76 Alice Paynel Emma de Gant see genealogy 19 see genealogy 16 = = Alice Avice de Gant Avice Denise d. 1191 d. Robert de Gant d. 1139 d. d. 1095 d. Walter de Gant Walter Gilbert de Gant Alice Agnes 1184 d.s.p. Simon de Senlis III Simon = d. 1156 d. earl of Lincoln of earl Gilbert de Gant Henry Rohaise issue other alive 1166 alive d. 1117 d. 1 = 1185 d.s.p. Alice de Gant Gilbert and (mother sister named Rohaise) named sister d. 1173 d. Genealogy 15 d. 1136 d. Roger de Clare Roger earl of Hertford of earl Richard fitz Richard Walter alive 1166 alive Gilbert de Clare d. 1220 d. = Simon de Kyme Simon d. 1167–75 see genealogy 14 Rohaise de Clare = alive 1166 see genealogy 14 William alive 1166 alive Alice de Quintin St. c . 1152 Rohaise Adeliza d. = d. 1228–31 earl of Chester of earl earl of Hertford of earl Gilbert de Clare = 2 daughter of Ranulf Meschin, Ranulf of daughter c . 1148 d. of the Percys of Robert steward Robert Kyme William de = d. 1167–75 d. of the Percys of Robert steward Robert Margaret 1184 d.s.p. 428 yorkshire genealogies of Dunsley d. 1120– c . 1133 d. Richard de Percy Richard = of Dunsley William de Percy William Alice alive 1160 = 12 Henry Walter de Walter d. by 1111 by d. Argentom alive 1097 Emma de Port c . 1176 d. = Avice Meschin Avice Emma issue other see genealogies 18, 19, 20 = 3 c . 1096 Percy d. William de Walter William Walter Genealogy 16 alive 1182 Adeliza de Percy Adeliza see genealogy 17 d. 1130–35 d. alive 1212 Alan de Percy Alan see genealogy 17 Sibyl deSibyl Valognes = d. 1201–4 Agnes deAgnes Percy 2 = see genealogy 17 no issue d. 1135 Alice Emma de Gant see genealogy 15 d. 1172–75 d. 1202–4 = William de Percy II de Percy William d.s.p. see genealogy 17 Matilda de Percy = 1 d. 1139 d. d. 1095 d. Walter de Gant Walter Gilbert de Gant Percy Alice de lifetime d. by 1166 by d. Tonbridge William de Alan de Percy Alan died in father’s yorkshire genealogies 429 issue other Moreville Richard de Richard d. 1177–81 d. Ralph Alan de Alan Moreville d’Aubigny d. 1191–92 d. 3 = alive 1182 d. after 1209 after d. Henry de Puiset Adeliza de Percy Adeliza see genealogy 16 bishop of Durham) of bishop (lover Hugh de Puiset, (lover Hugh issue other d. 1162–63 d. Robert de Ros Louvain 1 = Joscelin de Joscelin d. 1179–80 d. Everard de Ros IIEverard Matilda Alice Gunnora Genealogy 17 alive 1212 see genealogy 16 Sibyl deSibyl Valognes Joscelin Matilda Alice d. 1201–4 Agnes de Percy 2 = see genealogy 16 no issue d. 1244 d. Richard d. 1172–75 d. Warwick William de Percy II de Percy William d.s.p. 1184 d.s.p. d. 1197–98 d. William earl of Henry de Percy = 1 == = = d. 1245 d. Percy III Percy William de 1202–4 Alice de d. by 1166 by d. Tonbridge alive 1205 d.s.p. Isabel de Brus Isabel see genealogy 16 Matilda de Percy see genealogy 13 430 yorkshire genealogies fitz d er d wife 1178 e Gerol d. d = Alexan Tracy issue Oliver 2 = no I Rumilly 118 7 19, 2 0 d. de e Tracy genealogies 1165 d see d. Alice e d Henry 1180 – 81 Hugh Mortimer d. = 1 issue 2 = Roger elicia d 2 = 21 A d eschin 116 7 M Scotlan 19, 2 0 genealogies I alive atilda d I of see M 19, 2 0 Duncan 96 eliza d Davi fitz = 1 1152 – 54 Rumilly e Rumilly 1094 – d d. de 11 5 1 –55 e King d. d alive of William genealogies Robert Cecily 1138 – 58 see Belmeis Philip d. Genealogy 18 nephew Ranulf A = 1 of the of 16, 19, 2 0 eschin aughter M c . 11 7 6 a, d Philip 1130 – 35 d. d vicomte William d Meschin Avranchin d. Avice genealogies Matil Richar see = . 1135 – 38 Ranulf . p Bessin vicomte d . s the Chester Meschin of of Ranulf earl Ranulf . before father . p Matthew d . s yorkshire genealogies 431 2 0 I Rumilly 118 7 Avice) 18, d. de genealogies e Percy d of d see e Gant Alice d 1191 d. Walter d husban (3r Robert e Percy eschin d e Gant 3 = 116 7 M d 18, 2 0 2 = genealogies Robert alive atilda Avice see M d William of e Curcy Wimun 1153 d Hugh fitz d. c . 1087 d. Fulk aughter fl . 1089 – 1091 d I Richar 18, 2 0 1 = issue 1 = no Rumilly de 11 5 1 –55 Paynel 1124 Paynel d. Hugh by 1145 – 47 genealogies e Bricqueville-sur-Mer, Cecily d. 1 5 d. see d Ralph William = Paynel 1166 –7 6 William 2 = genealogy d. Alice Genealogy 19 see 1130 – 35 William Geoffrey Meschin d. eschin – 93 M c . 11 7 6 Hose 1192 genealogies d. 16, 18, 2 0 Geoffrey d. d Avice see fitz 1216 3 = Gerol d. e Warin d III = 1 1171 2 = d. Curcy William de 1 225 e e 2 = Curcy d d d. I Alice II de c . 1135 = 1 Joan Margaret Curcy Curcy d. e William William d c . 1 224 Warenne d. = II 1193 Gundreda y d. d Cornhill Henry e = 1 d issue e Curcy e d no d Nevill e Norman I V Hugh d of . 1194 1160 . p Robert Curcy d. d . s Peter William Valognes 432 yorkshire genealogies fitz e d er d d 1178 1207 – 9 Gerol d. d. Robert Courtenay Alexan issue 2 = no issue 2 = no d I de d Davi 1 2 5 d. Duncan Alice II Rumilly King fitz 1152 – 54 Scotlan of d. of = 1 issue no d William nephew Pipar 1 = 1191 – 92 d. Gilbert 18, 19 I 18, 19 e I Rumilly d e 118 7 d. de Rumilly d win 1212 d de 11 5 1 –55 d. genealogies Béthune c . 1200 Lucy Alice d. Bal d. see genealogies Reginal Cecily see e Lucy Alice 3 = d = Richar Genealogy 20 e 18, 19

d I eschin Amabel 1195 M Forz d. William 1130 – 35 alive 116 7 William Meschin e atilda d. genealogies d M II see 2 = Forz count William 1179 Aumale d. of 13 William Aumale == 16, 18, 19 of 1 2 4 eschin d. Hawise M genealogy c . 11 7 6 d. see II countess Avice de genealogies 1188 – 90 see Cecily Rumilly d. = 1 issue no e d e eville d Essex d 1189 of d. . 1157 – 64 William Man earl . p Egremont William d . s BIBLIOGRAPHY

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Unpublished Dissertations and Theses

Abbott, M., ‘The Gant Family in England, 1066–1191’, unpublished PhD thesis, University of Cambridge, 1973. Agnes S. Arnórsdóttir, ‘Kvinner og “krigsmenn”: kjønnenes stilling i det islandske samfunnet på 1100-og 1200-tallet’, unpublished MPhil dissertation, University of Bergen, Norway, 1990. 436 bibliography

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Numbers in italics are references to appendices, tables and diagrams. Numbers in bold are references to genealogies. All medieval men and women are listed alphabetically by first name, regardless of surname. All Icelandic names are listed alphabetically under a person’s first name, even when the Icelander in question has a surname rather than a patronymic. Thus, both Agnes Arnórsdóttir and Guðrún Nordal are listed as ‘Agnes Arnórsdóttir’ and ‘Guðrún Nordal’ and not as ‘Arnórsdóttir, Agnes’ and ‘Nordal, Guðrún’.

II Cnut, 27–30, 34, 71–2, 75 n. 92, 81 power of widows and: family and, 210; See also Henry I’s coronation charter guardianship and, 195; informal, 6–7; opportunities for, 178 n. 5; Adam de Brus II, 328, 332, 425 property and, 195, 222–3; room for guardian’s interference in marriage of, manoeuvre and, 206, 217–8 n. 149 192–3, 213–4 uses sagas as source for social history, 7 husband of Agnes d’Aumale, 192–3, Agnes, daughter of Robert fitz Fulk 213, 216, 259, 328 (daughter of Alice de St. Quintin), 332, lost property to guardian, 192–3, 213, 376, 426, 427 216 Agnes, daughter of Walter, 32 shared name with father, 371 Agnes d’Aumale, 328, 331, 393, 425 as son of Juetta de Arches, 213, 332, affect of brother’s relationship to king 371 on, 193, 194 Adeliza de Belmeis, 331, 375, 430 children of, 213, 331, 346, 371; as heir Adeliza de Percy, xiii, 329, 333, 399, 428, to earldom, 233 n. 222, 235, 238, 429 269 children of, 120–1, 236, 333 comital rank and: by birth, 146–7 extra-marital relationships of, 120–1, n. 41, 192, 269, 361; through 329 marriage, 233 n. 222, 235, 238 family and, 120–1, 236, 344, 362 dower and, 338; confirmed grants illegitimacy of, 120–1, 236 made from, 234–5; granted to lordship and, 344, 362 Meaux abbey, 225, 281 and n. 138, marriage and, 120–1 and n. 119, 329, 290 362 family and, 344; comital rank and, 192; patronage of, 120–1 n. 119 granted dower to brother’s religious property and, 120–1 and n. 119, 340, foundation, 225, 281, 290; linked to 344 through toponymic, 259, 260, 269; rank and, 120–1, 362 remarried to brother’s ward, 192–3, agnatic kinship. See kinship: system: 213; siblings of, 314 patrilineally organized, patrilineal fertility of, 215 and n. 141, 346 tendencies in identity of, 259, 260, 269 Agnes Arnórsdóttir, 7 length of widowhood, 238 compares legal theory and practice, 5, lordship and, 344, 361 91, 103 marriage and, 328, 346, 353; children contextualizing widows, 5, 217–8 n. 149 from remarriage, 215 n. 141; into dowry and, 56 n. 16, 91 comital family, 233 n. 122, 235, 238; family and, 6–7, 91–2, 210 no control over remarriage, 192–5; inheritance and, 6, 91–2, 103 patronage associated with marital marriage and, 6 kin, 228; rank and, 146–7 n. 41 448 index

naming and, 371; toponymics of, 259, inheritance of, 90, 344; division of, 260–1 104, 106 as non-inheriting widow acting like and length of widowhood, 237 lord / heiress, 233–5 and n. 222, 238 lordship and, 194, 364 patronage and: to Meaux abbey, 225, marriage and, 329, 347, 353, 399 234–5, 281, 290; to St. Mary’s, York, n. 1; married when inherited, 90; no 269; to Warter priory, 228 lordly control over remarriage, 194; property and: granted to Warter priory, rank and, 146–7 n. 41 228; loss of husband’s lands to his naming and, 372, 376 guardian, 192–3, 213, 216 patronage of, 225, 237 wardship and, 213, 215 and n. 141 property of, 225, 340, 399 n. 1 witnessing and, 225, 269 rank and, 146–7 n. 41, 364 Agnes de Arches, 327, 331, 390, 425, 426 Agnes de Percy, 329, 332, 396, 428, 429 children of: age of, 211 n. 122, 331, children of: age of, 332, 352, 399 n. 1; 346; commemoration of, 228, 263–4, gifts to, 236; shared name with kin, 283–4, 292–3; identity and, 284, 371, 376 292–3; son shared name with kin, family and: illegitimate members of, 370 120, 236; and sister, 90, 104, 106, dower of 290, 338; composition of, 123, 120, 226, 236 190; extent of, 128; held of stepson, fertility of, 352 283 n. 141; identity as widow and, identity of, 259, 270 263–4; used to found nunnery, 228, inheritance and, 236, 339; division of, 264, 283–4, 292 104, 106, 120; as heiress, 104, 229, dowry of, 98 and n. 39, 123, 126, 338 270, 344; married at point of, 89, 90 family and: identity and, 247 n. 10, lordship and, 89, 270, 344, 363 292–3; marital assignments and, marriage and, 120, 329, 363, 399 123, 283 n. 141; shared name with n. 1; when inherited, 89, 90; marital granddaughter, 252 assignments, 339 fertility of, 346 naming and, 371, 376; known by identity of, 263–4, 283–4, 292–3 toponymic, 259 as non-inheriting woman, 98–9, 286, patronage of: as heiress, 229; to family 293, 344 foundations, 226; to nephew, 236 lordship and, 99, 344; tenant of honour as tenant-in-chief, 344, 363 of Holderness, 190, 194, 344, 360 Alan de Moulton, 115 n. 95 marriage and, 98–9, 190, 327, 346; Alan de Percy I, 189, 293–4, 327, 331, commemorated husband, 228, 360, 428 263–4, 283–4, 292; Alan de St. Quintin, 228, 264, 283, 331, 426 remarriage and, 146 n. 41, 327, 346; Alan, son of Waldeve, 262 lord involved in / benefited from Alan, steward of Juetta de Arches, 270 remarriage, 189–90, 194, 360 Alexander, bishop of Lincoln, 404 n. 7 naming and, 252, 370 Alexander fitz Gerold, 192,327 , 430, 432 Nunkeeling nunnery: foundation of, Alfred fitz Judhael, 191 n. 58 228, 230, 263–4, 283–4, 292; later Alice (granddaughter of Amabel de grants to, 284, 290, 292–3 Rumilly), 115 n. 95 rank and, 146 n. 41, 360 Alice de Béthune, 185, 333, 377, 432 Agnes de Flamville, 329, 333, 399, 425 Alice de Curcy, 330, 332, 333, 401, 431 children of, 372, 399 n. 1; age of, 333, children of: age of, 211 n. 122, 333, 347, 347 352; marriage and inheritance of, and family, 332, 344, 376; given land as 213; from more than one marriage, gift by mother, 87, 399 n.1; grant to 215 n. 141; wardship of, 213 family foundation of Nun Monkton, as daughter of Gundreda de Warenne, 225 212, 332, 377 fertility of, 347 fertility and, 151–2, 215, 347, 352 index 449

inheritance and, 90, 152, 340, 344; patronage of, 229, 238; to parents’ division of, 104 n. 53; from brother, foundations, 226, 233 212 rank of, 111, 146–7 n. 41, 151–2, 274, lordship and, 194–5, 363–4 361–2 marriage and, 330; children and, 211 remarriage, 146–7 n. 41, 151–2, 327, n. 122, 215; rank and, 146–7 n. 41; 352; royal intervention in, 190, 192, remarriage and, 151–2, 194–5, 212, 194, 195, 361 215, 363 seal of, 273 n. 111, 274 and n. 113, seal of, 366 276–7, 365 shared name with kin, 377 as witness, 226 as tenant-in-chief, 151–2, 212, 344, Alice de Rumilly II, 329, 332, 398, 432 363–4 childless, 89, 332 Alice de Gant, 214 and n. 137, 263, 276, dower of, 128, 339 332, 427 dowry of, 114, 339 Alice de Rumilly I, 327, 331, 393, 430, family of, 250; as daughter, 261–3, 431, 432 276–7, 331, 375; inheritance and, 89 acted as lord: 226, 232–3 and n. 13, 112–4, 261–2; patronage birth of, 108–9 and n. 71, 215 n. 142, of, 226 327, 402 fertility of, 151–2, 347, 352 children of: age of, 331, 346, 352; death as heiress, 90, 104, 151–2, 229, 344 of son, 108–9, 213; inheritance of, identity of, 259, 261–2, 276–7 89 n. 13, 112; marriage of, 213, 214; inheritance of, 114, 339, 344; as patronage of, 226; shared names with co-heiress, 90, 104; composition of, kin, 371, 375; wardship of, 213, 215 112–3, 113, 261–2; dispute over, 89 dower of, 338 and n. 13, 113; division of, 113, 115 dowry of, 124, 127, 338 marriage of, 90, 263, 329, 347; arranged family of: as daughter, 106, 190, 192, by king, 114, 213; political, 213 226, 233, 261; death of brother and, naming and, 250, 375; known by 108, 110; inheritance and, 89 and toponymic, 259, 261–3, 276–7 n. 13, 106–12; marriages of, 108–9, patronage of, 226, 229 110–12, 190, 193–4; naming and, rank of, 146–7 n. 41, 151–2, 363–4 371, 375 remarriage of, 146–7 n. 41, 151–2, 329, fertility of, 151–2, 215 n. 142, 346, 352 352; control over, 194, 195, 363–4 as heiress, 110, 151–2, 344; as co-heiress, as royal ward, 213 90, 104, 108, 110, 124, 151–2, 344; seal of, 276–7, 366 patronage of, 229, 238, 274 shared name with mother, 375 identity of, 259, 261 Alice de St. Quintin, 328, 331, 332, 394, inheritance of, 338; as co-heiress, 426, 427 90, 104, 108, 124; composition of, age of, 211 n. 125, 215 106–8, 107, 109–12, 124, 261; to burial at Nun Appleton, 287 descendants, 89 and n. 13, 112; children of, 314; age of, 332, 346; division of, 106–12, 115, 116; patronage and, 264; shared name marriage and, 90, 108–9, 110–2, with kin, 252, 371, 376; wardship 124, 127 and, 214 marriage of, 108–12, 127, 327, 346, dower of: acquisition of, 123, 126, 338; 402; consent and, 192; dating of, grants from, 236, 259, 264, 287, 289, 109, 110 and n. 76; influenced 290 inheritance, 109, 111–2; mother’s dowry of, 235, 287, 338 role in, 111, 214; to nephew of family and: confirmed benefactions of, Scottish king, 108–9, 111, 190; 235; identified with, 252, 259, 264, political, 110, 111–2, 190 284, 289; identity of grandmother, naming and, 250, 371, 375; known by 247 n. 10; property granted as gift toponymic, 259, 261, 276–7 to, 236 450 index

fertility of, 215 n. 142, 346 Alice, wife of Richard de Percy, 327, 331, identity of, 259, 264, 270–1, 287, 289 391, 428 length of widowhood, 238 children of: age of, 159 n. 71, 331, 346; lordship and, 361; authority, 235, shared name with kinsman, 370 270–1, 296; no lordly control over dower of, 228, 338 remarriage, 194–5 fertility of, 159 n. 71, 346 marriage and, 328; patronage and, 230, length of widowhood, 238 238, 264, 287; rank and, 146–7 n. 4; patronage of, 228, 238 remarriage and, 194–5, 230, 353, 361 rank and, 146 n. 41, 360 naming and: shared with kin, 252, 371, remarriage: lord involved in 376; toponymics, 259, 270 remarriage, 189–90, 194, 360; rank as non-inheriting woman, 211 n. 122, and, 146 n. 41 235, 270–1, 274, 296, 344 Allerdale, barony of, 109, 112–3, 113, 184 patronage of: mother’s foundation of n. 25 Nunkeeling and, 225, 235, 289; own alliances, 39, 40, 67, 118, 197 foundation of Nun Appleton and, benefit to kin through marital, 94–5, 230, 270–1, 287, 289, 290, 296; after 99–100, 154, 189, 208 remarriage, 238, 264, 287 bonds created through, 245, 258 rank and, 146–7 n. 41, 230, 274–5 and children’s marriage to create political, n. 118, 296, 361 157, 188, 189, 202 n. 93, 203, 208 seal of, 274–5 and n. 118, 296, 365 created through extra-marital witnessing and, 270 relationships, 200, 204–5, 240, 258, Alice Paynel, 328, 332, 395, 427, 431 305 child of, 332, 376 identity shaped through marital, 40, dowry of, 127, 339 245 family of, 190; as daughter, 97, 128, inheritance linked to political marital 226, 331; patronage and, 226, 291; alliance, 99–100, 110–2, 131, 298 siblings of, 97–100, 193, 214, 331, naming as means to reaffirm marital, 344, 402–8 249 family reconstruction and, 97–8 and political alliance expressed through n. 34, 402–8 benefaction, 282 fertility of, 346 political remarriage and, 174, 181, 188, as heiress, 90, 97–9, 151 n. 54, 344 200, 203 inheritance of, 339, 344; debate sagas and, 38–40, 258 concerning, 93 n. 22, 402–8; use of marital alliance by king, 98–9, 213 disinherited brothers, 97–100, 151 with chieftain, 200, 206–8 n. 54, 344; marriage and, 89, 90, Amabel de Rumilly, 104, 112–4, 113, 115 98, 192; redistribution of, 98–9, and n. 95, 331 127, 406–7; royal intervention in, Amabel (granddaughter of Amabel de 98–100, 213 Rumilly), 115 n. 95 marriage of, 89, 328, 346; age at, 90–1, Andréas Sæmundarson, 201 328 and n. 1, 404–6; benefited Alice, Anna Sigurðardóttir, 5 192–3, 214; into comital family, 192, Appleton, 98 n. 39, 123 228; political, 98, 190, 192–4, 407–8; Archbishop Wulfstan. See Wulfstan, remarriage, 146–7 n. 41, 190, 192–4, archbishop of York 328, 353, 361; royal intervention in, Archer, Rowena E., 142 92, 98, 192–5, 213, 361 Arches family, 15, 167, 247 and n. 10, 260 naming and, 250, 375–6 Arches fee and, 252, 283–4 patronage of, 98 n. 37, 226, 228, 404 heiresses and, 15, 286 notes 6–7; language of lordship and, identity as member of, 264, 283–4, 287, 232 292–3 rank of, 146–7 n. 41, 192, 228, 361 naming and, 252 wardship of, 213–4 Arches fee, 190, 236, 252, 270, 284, 293, as witness, 404 n. 6 399 n. 1 index 451

Ari Þorgeirsson, 164, 196, 198, 319, 418 as head of household, 266–8, 270, 277, Ari Þorgilsson inn froði, 24 n. 1, 42 n. 83 295 Ari Þorgilsson inn sterki, 111 n. 85, 164, lifecycle and, 11 197, 319, 355, 416, 419, 422 linked with public role, 9–10, 177 Arnarnes, 185–6 loss of, 111, 201–2, 209, 222 Arnórr Tumason, 166–7, 320, 324, 367, transference of, 167, 189, 197–203, 413, 414, 416 199, 207 Arnþrúðr Fornadóttir, 319, 324, 381, woman as representative of kinsman’s 423 authority, 267, 277–8 children of: age of, 200–1, 267, 324, of widow acting as lord, 1, 233, 266, 345, 349; inheritance of, 200–1, 218, 269–71, 287–8, 303 224; lived at Sakka with mother, 257; Avice de Gant, 332, 376, 427, 431 son shared name with father, 367 Avice de Tany, 230 n. 211 family of, 341; aid from natal kin, 199, Avice Meschin, 327, 331, 392, 428, 430, 201, 209, 218; chieftains in, 201, 431, 432 355–6 children of, 97, 128; age of, 211 fertility of, 345, 349 n. 122, 331, 346; inheritance of, 213; identity of, 255, 257 marriage of, 213; order of birth of, lordship and, 201, 355–6 97, 403–6; patronage and, 226, 253, marriage of, 319, 345 265, 403 n. 3, 404 n. 6; shared name power / room for manoeuvre and: with kin, 370, 375 authority as húsfreyja, 267; strategies descriptions of, 253–4, 264–5 to control property for sons’ benefit, dower of, 128, 338; grant from, 228, 201, 218, 224 254, 290 and n. 159 property and, 150 n. 51, 335, 341; dowry of, 110, 112, 338; peripheral transferred to sons, 199, 201; Vellir lands as, 124–5 and, 200–1, 218, 224 family of, 125 and n. 136, 344, 376; as rank and, 146 n. 40, 355–6 daughter, 104, 106, 253, 265, 331; remarriage and, 146 n. 40, 150 n. 51, death of brother, 108, 110; sisters of, 200–1, 319, 355; consent and, 169 104, 106–12, 107, 193–4; son-in-law residence and: at Sakka, 257, 267; at of, 128, 254, 265, 291, 404 n. 6 Vellir, 200–1 family reconstruction and, 97, 108–9 Arons saga Hjörleifssonar, 38 n. 68, 39 and n. 71, 402–6 Arthington nunnery, 253–4, 264–5 fertility of, 215 n. 141, 346 Auður Magnússdóttir, 7 as heiress, 97, 104, 106, 124, 344; Aumale, county of, 127, 183, 260–1 unlike other heiresses, 291, 296 Aumale family, 190, 260, 269 identity of: complex, 259, 264–5; authority, 9–10, 17–8, 35, 43, 310 marital, 253–4, 259, 265, 291, 296; the Church and, 18, 165, 235, 270–1, maternal, 253, 265, 291, 296; natal, 306 253, 265, 291, 296 continuity of, 19, 179 inheritance of, 338; division of, 104, derived from: influential kin, 10, 275, 106–12, 107, 115–6; married at point 278; king or lord, 19, 83; property in of, 89, 90, 108, 110, 124; politics Iceland, 10, 80, 218, 220–1; property influenced, 111–2 in Yorkshire, 10, 262, 265, 310; lordship and, 344, 360–1; lord of religious patronage, 235, 270–1, 306; Simon her man, 254, 259; marriage role as inciter or peacemaker, 268–9; and, 110–1, 194–5 social role or status, 10 and n. 23, 21, marriage of, 327, 346, 402–6; children 179, 301, 303 born of, 97, 211 n. 122, 291, 296 expressed through: descriptions naming and, 247 n. 11, 370, 375; own of widow, 262, 265; language of name, 250, 253–4, 259, 376 lordship, 233, 287–8; seals, 273; title patronage of: Arthington, 253–4, 265; of domina, 269–71; title of húsfreyja, Croxton, 290; Drax, 228, 253–4, 266–9 259, 265, 291, 404 n. 6; Embsay, 452 index

226, 253–4, 265, 291, 403 n. 3; Baldwin de Béthune, 113, 185, 330 identity and, 253–4, 259, 264–5, 291; Baldwin de Redvers, 191 and n. 58 Thurgarton, 290; Vaudey, 253–4, Ballará, 221–2 265, 291 Barnstaple, lord of, 191 and n. 58 politics and, 111–2, 193–5, 404–8 baronial rank. See rank: tenant-in-chief; rank of, 146–7 n. 41, 360–1 tenant-in-chiefs remarriage of, 327, 346, 353, 360–1, barony. See Allerdale, barony of; 402–6 and n. 6; children born of, Copeland, honour of; Curcy barony; 97, 211 n. 122, 215 n. 141, 291, 296; Holderness, honour of; Meschin fee; inheritance during, 89, 90, 108, Paynel fee; Percy fee; Port fee; Skipton, 111–2, 124; no lordly control of, 194; honour of political alliance of husband, 111–2, Bates, David, 119 193–4; rank and, 146–7 n. 41 battle of Clitheroe, 108 seal of, 366 n. 1 battle of Lincoln, 98 n. 36, 328 n. 1 wardship and, 213–5 and n. 141 battle of Sælingsdalsheiði, 173 as witness, 108, 226, 253, 265 battle of the Standard, 98 n. 36, 190 battle of Örlygsstaður, 173, 207 n. 112, Álfheiðr Njálsdóttir, 321, 326, 386, 414 208, 220, 222–3 chieftains and, 359 Belvoir fee, 284 n. 143 children of, 269, 359; age of, 86 n. 3, Bersi Halldórsson, 166–7, 319, 416 196, 269, 326, 351; shared name with betrothal, 32, 34, 62–3, 68, 70, 74 kin, 251, 369, 375; property of, 218 Be Wifmannes Beweddung, 32, 63, 70–1 n. 153; residence of, 196 Biancalana, Joseph, 7, 76 family of, 343, 369, 375 bilateral kinship. See under kinship: fertility of, 351 system as húsfreyja, 266, 269 Bingham, 128 marriage and, 251, 266, 321 Binham abbey, 32 and n. 45, 33, 58 naming and, 251, 369, 375 bishop of Durham. See Hugh de Puiset property and, 218 n. 153, 337, 343 Bishop Guðmundr. See Guðmundr rank of, 359 Arason residence of, 86 n. 3, 196, 218 n. 153 Bishop Klængr. See Klængr Þorsteinsson Álfheiðr Tumadóttir, 101–3, 118, 252, bishoprics, Icelandic, 18 305, 324, 373, 413, 416 See also Hólar; Skálholt Álof Þorgeirsdóttir, 318, 323, 379, 419, 420 Björg, widow of Hneitir, 318, 323, 378 children of, 144 n. 35, 197 n. 79; ages aid from chieftain, 199, 209, 354 of, 160 n. 73, 323, 348 children of: age of, 323, 348; extra-marital relationship of, 144 n. 35, inheritance of, 199, 334 147 n. 42, 160 n. 73, 318, 353, 354 fertility of, 348 fertility of, 348 marriage of, 318, 348 marriage of, 318, 348 rank of, 209, 354 property and, 197 n. 79, 334 Björn Sturluson, 172 n. 110 rank of, 147 n. 42, 354 Björn Þorsteinsson, 146 n. 39, 324 Álof Þorgilsdóttir, 323, 373 Björn Þorvaldsson, 96, 96–7 and n. 31, Ásbirningar, 38, 172 n. 109 119, 321 Ásdís Sigmundardóttir, 320, 325, 384, Bloch, Marc, 2 413, 414 Bolton priory. See Embsay priory chieftains and, 342, 357 Brandr Bergþórsson, 94, 419 children of: ages of, 325, 350, 357; Brandr Eyjólfsson, 423 shared name with kin, 368, 374 age of, 200–1, 267, 324 family of, 342, 368, 374 chieftains and, 201 fertility of, 350 family of, 201, 218, 324 marriage of, 320, 350, 357 inheritance of, 200–1, 218, 224 property and, 336, 342 naming and, 255 rank of, 357 residence of, 255, 257, 267 index 453

Brandr Kolbeinsson, 268–9, 321, 359, marriage of, 327, 346; into comital 413, 423 family, 230–1, 251 Brandr Þórhallsson, 419 naming and, 250, 251, 370, 375; known Breiðabólstaður, 96, 218 n. 153 by toponymic, 259, 261 brideprice (Icelandic kvánamundr), 14, patronage of, 111, 228; founded 40, 129, 219, 280, 334–7 Embsay priory, 230, 232; witnessed acquired through marriage, 51, 68, 74, by daughter, 253, 265 101, 122, 177 rank of, 146–7 n. 41, 230–1, 251, 360 customarily given, 42, 122, 128, 130 remarriage of, 146–7 n. 41, 327, 353; difficult to distinguish from widow’s consent and, 191; political, 190–1, custodianship of heir’s inheritance, 193–4; royal intervention in, 190–1, 42–3, 122, 125–6, 128, 131, 299 193–4, 195, 360 extent of, 74, 101, 102, 127, 130–1, 299 Cecily II, 329, 332, 397, 432 as financial security for widow, 73–4, child of: age of, 109, 184 n. 25, 332, 78 352; inheritance of, 113, 183–4, 213; in Grágás, 68, 74–5, 78, 85, 299 shared name with kin, 376 rarely documented in sagas, 42, 86, family of, 113; death of brother, 108–9, 122, 130–1 110; as daughter, 108–9, 226, 331; widow’s control over, 68, 74–5, 77, 177 grandparents of, 112–3, 113, 226, See also under individual widows 375; naming and, 250, 375–6 Bridlington priory, 44 n. 90, 226, 229, 251 fertility of, 215 n. 142, 352 Brus family, 192–3 as heiress, 90, 104, 183, 271, 344 Buckstaff, Florence, 7 identity of, 271 Byland abbey, 44 n. 90, 229, 231 n. 212 inheritance of, 104, 339, 344; division Byock, Jesse, 25–6, 35 of, 112–3, 113, 115; marriage and, Böðvarr Þórðarson, 100–1, 101, 117–8 90, 108–9, 114 marriage of, 108–9, 184 n. 25, 329, Calder abbey, 226, 231 n. 212 352; to earl, 113, 271; remarriage canon law, 68–9, 165–6, 313, 328 of, 146–7 n. 41, 215, 329; royal cartularies, 44, 48 intervention in, 108–9, 114, 213 See also charters naming and, 250, 271, 375, 376 carucage, 106 n. 66 patronage of, 226, 281 n. 159 Castle Cary, 191 property and, 339; control over, 113 Cecily I, 327, 331, 391, 430, 431, 432 rank of, 113, 271, 362 children of: age of, 331, 346; death wardship of, 108–9, 213 of son, 108, 110; identity of, 251, charters, 43–8, 47–8, 303 253, 265; influence in youngest designations in, 233, 247, 272; assigned daughter’s marriage, 111, 214; by drafters, 260, 262–5; dependent inheritance of daughters of, 97, 104, on context, 253–4, 263–5; titles and, 106, 107 (division of), 109 (division 269–71; as toponymics, 260, 262, of), 115–6 (division of), 123–5, 261, 269–71 265; remarriage of, 190, 192; shared of foundation for religious houses, 228, name with kin, 251, 370, 375 263–4, 270, 404 death of, 108, 331 identity and, 45–7; expressed dower of, 228 differently through seal and charter, dowry of, 338 276–7; expressed through names family of, 190; naming and, 250, 251, and descriptions, 247, 253–4, 262–5; 370, 375; patronage of, 111, 228, 230; marital, 254, 263–5, 272, 276, 294; sister of, 104, 105 natal, 253, 262–5, 292–4 fertility of, 190–1, 346 limitations of: difficult to date, 46–8, as heiress, 90, 104, 105, 230–1, 344 234 n. 229, 402, 404; lack of interest identity of, 250–1, 261 in families, 13–4, 23, 46–8, 154; inheritance of, 90, 104, 338, 344; lack of interest in marriage, 23, composition of, 105, 106–8 47, 154, 168, 216; provide limited 454 index

information, 46–8, 145, 216, 402, 187; to daughter of, 197; limited 406 influence on marriage by, 70, 73; seals and, 273, 274 n. 113, 276–7 of non-chieftain-rank woman to as source for: division of inheritance, chieftain, 88, 94, 183; to son of, 98, 104, 115; dower, 120–1 96–7, 118, 119, 183 n. 119, 123, 131, 263–4, 272, 299; natal kin more influential than, 73, 84 dowry, 123, 299; family, 45, 225, limited influence on property 263–5, 269–70, 292–4, 304; family transactions by, 16, 80–2 reconstruction, 43, 45–7, 214 no close kinship to, 88, 94 n. 137, 263–4, 313, 404 and n. 6–7, premature death of, 172–3, 203, 208, 406 n. 11; landholding, 23, 43, 45, 268 98; lordship, 45–6, 232–5, 269–71; rank and: daughters of, 129, 180, 279; patronage, 45, 224, 228, 235, 262–5, extra-marital relationships and, 270–1, 284; practice (vs. theory), 2, 157, 158, 163–4, 174, 186–7, 354–9; 58; property transactions, 44, 217, marriage of women of chieftain 303 rank, 118, 119, 208–9 witnessing of, 98 n. 36, 108–9, 225, remarriage of women of chieftain rank, 269–70, 284, 293, 366 157, 158, 169–71, 171, 174, 300, See also Henry I’s coronation charter 354–9; number of women of, 172, chieftaincies 173–4; women’s inheritance and, control over, 189, 204; by mother 88, 117 of chieftain’s heir, 188, 197; by rivalry between, 39, 173, 203; used by Norwegian king, 17, 241 widows 181–3, 187, 207–9, 240, 300 inheritance of: by illegitimate heir, 203; son as powerful chieftain, 166, 242 by legitimate heir, 202, 206, 208–9; woman acted like, 205 by young boy, 188–9 of widows, 154–5, 155 loss of, 208; related to political changes, wife of chieftain as húsfreyja, 267–9, 198, 199, 201–2, 209–10, 302 296 rivalry over, 1, 181–2, 203–9 See also Ari Þorgilsson inn sterki; transfer of, 111 n. 85, 279, 341–3; Arnórr Tumason; Brandr to adult sons, 197, 203; widows’ Kolbeinsson; Einarr Þorvaldsson; strategies for, 188–9, 197, 200–10, Einarr Þorgilsson; Gizurr 301–2; to young sons, 197–8, 199 Þorvaldsson; Guðmundr chieftains, 16–7, 38–9 Þorvaldsson inn dýri; Hrafn aid from, 241; power and, 210, 221–2; Oddsson; Hrafn Sveinbjarnarson; remarriage and, 181–3, 186–7, Hvamm-Sturla Þórðarson; Jón 357; to transfer property and/or Loftsson; Kolbeinn Arnórsson ungi; chieftaincy, 199, 200, 201, 201–2, Kolbeinn Tumason; lord; lordship; 241, 302 Oddr Þórarinsson; Ormr Jónsson alliance with / between, 96–7, 182, Breiðbælingr; Órækja Snorrason; 205–8, 208 Sighvatr Sturluson; Sigurðr balance of power among, 17, 173, Ormsson; Snorri Sturluson; Snorri 181–3, 187, 207–9, 241 Þorvaldsson; Sturla Sighvatsson; centre of power of, 16, 126, 178 Sturla Þórðarson (author of family interests closely linked to, 154, Íslendinga saga); Sveinbjörn 156 Hrafnsson; Sæmundr Jónsson; Þórðr fostered by, 196 Sighvatsson kakali; Þórðr Sturluson; inheritance and, 25, 66, 162, 298 Þórðr Þorvaldsson Vatnsfirðingr involved in remarriage of widows, (stepson of Þórdís Snorradóttir); 152–4, 153, 156, 174, 181–2, 182 Þorgeirr Hallason; Þorgils Oddason; laws and, 24, 29, 66, 70, 73 Þorvaldr Gizurarson; Þorvaldr marriage and: age at first, 137–8; of Snorrason Vatnsfirðingr; Þorvarðr chieftain-rank woman to chieftain, Þórarinsson; Þorvarðr Þorgeirsson; 1, 101–2, 118, 119, 126, 165, 182, and see also under individual widows index 455 childless doctrine of consent: influence in brother died childless, 106, 108 Yorkshire, 67–8, 167–8, 308; limited childless chieftain as protector of influence in Iceland, 68–9, 168–9, stepson, 189 308 widows, 13, 86, 185–6; and remarriage extra-marital relationships, 18, 163–6, and fertility, 161–2, 162, 183–4 306 childlessness, 8, 141, 146 failure to promote monogamy in children Iceland, 116–7, 130, 163–6, 300 age of: at death of father, 125, 301–2, Gregorian reform, 12, 308 323–6, 331–3, 345–52; died young, illegitimacy and: inheritance and, 121, 146 n. 39; as factor in remarriage, 309; not stigmatized in Iceland, 160–1, 161; grown, 167, 171, 207, 116–7, 121, 130, 163–6; in England, 242; young, 197–8, 203–10, 240–1 20, 120–1, 309 commemoration of, 228, 264, 292 influence over marriage by: limited descriptions of: naming and, 247–53, in Iceland, 18, 32, 63, 70, 73; in 255; family and, 256–7 Yorkshire, 20, 32, 63, 71–2, 120 family reconstruction and, 38, 40, 45, in the laws, 71–3, 81; involvement 47, 109, 256–7, 313–6, 403–8 in marriage and, 32, 63, 70, 73; fertility of widows and, 159–60, 159, property and, 80–1 161–2, 168, 215 nunneries and: in Iceland, 166–7, 174, guardianship of, 195–7, 210–6, 240–1, 224, 300; in Yorkshire, 20, 167 (see 301, 306 also nunneries) illegitimate: inheritance and, 62–3, property and: legal to give land to, 95–6, 100–1, 116–21, 131, 298; 80–1, 306; lack of grants to, 224, 302, marriage of, 118, 119, 120–1 306; ownership of Church land, 18, inheritance of: controlled by mother, 224 86, 126, 195, 197, 211–16, 240–1, record-keeping and, 48, 217 299, 301; dispute over, 89 and n. 13; remarriage and, 71–2, 167–8, 168–9 division of, 56, 60–2, 95–6, 100–1, tithes and, 80, 224 103, 131; order of, 52–3, 55, 57–60, weak influence in Iceland, 12, 15, 18, 64, 88; power derived from, 218–9, 174, 247 223, 241–2, 301, 305–6 churches, kinship and identity of, 258, 261–5, control over, 18, 80; bishopric at Hólar, 279, 284–5, 291–3, 295–6, 303–4 224; staður at Vellir, 200–1, 218, 224 legitimacy of, 20, 62–3, 74, 162–3, 191 as dowry, 123 marriage of: control over, 69, 197, grants of, 125, 228, 366 n. 1 210–1, 213–4; inheritance and, 94–5, presentment to, 81, 127–8, 404 n. 6 131; parent’s involvement in, 94–5, civil war in England, 1135–54 111, 208; political, 111, 131, 157, 208 affected Scottish expansionism, 19 number of, 140–1, 145–6 instability of related to: inheritance, politics and, 157, 202, 204–5, 208 99, 130, 405 n. 10, 407–8; marriage, as product of extra-marital 190–1, 194, 407–8 relationships, 131, 164–5 Clanchy, M.T., 35 protection of, 189, 197–8, 200–10, 220, Clay, C.T., 114, 120–1 n. 119, 313, 402 223–4, 301–2, 306 Clitheroe, battle of, 108 remarriage of widows and, 160–3, 161, Cnut, king of England, 27–8 168, 180, 182–3 See also II Cnut residing with mother, 86, 196, 218–20, cognatic kinship. See under kinship: system 279 comital rank. See earl; rank: comital transfer of property to, 120–1, 179, comitissa. See countesses 197–210, 236, 280, 301–3, 305 Commonwealth period, 37–9 See also under individual widows chronological changes during, 241, Church, the 279, 300; affect on remarriage, Christian names and, 247 169–74, 170, 171, 300 456 index

the Church in: failure to promote as political history, 37, 39–40, 172–3, monogamy, 116–7, 130, 165–6; 217 illegitimacy and, 116–7, 121, 130; property and: confiscation of, 222; limited influence of doctrine of inheritance and, 88, 100, 103, 116–8; consent, 68–9, 168; nunneries and, limited information concerning, 23, 166–7; weak influence of, 15 42–3, 104, 122, 217, 219; as marital developments during: legal, 24–5, assignments, 102, 122, 130–1, 219, 84; political, 15, 17–8, 171–4, 241; 299; transference of, 219, 224, 241, social, 15, 84 278–9, 306; widow’s control over historiography of women in, 91–2; heir’s, 188, 223, 241, 306 family and, 3, 5–6, 140–1; power as source for social history, 7, 39–41, and, 5–6, 168, 178 and n. 5, 195, 217 171–3 factors influencing remarriage in, 149, women’s power and: informal, 178; 169–74, 300 political, 205–7, 218, 268–9; sexual, identity and, 245, 248; familial, 258, 205, 223; through management of 279 property, 188, 196, 218–9, 223–4, inheritance during: female, 91–2, 241–2, 301–2 297–8; flexibility in 116, 130–1, See also Guðmundar saga dýra; 297–8; protecting interest of heirs, Íslendinga saga, Prestssaga 302 Guðmundar góða, Sturlu saga; marriage in, 142 n. 24, 144–5, 245; Svínfellinga saga; Þórðar saga kakala; consent and, 68–9, 168–9, 239; Þorgils saga ok Hafliða, Þorgils saga political, 131, 182 skarða not found in, 271, 273 Copeland, honour of, 106, 107, 109, power of women during: dependent 112–4, 113, 124–5, 190–1, 251, 274 on circumstances, 217, 242; countesses opportunities for, 177–8 and n. 5, authority of, 278 239; political, 269, 300; property children of, 179, 183–5, 273, 276 and, 195–6, 241 control over property by, 113, 179, violent death during, 145, 172–3 183–4, 227 See also Iceland demographics and, 8, 139–41, 143 comparative history, 2–4, 308–9 as descriptive term, 271–3 and n. 101, concubinage. See extra-marital 275–6 relationships dowager, 139–41, 143, 149 concubines, 95, 164 family and, 15, 141, 179, 183–4, 275–6 See also extra-marital relationships identity of, 11, 271–3 and n. 101, Conishead priory, 261 275–6 consent, theory of. See marriage: consent length of widowhood, 143 contemporary sagas, 37–43 through marriage, 113, 183–4, 271–3, authors of, 38–9, 40–1, 117, 169–70, 275–6 171–3 in own right, 113, 183–4, 271 extra-marital relationships and, 164–5 rank of, 143, 184–5, 272–3, 278 family reconstruction using, 38, 140–1, remarriage of, 143, 149, 183–5, 271–3 255–7, 313–5 See also Alice de Gant; Cecily de guardianship and, 188, 196, 301 Rumilly II; Hawise countess of kinship and, 84, 188, 258 Aumale; Matilda de Percy; Rohaise identity and: conjugal, 258, 278–9, 295, de Clare 304; cultural, 217, 247; individual, countess of Aumale. See Hawise, countess 279–80; marital, 258, 266, 304; of Aumale names and, 247, 255–7; natal, 258, countess of Essex. See Hawise, countess 304 of Aumale limitations of, 23, 42–3, 46, 179–80 countess of Lincoln. See Rohaise de Clare as literary works, 41–2 countess of Warwick. See Matilda de marriage and, 102, 168–9, 209, 315 Percy index 457

Crouch, David, 127, 272 n. 101 from, 236, 263; grant to marital Croxton abbey, 290 foundations from, 228 Curcy barony, 403, 405 n. 10 in legal statements, 28, 34, 72–3, 75, custodianship of heir’s property. See 75–6, 81 (see also Glanvill; Henry guardian: control over ward’s property I’s coronation charter; Leges Henrici or marriage by; heirs: control over Primi) inheritance of; inheritance: control limitation of sources and, 14, 46; over minor heir’s; and see under under-represented in, 47, 123, 128, property: control over 131, 299 loss of, 72–3, 75 Dalton, Paul, 108–9, 110 n. 76, 111, 190, nominated, 76 260, 281 n. 138 patronage using, 235, 254, 259, 283; to David, king of Scotland, 19, 108–11, children, 236, 264; connected with 190–2, 194, 274, 430, 432 tenants, 234, 272; to foundations DeAragon, RaGena, 8, 139, 141, 143, 146, unconnected with kin, 290; to 149, 155 foundations connected with marital demographics, 78, 139 n. 16, 172. See also kin, 228, 265, 276, 282–3, 284–5, marital demographics 289, 290; to natal foundations, 225, Dersingham, 212 n. 127 234, 281, 290; to own foundation, de Trafford, Claire, 119–20 228, 283–4, 287, 290, 292 divorce, 142 n. 24 reasonable, 76 Domesday, 123, 125 and n. 136, 281 n. recovery of, 77 138, 403, 406 right of presentment to churches on domina, 10, 269–71, 278, 296 dower land, 81, 127–8 dos. See dower size of: variability in, 128, 130, 131, dotal system, 73, 78–9, 82 297; as one-third of husband’s dowagers. See under countesses property, 75–6, 127–8, 299 dower (Latin dos) See also under individual widows acquisition of: by illegitimate women, dowry (Icelandic heimanfylgja, Latin 120–1 and n. 119, 128; from marital maritagium) kin, 86–7, 122–3; at marriage, 68, acquisition of: by illegitimate women, 75–6; at remarriage, 177 118, 120 and n. 119, 121, 128; at alienation of: consent and, 236, 264, marriage, 68, 114, 122; from natal 282–3, 285; by husband against kin, 55–6, 85–6, 99–100, 121–2, 123, wife’s will, 76–7; right to, 47, 81–2, 130, 219, 236 128, 263–4, 289–90; some widows composition of: of specific widows, 98 able to, 290, 299 n. 39, 102, 110, 122–7, 128, 212 control over: fined with king for, 83, n. 127, 219; unspecified, 85–6 185; limitations on, 75–6, 78, 235, control over, 68, 74, 212, 223, 283, 299 289–90, 299; as non-inheriting customarily given, 42, 74–5, 122–3, woman, 283; as widow, 7, 68, 77, 212 128, 130, 299 customarily given, 75, 123, 128, 130 through female line, 124–5, 236 as financial security, 73, 77 as financial security, 73 held by widows, 86–7, 129, 297, held by widows, 129, 297, 334–40 334–40; composition of specific identity and, 252, 280 widows’, 120–1 n. 119, 128, 212 kinship and, 78–9; grant to natal n. 127, 254, 264, 272, 281, 283–4 and foundation from, 226, 235, 282; n. 143; of counts of Holderness, 190; grant to children from, 236; grant to of daughter, 128; of stepson, 263–4; marital foundations from, 227–8 in usufruct, 235, 299 in legal statements: English, 34, 60, 66, kinship and, 78–9, 285; 75, 81, 299; Icelandic, 55–6, 64, 74, commemorated kin using, 228, 283; 95, 299 (see also Glanvill; Grágás; grant to brother’s foundation from, Henry I’s coronation charter; Leges 225, 281, 290; grant to children Henrici Primi) 458 index

limitation of sources and, 42, 46; Einarr Helgason, 94, 94, 187, 200, 320, difficult to distinguish from 323, 367, 419 inheritance, 14, 47, 86, 123–4, Einarr Þorgeirsson, 172 n. 110, 256, 323, 128, 131, 299, 317, 334–40; under- 367 represented in, 42, 122–3, 219 Einarr Þorgilsson, 173, 222, 323, 355, patronage using: to children, 236; to 367, 417 foundations connected with marital Einarr Þorvaldsson, 203–10, 326, 421 kin, 227–8; to natal foundations, Eiríkr, 96 226, 235, 281–2; to own foundation, Eirný Halldorsdóttir, 322, 326, 359, 389 287 Embsay priory, 44 as pre-mortem inheritance, 56, 60, 64, family reconstruction and, 108, 403 66, 91–3, 123–4 n. 3 size of: in legal material, 128, 299; founding of, 230 and n. 209 linked to political alliance, 93–5, identity and, 253, 261, 265, 291 98, 99–100; not necessarily equal lordship and, 232–3 between sisters, 56, 101–3, 115–6; patronage of, 111, 226, 232, 291 variability in, 60, 74–5, 102, 118, Emma de Gant, 327, 331, 390, 427, 428 121–2, 126–8, 130, 297, 299, 305; children of, 236, 251, 370; age of, 331, should not be unfairly large, 56, 60, 352 74, 95 dowry of, 126, 226, 236, 338 in sagas, 39–40, 42, 299 family and, 226, 251, 331, 344, 370 See also under individual widows fertility of, 352 Drax priory, 226, 228, 254, 259, 265, 291, length of widowhood, 237 403–7 and n. 6 lordship and, 360 Duby, Georges, 134–5, 288–9, 292, 293 marriage and, 327, 352, 360 naming and, 251, 370 earl patronage of, 236, 237; to brother’s close natal kinship with, 157, 269, 275; foundation, 226, 251 brother of, 192; daughter of, 214, rank of, 251, 360 227, 269, 271; descended from, 180, Emma de Percy, 120–1 and n. 119, 236, 183–4, 269; sister of, 192, 225, 274, 428 275 Emma de Port, 327, 331, 390, 428 in Iceland, 180, 271 n. 95 children of, 370; age of, 331, 352 identity and, 251, 269, 271–2, 296 dowry of, 123, 126, 227–8, 338 as marital kin, 192, 228, 230, 251 family and, 123, 331, 370 marriage to, 113, 183–4, 214, 271; fertility of, 352 identity and, 271–2, 288, 296; rank lordship and, 360 and, 143, 146 n. 41, 157, 285 marriage and, 227–8, 327, 352, 360 widow of, 276 naming and, 370 See also under rank patronage of, 227–8 earl of Chester. See Ranulf Meschin rank of, 360 earl of Essex. See William de Mandeville Emma, queen of England, 10 n. 23, 13 earl of Lincoln. See Gilbert de Gant Empress Matilda, 98–9, 111–2, 193–4, 407 earl of Warwick. See William, earl of Europe, Warwick children in, 140, 146 earl of York. See William, count of the Church in, 15, 68, 247 Aumale legal texts and, 95 earldom, 179, 184, 271, 273 kinship systems in, 78, 253 Eastern Quarter, 201 marriage and, 55–6, 68, 133–9, 308 East Keswick, 108 n. 71, 403 n. 3 naming patterns and, 247, 253 Egremont, caput of honour of Copeland, women in, 7, 11, 95, 308, 309 106, 107, 110, 112, 113, 124 See also marital demographics Einarr Arason, 256, 418 European marriage pattern, 134, 137–8, Einarr Hallsson, 198, 324, 423 144 index 459

Eustace de Merc, 259, 287, 328, 426 Eyrr (in Sturlunga family), 101, 101 Eustace fitz John, 192, 229 Eyrr (in West Fjords), 218 n. 153 extra-marital relationships, 146–8, 147, 348–50, 353 family as alternative to remarriage: in Iceland, children per, 140–1, 146 148, 149, 165–6, 174, 300; not grants to, 224–5, 236–7, 242, 288, 293, available in Yorkshire, 150, 175, 301, 303 306 in historiography, 3, 5, 8, 9 chieftains involved with widows’, 152, identity, 45, 263–5, 284; individual 153, 156, 354–9 circumstances and, 289, 290–1, 303, children and, 160–1 and n. 73, 161, 305; patronage and, 224–8, 236–7, 196; born of, 164–5, 196 and n. 73, 242, 264, 283–7, 294; shift in, 315; inheritance by heiresses and, 288–92 (see also under family: 151–2 marital, natal, nuclear / conjugal) illegitimate children of, 63, 95–7, 120, inheritance and, 26, 65–6, 129, 131, 132, 301 224, 292–4; division of, 60, 61–2; the Church and: in England, 20, 120; illegitimacy and, 119, 130; impact failure to promote monogamy over, of politics on, 100, 109–12, 129–30, 116–7, 130 298; role of lordship in, 62, 100, 298 common in Iceland, 130, 138 in legal statements, 24, 29, 36; disapproval of, 20, 120, 255 inheritance and, 51–62, 65–6, 119; fertility and, 161 marriage and, 69–73 love and, 197, 222 n. 165 marital: 179; identification with, 265, not widely available to Yorkshire 281–6, 288–90, 295, 303; patronage widows, 120, 132, 165 of foundations connected to, 227–8, option available to Icelandic widows, 282–4; support from, 209 131, 150–2, 157, 163–4, 240, 305 marriage and: family’s role in, 69–70, rank and, 146–7 and notes 42–3, 157, 73, 154; identity shift at, 283–6, 158, 163–4, 187 288–90, 295–6; lordly intervention politics and, 170–1, 174, 258 in, 70–3, 191, 192; used to create residence and, 196 and n. 73, 204 alliances for, 94–5, 99–100, 114–5, as socially acceptable, 63, 163–5, 157, 189 186–7, 240 naming and: identity and, 254, 258; as strategy, 186–7, 197, 200, 204–5, shared by family members, 249–50, 210, 221–2, 240 251–3; toponymics and, 259–62; stable concubinage relationships, 138, tradition of, 250–1 144 n. 35, 147 n. 42, 164 as narrowly defined, 26, 129, 237, 288, timing of: in Iceland, 146–7, 149, 170, 292–4, 298–9 299–300, 315; in Yorkshire, 147–8, natal, 129, 179; identification with, 300 265, 281–6, 288–91, 294–6, 303–4; wealth and, 150–2, 151 patronage of family foundations, See also under Adeliza de Percy; 225–7, 281–2; support from 209, 279 Álof Þorgeirsdóttir; Guðný nuclear / conjugal: different Böðvarsdóttir; Guðrún significance between Iceland and Þórðardóttir; Hallveig Ormsdóttir; Yorkshire of, 65–6, 289–9, 304–5; Snælaug Högnadóttir; Úlfheiðr identification with, 264, 265, 267 Gunnarsdóttir; Yngvildr (through titles), 277 (through Þórðardóttir; Yngvildr Þorgilsdóttir; titles), 279, 280–1, 292–3, 295; Þórdís Snorradóttir importance of, 26, 65–6, 84, 258, Eyjafjörður, 207, 222–3, 256 304–5; inheritance and, 66, 84, 88, Eyjólfr á Völlum, 200, 319, 423 91, 129–30 Eyjólfr Eyjólfsson, 196 n. 73, 198, 325, order of inheritance within: in 369, 420 Grágás, 51–3, 55–6; in English legal Eyjólfr Kársson, 321, 322, 369, 420 statements, 53–5, 56–60 460 index

organization of, 36, 82, 138, 154; as centre of power, 16, 178 bilateral, 298; patrilineal, 134, 298 as dowry, 93 n. 23, 94, 126, 219 (see also kinship) established household at, 200, 203, position within, 233, 274; heiresses 221–2 as head of family fee, 286, 287–8; forced removal from, 222 influenced familial identity, 295–6, inheritance of, 101, 185, 200, 257, 278 303–4 raid on, 207, 267 power and: exercised through grants to in sagas, 41, 42–3, 306 family, 224–5, 236–7, 242; exercised sale or purchase of, 197, 219 through use of property, 225–8; temporary management of, 164, within confines of, 178 n. 3, 210 219–20, 241; by widows, 87, 220–1, remarriage and: lordship and, 152–6, 241–2, 279 184; family involvement in widows’, value of, 93 n. 23, 316 175, 181, 183 widows’ administration of: at main royal intervention and, 82; in estate, 125–6, 196–7, 204, 218–9; inheritance, 59, 62, 72, 89–91, daily running of, 218, 257, 306 98–100; in marriage, 28, 32, 71–2, widows identified with, 278–9, 295 83, 152–4, 174, 190–4; none in widows not linked to through Iceland, 29, 156 toponymics, 257, 278 in sagas, 39, 88, 258 widows remained at main, 86, 125–6, titles denote connection to, 266–7, 196, 201–2, 218–9, 257, 278–9 269–70, 277 See also Arnarnes; Breiðabólstaður; women in context of, 12, 13–4 Eyrr (in Sturlunga family); See also family interests; kinship; and Eyrr (in West Fjords); Grund; individual families; and see also household; Hrafnagil; Hvammur; under countesses, Grágás; identity; Króksfjarðarnes; Múli; Mýrar; inheritance; legal statements; lord; residence; Sakka; Sauðafell; Saurbær; lordly interests; marriage; politics; Snóksdalur; Staðarhóll; Stakkar; remarriage; and individual widows Svínafell; Sælingsdalstunga; Tunga; and their kinsmen Valþjófsstaður; Vatnsfjörður; Vellir; family interests, 179 Viðimýrr in devolution of property, 25, 57, 91, fee, 270 129, 305 in legal statements, 54, 61 in marriage, 195, 300, 301 inheritance of, 54, 61, 110 relationship with lordly interests: naming of heir linked to, 252 conflict between, 8, 29, 34, 154, widows as head of, 286, 287 298; inheritance and, 19, 67, 89–90; widows’ control over, 225, 232–3, 235 in legal statements, 29–30, 32, 34, See also Allerdale, barony of; Arches 57, 70, 82; not always in conflict, fee; Copeland, honour of; Curcy 129, 154, 156, 174, 193–4; room for barony; Flamville fee; Holderness, manoeuvre due to tension between, honour of; Meschin fee; Paynel fee; 30, 35–6, 71–2, 83, 153 Percy fee; Port fee; Skipton, honour family reconstruction, 8, 14, 313–5 of; steward’s fee demographics and, 139, 140–1 félag (also helmingarfélag) difficulties with, 14, 46–7 in Grágás, 74–5 sources for, 23; charters, 43, 45–7; Hallveig Ormsdóttir and, 266, 321, 353 genealogies, 38, 140–1, 255–6, Yngvildr Þórðardóttir and, 197, 318, 402–6; sagas, 38 353 See also demographics; and see also fertility, 140 and n. 20, 275, 313–4, under witnessing 345–52 farmer. See under rank as factor in: analysis of widows, 297, farms, 78, 80 308; remarriage, 151–2, 158–63 as basic unit of residence and and n. 70, 168–71, 174–5, 300–1; production, 15–6, 78, 218 widow’s room for manoeuvre, 239 index 461

likelihood of remarriage and, 153–4, wardship in, 34, 316 159, 162 See also legal statements suitability for guardianship and, 215, Grágás, 24–7, 29, 34–7 301 brideprice in, 35, 68; extent of, 74, 128; widow’s attractiveness as bride due to, ownership of, 74, 75, 126 180, 183–5, 203, 239–40 dowry in, 35, 73–4, 128 See also under individual widows emphasis on bilateral kinship in, 56, feud, 17, 94, 267, 269 64, 69–70, 73, 84 Finchale priory, 121 guardianship and, 25, 195–6 Flamville fee, 106, 112 inheritance in, 57, 66, 195–6; age and, Flanders, Steve, 108–9, 402–7 79, 188; division of, 56, 60; dowry Fleming, Peter, 137 as, 55–6, 64, 93–5 (see also Grágás: Fountains abbey, 44, 229, 232, 261, 293 dowry in); flexibility in, 55–6, 93–5, Frank, Roberta, 166 97; by illegitimates, 62–3, 116; friendship, 39, 80, 181–3, 253 importance of close family unit Fulk Paynel, 97–8, 99, 127, 128, 402–3, in, 53, 55–6, 64, 84, 88, 91; order 406–8 of, 25–6, 51–3, 65, 88, 100–1, 116 genealogies, 37–8, 140–1, 172 legal developments and, 26, 36, 60, Geoffrey Hose (Gundreda de Warenne’s 64, 84 husband), 211–2, 214, 329, 431 limitations of, 26–7 Geoffrey Hose (Gundreda de Warenne’s marriage in: betrothal, 32, 62–3, 68; son), 211–2, 214, 332, 371, 431 female consent and, 35, 68–70, 73, Gertrude Paynel, 97–8, 403, 406 168; importance of natal kin in, gifts 69–70, 73, 84 to close kin, 225, 236–7, 242–3, 288; to property and, 25–6, 79–81; widow’s children, 87, 236, 303, 399 n. 1; to marital, 74–5, 76, 195–6, 299 granddaughter, 87, 219, 303 See also legal statements of family land: to illegitimates, 120–1, Green, Judith 130, 236; to widows, 87, 129 compares theory with practice, 8, 115 as ideal of good lordship, 180, 206 family reconstruction and, 14 n. 35, in legal statements, 54, 61, 80–1 47 of patrimony, 54, 61, 81 inheritance and, 8, 59, 62, 92, 98, power derived from, 224–5, 236–7 104–6, 115 as symbolic act, 111 legislation and, 32–3, 35, 61, 71 n. 73, Giggleswick, 121 105, 115 Gilbert de Gant, 192 marital assignments and, 124 n. 133, Gilbert Pipard, 263, 329, 432 127 n. 150 Gizurr Hallsson, 356, 416 marriage and, 155, 157 Gizurr Þorvaldsson, 325, 416 power and, 9, 10 n. 26 as influential chieftain, 93–4, 172, 173, Gríma Þorgeirsdóttir, 172 n. 110, 323 188, 358–9 Grímr Snorrason (chieftain), 186–7 burning of farm, 94 n. 24, 268 n. 84 Grímr Snorrason (son of Hallbera involvement in marriages, 93–4 and Snorradóttir), 197, 323, 424 n. 24, 188, 359 Grímr Þórarinsson, 326, 369, 419 naming of, 251, 368 Grund, 219 n. 155, 222–3, 242 Glanvill, 33–5, 43 guardian dower, 34, 75–7, 81 control over ward’s property or dowry, 34, 60, 66, 75 marriage by, 188–9, 195–7, 210–1, inheritance and, 34, 53, 62, 81; division 213–4, 301 of, 61–2, 113–4, 115; by illegitimates, strategies of to aid children’s 63, 119, 121; lordship and, 34, 62, succession, 199–210 67, 73; order of, 55, 59, 66, 88, 91 See also legal administrator; wardship; marriage and, 34, 72–3, 237–8 and see also under Adam de Brus II 462 index guardianship power of: administered sons’ in legal statements: Icelandic, 25, 36, households, 87, 220–1; control over 195–6, 301; English, 28, 34, 36, 72 property, 86, 125–6, 164, 197, linked with widow’s identity, 295, 303 219–20; fostered grandson, 251; remarriage of widow and, 186, 188–9 marriage and, 197; protected in sagas, 39–40 household, 224, 267; travel to as social role, 10, 179 Norway, 164, 219–20 See also wardship; and see also property and, 335, 341; gave over under children; heirs; inheritance; management of farm, 164, 219–20; property; and individual widows marital, 125–6, 335 (see also under Guðleif Erlendsdóttir, 197 n. 79, 323, 419 Guðný Böðvarsdóttir: children of, Guðmundar saga dýra, 39, 185–6 power of) Guðmundr Arason, bishop of Hólar, 164, rank of, 147 n. 42, 355 189, 196, 198 and n. 80, 201, 218, 221, residence of, 86, 125–6, 196, 266–7, 279 323, 418 Guðný Sturludóttir, 326, 375, 413, 415, Guðmundr Oddsson gríss, 198, 201, 210, 422 326, 414, 415 Guðný Þorvarðsdóttir, 320, 324, 383, 418 Guðmundr Ormsson, 196, 269, 316, 326, family of, 154 n. 60, 324, 341; father as 369, 414 chieftain,356 ; naming and, 249 n. 17 Guðmundr Þorvaldsson inn dýri, 186–7, fertility of, 345 355, 356, 423 marriage and, 320, 345 Guðný Brandsdóttir, 94, 320, 324, 383, rank of, 146 n. 40, 356 419 remarriage of, 146 n. 40, 169, 353; chieftain of, 355 kinsmen involved in, 154 n. 60, 356 dowry of, 94–5, 122 n. 124, 336 Guðrún Aradóttir, 323, 373, 418 marriage of, 94–5, 146 n. 40, 320 Guðrún Bjarnadóttir, 320, 324, 382, 422, rank of, 94, 146 n. 40, 355 423 received substantial family lands, 94–5, children of: age of, 324, 345; naming 341 of, 368, 374 Guðný Böðvarsdóttir, 319, 324, 381, 419, family of: brother of, 341; grandparents 420, 422 and, 249 n. 17, 252, 368, 374; chieftains and, 126, 197, 220–1, 267, marital, 356 355 fertility of, 345 children of: age of, 86, 125–6, 196, lordship and, 341, 356 256, 324, 349; fostering of, 196, 197; marriage of, 320, 345; consent, 169, inheritance of controlled by Guðný, 188; remarriage of, 146 n. 40, 169, 86, 125–6, 197; marriage of arranged 188, 320, 353, 356 by Guðný, 197, 220; remained with naming and, 249 n. 17, 252, 368, 374 Guðný, 125–6, 196, 279; shared property and, 335, 341 name with kin, 367, 373; sons’ rank of, 146 n. 40, 356 property managed by Guðný, 87, Guðrún Brandsdóttir, 319, 323, 380, 413 220–1, 224, 279 children of, 323, 345; property of, 197 extra-marital relationship of, 147 n. 42, n. 79; naming of, 367 319, 349, 355; travelled to Norway fertility of, 345 with lover, 164, 220 marriage of, 319; consent and, 169; family and; 256, 267, 341; naming and, remarriage and, 146 no. 40, 353, 354 251, 367, 373 property and: brother inherited fertility of, 349 majority of, 341; of children, 197 fostering and, 196, 197, 251 n. 79 identity of: conjugal, 256, 266–7, 279; rank of, 146 n. 40, 354 as húsfreyja, 266–7; natal, 256 Guðrún Hreinsdóttir, 196 n. 73, 197 length of widowhood, 148 n. 79, 325, 374, 419 marriage of, 256, 319, 349, 355 Guðrún Nordal, 5, 60 n. 35, 88, 91–2, naming and, 251, 367, 373 117, 142 n. 24 index 463

Guðrún Ormsdóttir, 122 n. 124 rank of, 146–7 n. 41, 275 n. 118, 362–3 Guðrún Þórðardóttir (daughter of Þórðr seal of, 275 n. 118, 366 Gilsson), 256 wardship of children and, 87, 211–5 Guðrún Þórðardóttir (daughter of Þórðr and n. 141 Sturluson), 101, 117, 198 n. 80, 422 Gunnar Karlsson, 6–7, 217 Guðrún Þórðardóttir (widow), 321, 325, Guttormr Kálfsson, 325, 368, 423 385, 423 Guttormr Þórðarson, 101, 117, 198 n. 80, chieftains and, 186–7 422 as childless, 186, 280, 325, 345, 349 Gyða Sölmundardóttir, 122 n. 124 extra-marital relationships of, 147 n. 43, 321, 354; while married, 165, Hajnal, J., 133–5, 137 186–7 Hákon Þórðarson, 165, 186–7, 321, 423 fertility of, 185–6, 345, 349 Halesowen, Worcestershire, 136 n. 9 had no influential kinsmen, 185–7, 342 Hálfdan Sæmundarson, 207, 413, 415 inheritance of, 185–6, 336, 342; Halla Þórðardóttir, 100–1, 101, 117 identified with, 280 Hallbera Einarsdóttir, 318, 323, 379, 418 marriage and, 185, 321, 345; father- children of, 256; age of, 323, 349; in-law involved in, 186; forced into, shared names with kin, 367, 373; son 168, 186–7, 239; married lover, 165, as chieftain, 171 n. 108,355 186; remarriage and, 146 n. 40, 165, family reconstruction and, 256, 314–5 321, 345, 349, 354 fertility of, 349 power / room for manoeuvre and: to marriage and, 256, 318, 349 achieve goals, 186–7, 239; sexual, not wealthy, 335 186–7 rank of, 355 rank of, 146 n. 40, 147 n. 43, 354 Hallbera Snorradóttir, 318, 323, 378, 424 residence of, 185–7 chieftains and, 199, 209–10, 354 Guðrún Þorgilsdóttir, 323, 373 children of: age of, 197, 323, 348; sold Guðrún Þorsteinsdóttir, 322, 326, 389, farm with son, 197, 219 415 family of, 199, 209, 354 children of, 326 fertility of, 348 inheritance and, 88 marriage of, 318, 348, 354 marriage and, 169, 322, 353, 354 power / room for manoeuvre and, 197, rank of, 354 210, 219 Gundreda d’Aubigny, 231 n. 212 property and, 88; marital, 197, 219, Gundreda de Warenne, 329, 332, 397, 431 334; transfer of, 197, 199, 219 age of, 212, 215 n. 143 rank of, 88, 209, 354 age of children of, 211 n. 122, 329, 346, Hallbera Þorgilsdóttir, 323, 373, 417 352 Halldóra Arnórsdóttir, 197 n. 79, 323, family and: brother and, 211–2, 344; as 413 kinswoman of an earl, 275 n. 118 Halldóra Gizurardóttir, 319, 324, 382, fertility of, 212, 215 n. 141, 346, 352 416 length of widowhood of, 148–9 age of children of, 167, 324, 349 marriage and: rank and, 146–7 chieftains and, 119, 342, 356 n. 41; remarriage and 329, 362–3; family of, 342, 356 wardship of children by different fertility of, 349 husbands and, 211–5 and n. 122 as illegitimate, 119 and 141 and marriage, 119, 319, 349 naming and: toponymics of, 259; as nun, 166–7 children shared name with kin and, rank of, 119, 356 371, 377 Halldóra Tumadóttir, 321, 325, 336, 385, patronage of St. Denis by, 123 413, 415, 416, 420, 422 property of: dowry and, 123, 126, 339; age of, 313, 324 guardianship of heir’s, 87, 211–5; as chieftain and, 222–3, 343, 358; married non-inheriting widow, 339, 344 to, 101–2, 189, 197 464 index

children of: age of, 86 n. 3, 222, 325, Harewood, 106, 107, 108 n. 71, 109, 351; number of, 314; residence of, 124–5 and n. 136, 226, 265 207, 222; shared names with kin, Haukdælir family, 38, 97, 172 n. 109, 251 368, 374; sons killed, 222–3, 242 Hawise, countess of Aumale, 330, 333, dowry of, 101–3 400, 425, 432 family of, 222–3, 324; marital, 358; age of, 109, 180, 183–5 and n. 25, 332 marriage brought alliance for, 189, as daughter, 109, 183–4, 271, 332 197; shared name with aunt, 252, children of: age of, 333, 347, 352; none 373; siblings and, 102–3, 189, 197, when first widowed, 183, 346; as 343 heir, 185; shared name with kin, 372, fertility of, 351 377; wardship of, 214, 215 n. 141 forced to leave family farm, 207, 219 as countess, 183–4, 240, 271, 276 n. 155, 222–3, 242 fertility of, 151–2, 180, 184–5, 215 as húsfreyja, 267–8 n. 141, 239–40, 346–7, 352 inheritance of, 101–2, 343 inheritance of, 113, 340, 344; earldom marriage and, 321, 351; age at, 313 and, 183–4, 239–40, 271; given in n. 2; to chieftain, 101–2, 189, 197; marriage with, 89, 90, 213; sole husband killed, 222, 242 heiress, 104 n. 53, 109, 183–4, 344 rank of, 101–2, 189, 358 lack of family to aid, 184–5, 239–40 residence of, 207, 219 n. 155, 222–3, marital assignments of, 127, 340 242, 267–8 marriage and, 330, 346; arranged Halldórr Sturluson, 172 n. 110 by king, 183–5, 213–4, 239–40; Hallfríðr Yngvildardóttir, 197 and n. 79, beneficial, 214; to earl, 183–4, 276 323 naming and, 247 n. 11, 276, 376 Hallveig Ormsdóttir, 321, 325, 385, 415, rank of, 146–7 n. 41, 180: as tenant-in- 416, 421 chief, 151–2, 344, 363–4; comital, disinherited siblings, 92 n. 17, 93 n. 21, 183–4, 240, 363–4 95–6, 103, 151 n. 53, 342 remarriage of, 146–7 n. 41, 330, 347, extra-marital relationships and, 147 352; fined with king to prevent, n. 42, 357; as informal marriage / 185, 195, 364; forced into, 180, félag, 144 n. 35, 151, 266–7, 321, 353 183–4, 185; king involved in, 184–5, family and, 321, 325; age of children 239–40, 363; no remarriage when no and, 146 n. 39, 350; aid from marital longer fertile, 151–2, 185 kin and, 199; as daughter of a room for manoeuvre and, 185, 195, chieftain, 119, 357; inherited with 239–40 approval of, 95–6, 100, 117; sons seals of, 365–6 shared names with kinsmen, 368 wealthy, 151–2, 180, 184–5, 239–40 family reconstruction and, 96 heimanfylgja. See dowry fertility of, 350 heiresses, 15, 92–3, 129, 341–4 as húsfreyja, 266–7 acted like heirs, 229, 233, 286, 307 inherited despite illegitimacy, 95–6, acted like lords, 233–4, 243, 278, 117, 118, 119 287–8, 303, 306 lordship and, 199, 342, 357 creation of, 57, 82–3, 298, 309 marriage and, 321; did not remarry, division of inheritance among: shift 151, 357; marital kin involved in from single heiress to, 61–2, 130, informal marriage, 357; married 298; equality of, 111–6, 130, 298; in chieftain’s son, 96–7 and n. 31, Iceland, 95–7, 100, 103; in Yorkshire, 119 104–16 property and, 336; managed sons’, 218 dower of, 128, 131 n. 153; as one of wealthiest women, dowry of, 127, 128, 299 151 and n. 53; transference of identity of: affected by position as, 287, property / chieftaincy, 199, 342 295–6, 304, 307; authority and, 11, Hambledon, 123 270; natal, 270, 290–1, 294, 296, 304 Handale priory, 293 illegitimacy and, 119, 298, 309 index 465

importance of position as, 307, 308; in Glanvill, 55, 59–60, 63, 75, 77, more important than rank, 229–30, 81–2; in Grágás, 42–3, 53, 55–6, 66, 237, 243, 278, 296, 303, 307 74, 77–82 and n. 117, 188 in legal statements: of early twelfth legitimacy and, 63, 175, 206; century, 28, 57, 61; in Glanvill, 61–2, illegitimates can be, 95–6, 117–8, 72, 113–4; in statutum decretum, 32, 119, 131, 163, 198 n. 80; lawful 61, 105 (see also under heirs) marriage and, 74, 163, 304–5 marriage of, 28, 91, 114–5 named for kinsman, 252 naming and, 261, 274, 277 no disinheritance of, 60, 75 patronage of, 230–1, 238; during patronage and, 45, 229, 264, 293–4 marriage, 229–30, 237, 242, 303; protection of heir’s interest in land, 16, gifts to family, 236–7, 243, 288; to 60, 80–1, 289, 302; consent needed large Yorkshire religious houses, for transactions, 81 n. 117, 236, 229, 237, 286, 303; most active of 282–3, 285 all widows, 225, 242, 306; to natal remarriage after producing, 188, 189, foundations, 227, 237, 281; to 191, 215 religious houses connected with titles and, 179, 271–3, 275–6 marital kin, 227, 282 wardship aided inheritance by, 216, remarriage of: choice in, 72; forced 240, 306 into, 184–5, 186; lord involved in, widowed mother of: conjugal / nuclear 152, 190; position as heiress factor family and, 275–6, 295, 302, 304; in, 151–2, 169, 175, 300 identified with heir, 179, 264, 272–3, room for manoeuvre as, 10, 229–30, 275–6, 295 234, 287 See also heiresses seals of, 274–5, 277 Helga Aradóttir, 220, 324, 416, 422 titles and, 270, 275–6 Helga Böðvarsdóttir, 322, 326, 388, 422 See also heirs; and see also under family and, 326, 342 individual widows marriage and, 146 n. 40, 169, 322, 353, heirs 354 choice of: in Iceland, 115, 117–8; lord’s property and, 342 role in, 19, 57; preferred, 52–5, 59, rank of, 146 n. 40, 354 66, 117 Helga Sturludóttir (daughter of Álof control over inheritance of: by Þorgeirsdóttir), 172 n. 110, 323 Icelandic widows, 86, 188, 196, 223, Helga Sturludóttir (daughter of Guðný 302, 304; by lord in Yorkshire, 184, Böðvarsdóttir), 196, 256, 324, 373, 210–1, 213–4, 240–1; by Yorkshire 419 widows, 86–7, 211–2, 216, 240, 299 Helga Sæmundardóttir, 321, 326, 387, (see also under guardian; wardship) 413, 414, 415 control over marriage of: by family, chieftain and, 118, 119, 359 134; by guardian, 136–7, 192; by childless at widowing, 86 n. 3, 280, 326 lord, 57, 213–4; by widow, 240–1 family of, 118, 119, 343, 359 (see also guardian; wardship) fertility of, 351 inheritance of: division of, 56, 78, 110; as húsfreyja, 268 males before females in, 55, 59–60, identified with conjugal family, 280 66, 91, 124–5; not distinguished illegitimacy and, 118, 119 from dowry / brideprice, 42–3, marriage and, 122, 268, 321, 351; age 125–6, 131; collateral’s limited claim at, 313 n. 2; married chieftain, 118, on, 284, 293 (see also heirs: control 119 over inheritance of) property of: inheritance to brother, interest in brideprice / dower and, 77, 343; large dowry, 118; marital, 280, 83, 289; consent to alienate and, 236, 337 264, 282, 285 rank of, 118, 119, 359 in legal statements: of early twelfth and residence, 86 n. 3, 280 century, 27–8, 30, 53–4, 57, 59, 81; Helga Yngvildardóttir, 197 and n. 79, 323 466 index

Helga Þórðardóttir (daughter of Jóreiðr fertility of, 345 Hallsdóttir), 180–3, 326, 417, 422 marriage of, 146 n. 40, 169, 321, 345, Helga Þórðardóttir (mother of Guðný 353, 357 Böðvarsdóttir), 256, 419 property and, 199, 342; dowry, 122 Helgi Eiríksson, 94, 187, 256, 318, 411 n. 124, 126, 337 helmingarfélag. See félag rank of, 146 n. 40, 357 Helmsley, fee of, 284 n. 143, 285 residence and, 196 n. 73 Henry I, king of England, 33, 146 n. 41, Herdís Oddsdóttir, 208, 325, 374, 420 251 Herlihy, David, 134–5 coronation charter (see Henry I’s historiography, 2–3, 5, 6, 92, 129, 133–43, coronation charter) 178 marriage and, 98, 141 n. 21 Hítdælir, 39 promises made by, 28, 29, 91 Hólar, 18, 24, 201 redistributed confiscated lands, 98–9 administration of bishopric by woman Henry I’s coronation charter, 43, 71 n. 73 at, 87, 189 from lord’s view, 67, 72 Holderness, honour of, 183, 190, 260–1, inheritance in, 28, 54, 57–8, 67 283 n. 141 marital assignments: dower, 28, 81; Hollingsworth, T.H., 134, 136, 139 n. 16, dowry, 28, 75 142 marriage and, 28, 71–2 Holt, Sir James relationship between lord and family compares theory with practice, 8, 115 in, 29, 30, 67 inheritance and: division of, 61, 62, relationship with II Cnut, 27–8, 71 104–5, 115; female, 8; flexibility in, wardship and, 28 62, 92, 105, 106 See also II Cnut; legal statements legal statements and: Glanvill, 62, 115; Henry II, king of England, 19, 35 statutum decretum, 61, 105 control over marriages by: of heiresses, property and, 243; link between 109, 114, 183; pressured widows to toponymics and land tenure, 251, remarry, 155; to prevent alliance 254, 261 with Scots, 192, 194 tension between family and lord over political circle of, 185, 192, 213 marriage, 194 n. 67 redistributed Paynel inheritance, 98, Holy Trinity, York, 226 99, 127, 151 n. 54, 406–7 homage, 62, 111, 115, 216, 233 Henry de Cornhill, 115 n. 95, 330 honorial baronage. See under rank Henry de Percy (illegitimate son of honour of Copeland. See Copeland, William de Percy II), 120 honour of Henry de Percy (son and heir of Agnes de honour of Skipton. See Skipton, honour Percy), 330, 332, 371, 399 n. 1 of Henry de Percy (son of Isabel de Brus), household, 38–9, 178, 218, 222 333, 372 age when established in own, 117, 135, Henry de Puiset, 120–1, 236, 333 203 n. 94 Henry de Tracy, 146 n. 41, 190–1 and authority as head of, 266–8, 277–8, 295 notes 57, 58 and 60, 193–4, 327, 430 establishment of son in own, 117–8, Herbert de St. Quintin, 327 131 dower lands and, 123, 190, 263–4, 292 family aided running of, 201, 257 as father, 211 n. 122, 214, 225 in Grágás, 25, 74, 80 widow identified with, 228, 263–4, identity linked with, 277–8 283–4, 292 managed sons’ household, 220, 221 Herdís Arnórsdóttir, 325, 374, 413, 414 marriage and, 64, 135, 282; wives and, Herdís Bersadóttir, 142 n. 24 74, 266–8, 277–8, 295, 304 Herdís Hrafnsdóttir, 321, 325, 386, 420 size of, 16, 140 children of, 196 n. 73; age of, 325, 345; widows established and ran own, 1, shared name with kin, 369, 375 203–5, 218–9, 221–2, 242 and family, 126, 209, 342, 357, 369, 375 widows gained power / room for index 467

manoeuvre from, 204, 220–1, 221–2, Iceland, 1, 15–8, 78 242 See also Commonwealth period widows managed own, 1, 16, 160, 164, identity, 245–96 210 aspect of emphasized by benefactor, women as head of, 16, 25, 80 45, 260, 263, 265 See also Arnarnes; Breiðabólstaður; authority and, 295, 303; as head of fee, Eyrr (in Sturlunga family); 286, 297–8; titles and, 267, 270–1, Eyrr (in West Fjords); farms; 277–8; as wife, 267–8 Grund; Hrafnagil; Hvammur; children and: control over heir’s Króksfjarðarnes; Múli; Mýrar; inheritance and, 278–9, 304; residence; Sakka; Sauðafell; Saurbær; influenced by, 245, 278, 295, 303; Snóksdalur; Staðarhóll; Stakkar; not strongly influenced by, 279–80, Svínafell; Sælingsdalstunga; Tunga; 296 Valþjófsstaður; Vatnsfjörður; Vellir; circumstances: family identification Viðimýrr affected by, 257, 263–5, 290, 303; Hrafnagil, 218 n. 153, 257, 279 varied according to, 11, 264–5, 277, Hrafn Brandsson, 186–7, 321 289, 290, 303 Hrafn Oddsson, 325, 369, 413, 420, 421 complexity of, 283–4, 294, 303; age of, 205, 208, 315, 325 indicated by names / descriptions, inherited property and chieftaincy, 253–4, 264–5; indicated by 198, 208–9 patronage, 253–4, 259, 283–4, 287, kinsmen killed, 205, 208 289–90; indicated by seals, 277; rival in West Fjords and, 203–6, 208 marital identity, 292 Hrafns saga Sveinbjarnarson, 39 conjugal, 258, 265, 283–4, 295, 304; Hrafn Sveinbjarnarson, 203, 355, 420 as mother, 177, 263, 271–3, 275–6, Hreinn Hermundarson, 196 n. 73, 320, 278–9; as wife, 177, 277 419 cultural, 294; Icelandic, 217, 247–8; Hugh de Nevill, 115 n. 95, 213, 431 Norman, 247–8, 260–1 Hugh de Puiset, bishop of Durham, family and, 11, 177, 289, 290; expressed 120–1, 329, 429 in relation to, 253–4, 255, 263–4, Hugh Foliot, 263–4, 331, 426 295, 303; influenced identity, 40, Hugh Paynel (half-brother of Alice 245; narrow sense of, 258, 292–4; Paynel), 97–8, 99, 127, 402–3, 406–8, on seals, 273, 275–6, 278 431 fluctuating, 11, 262, 277; shift from Hugh Paynel (son of William de natal to marital, 283–6, 288–90 Bricqueville-sur-Mer), 403, 406–7, (see also identity: lifecycle) 431 heiress and: identity of as head of Hughes, Diane Owen, 78–9 fee, 286, 287–8; identity shaped húsfreyja, 257, 266–9, 277–8, 296 by position as, 278, 281–2, 287–8, Hvamm-Sturla Þórðarson, 39, 94, 256, 295, 303–5; patronage of indicates, 318, 418, 419, 420, 422 281–2, 286, 287–8; strong natal as chieftain, 94–5, 125–6, 187, 221–2, identity, 261–2, 281–2, 290–1, 294, 355 295–6 death of, 125, 279 lifecycle and, 264–5, 275–6, 277; at as father: biological children of, 94–5, marriage, 283–6, 291–2; varies 125–6, 172 and n. 10, 355; marriage throughout, 11, 40, 245, 253–4, 294, of children, 94–5, 200; as stepfather, 303 94–5, 187, 200 lordship and, 295, 303 known by toponymic, 255 marital, 245, 258, 263–5, 294–5, marriage of, 187, 200, 256; as husband, 303; in Iceland, 257, 263, 279; 125–6, 221, 266, 318–9 on seals, 274, 276–7; as wife, 177, politics and, 173, 221–2 280; in Yorkshire, 264, 280, Hvammur, 126, 164, 181, 197, 219, 220, 282–4, 290–2 (see also identity: 279 fluctuating) 468 index

marriage and, 11; influenced identity, as daughter of chieftain, 1, 95–7, 245, 283–6, 290–2, 295, 296, 303; 100–1, 117–8, 119 natal identity weakened with, 296, gifts to, 121, 130, 236 304; remarriage and, 177, 304 inheritance and: creation of heiress multiple, 47, 177, 245, 294–5, 303; aided by lack of, 298, 309; different aspects of, 40, 276, 277; disadvantaged but not excluded indicated by names / descriptions, from, 116–8, 130–1, 162, 203, 220, 259, 264–5; indicated by patronage, 341; excluded from, 63, 66, 119–21, 253–4, 263–4, indicated by seals, 130, 162–3, 344; extra-marital 276–7, 278 relationships and, 132, 175, 301; names and descriptions and: cultural, factors other than illegitimacy 246–7; indicating, 246, 253–4, affecting, 55, 117–8, 198; order of, 264–5; marital, 257, 263; natal, 248, 51–3, 55, 64, 116, 298; strong claim 257, 259, 261–2, 263; patronymics to, 63, 95–7, 100–1, 117, 198 n. 80; and, 255, 258, 263; toponymics and, twelfth-century shift affecting, 257, 259, 260–2 119–21, 130 natal, 245, 258, 263, 279, 290–1, 294–5, lawful marriage and, 119, 162–3; in 303–4; maternal kin and, 258, Grágás, 62–3; importance of nuclear 276–8; naming and, 257, 259, 261–2; family and, 66, 304–5 patronage and, 270, 281–2, 288–9; marriage to chieftains by, 96–7, 118, on seals, 274–8; throughout life, 119, 165 259–60, 265, 280, 290, 295–6 (see as threat to legitimate half-brothers, 1, also identity: fluctuating, heiresses 203, 220 and) See also illegitimacy; and see also under property and, 11, 132, 265, 278–9, 295, Adeliza de Percy; Emma de Percy; 303–4; defined by land tenure, 262, Halldóra Gizurardóttir; Hallveig 292–4, 296; influenced identity, 245, Ormsdóttir; Helga Sæmundardóttir; 262, 278, 296; on seals, 273, 278; Henry de Percy; Henry de Puiset; toponymics and, 257, 261–2 Ingibjörg Guðmundardóttir; Solveig rank and, 275–8, 290–1; influenced Sæmundardóttir; Sturla Þórðarson identity, 245, 303 (author of Íslendinga saga); seals and, 266, 273–8 Vilborg Gizurardóttir; Walter de as seen by society, 11, 36, 40, 43, 45, 47, Percy; Þórdís Snorradóttir; Þuríðr 246, 253–4, 263–5 Ormsdóttir; Þuríðr Sturludóttir self-perception of, 11, 43, 132, 264, (daughter of Hvamm-Sturla 280; expression of, 265, 266, 273, Þórðarson) 277 Illugi Þorvaldsson, 203–4, 421 titles and, 266–73, 277–8 Ingibjörg Guðmundardóttir, 320, 324, See also patronage; and see also under 383, 423 individual widows chieftains and, 118, 119, 356 illegitimacy children of: age of, 324, 345, 350, 356; Church and: inheritance and, 63, 121, inheritance of, 198, 199, 218, 257; 309; legitimacy defined by, 20, 63; shared name with kinsman, 368 reform of marriage and, 20, 119, family of, 154 n. 60, 342, 356, 368; no 120, 130, 163–6 kin to help, 198, 199 in legal statements: in Glanvill, 63, 119; fertility of, 345, 350 in Grágás, 51–3, 55, 62–3, 64, 100–1 identity of, 257 stigmatization of: none in Iceland, illegitimacy of, 118, 119 116–7, 130, 162, 163–6; in Yorkshire, marriage of, 118, 119, 122, 320, 345; 120 consent and, 169; as political See also illegitimates alliance, 154 n. 60; remarriage of, illegitimates 146 n. 40, 154 n. 60, 320, 350, 356 acquisition of dowry by, 118, 120–1 property of, 150 n. 51, 336, 342; dowry and n. 119, 121, 128, 130 of, 118, 122, 336 index 469

rank of, 119, 146 n. 40, 356 inheritance, 334–40, 341–4 residence of, 218 n. 153, 257, 279 affect of politics on, 97–9, 109–12, 115 Ingibjörg Sturludóttir, 322, 326, 389, 416, circumstances important for, 58–9, 417, 422 95–100, 103, 115 chieftains and, 188, 359 control over minor heir’s: in Iceland, dowry of, 122, 337; size of, 93–5, 126, 40, 86, 125–6, 188, 195–7, 240–1, 305 301–2, 304–5; little in Yorkshire, family of, 326, 343, 359; political 86–7, 210–16, 301, 306; widows benefit for, 93–5, 169, 188, 305 obtained power through, 218–9, fertility of, 345 223, 306 marriage of, 313 n. 2, 322, 345; creation of heiress and, 56–7, 82–3, political, 93–5 and n. 24, 169, 187–8; 298, 309 kinsman involved in remarriage of, debate concerning Alice Paynel’s, 97–8, 169, 188, 359; remarriage of, 146 402–8 n. 60, 169, 187–8, 322, 353, 359 difficult to distinguish between rank of, 146 n. 40, 359 brideprice and heir’s, 42–3, 47, Ingibjörg Þorgeirsdóttir, 318, 323, 379, 125–6, 128, 131, 280, 299 418, 419 difficult to distinguish from dowry, 14, chieftains and, 187–8, 354 47, 123–4, 127–8, 131, 299 children of, 187, 323, 367, 373; division of: in English legal statements, inheritance of, 199, 200 32, 54, 58, 61–2, 105; equality of, death of, 200, 323 53, 56, 60, 64–5, 106, 112–4, 130–1, family of: aid from, 199, 209; natal, 298; in Grágás, 56, 60; politics and, 187–8, 200, 209, 256, 323, 341, 354, 109–12, 115; unequal, 101, 103, 104, 367; shared name with children, 106–12, 114–6, 130 367, 373 family interest in, 25, 29, 57, 66, 77; family reconstruction and, 94, 256, political circumstances and, 100, 315 115, 129–30, 298 fertility of, 345 female, 56–8, 65–6, 91–2, 297–8 marriage of, 256, 318, 345 flexibility in: in Iceland, 55–6, 93–7, naming and, 367, 373 100–1, 130, 131, 297; in Yorkshire, rank of, 146 n. 40, 354 8, 58–9, 61–2, 88–91, 92, 104–6, remarriage of, 146 n. 40, 256, 318, 115–6, 130–1, 298 353; consent, 168–9, 187; father’s identity and, 278, 284, 288–90, 292–4; involvement in, 154 n. 60, 187, 200, natal family and, 84, 129, 257, 265, 354 281–2, 295, 304 Ingimundr Einarsson, 111 n. 85, 318, 418 by illegitimates, 298; according to Ingimundr Grímsson, 102, 413 Grágás, 53, 55, 62–3, 64, 100–1; Ingimundr Jónsson, 181–3 extra-marital relationships and, Ingimundr Þorgeirsson prestr, 142 n. 24, 132, 301; no inheritance by, 63, 196, 198, 323, 367, 418 66, 119–21, 130, 162, 198, 298; Ingólfr Arnarson, 180 supported by saga evidence, 40, Ingunn Sturludóttir, 322, 326, 389, 413, 95–7, 100–1, 116–8, 130–1, 162, 198 414, 415 n. 80; as threat to legitimate siblings, chieftains and, 201, 359 203, 220 children of: age of, 326, 351; importance of biological closeness for, inheritance of, 199, 201; naming 53, 55–6, 64–5, 88, 91, 129; nuclear and, 369 family and, 66, 84, 257, 304–5 family of, 326, 343, 359, 369; marital, lawful marriage needed for, 66, 162–3, 199, 201 175, 299, 304–5 fertility of, 351 lineal descent and, 57–8, 65–6, 88–91, marriage of, 313 n. 2, 322, 351 252, 288–90, 298; primogeniture property and, 327, 343 and, 57, 60–2, 65–6, 78, 82–3, rank of, 359 257 470 index

lordly interest in: given in marriage 353; no lordly involvement in, 194; with, 89, 98, 100, 114, 183, 192; little unsuccessfully fined with king to in Iceland, 66, 298; in Yorkshire, avoid, 153 and n. 57, 363 19, 57, 62, 67, 110–1, 298 (see also Isleham, 123 inheritance: relationship between lord and family in) Íslendinga saga, 38–9, 173 names indicating hereditary title to, family and, 126, 205, 218–9, 257 249, 251–2 marriage and, 126, 181, 257 no disinheritance of heir through large property and, 96, 126, 164, 218–9 dowry, 60, 74, 75, 95 order of: in early 12th-century legal Joan de Cornhill, 115 n. 95, 213, 214, 333 statements, 53–4; in Glanvill, 55, Jochens, Jenny, 5, 7 59–60, 66, 88; in Grágás, 25–6, 51–3, compares legal theory and practice, 5 52, 55, 64–5, 88, 116 contextualizing widows, 5 partible, 60–2, 78 on inheritance, 6 patronage and, 230, 265, 281–3, 292–4 on marriage, 6, 168 pre-mortem, 55–6, 60, 78, 124 on power, 6 relationship between lord and family John, king of England, 113, 141 n. 21, in, 8, 30, 34, 89–90; provided room 155, 185, 193, 211–2 for manoeuvre, 62, 67, 71–2, 83 (see John Paynel, 97–8, 402–3, 406 also inheritance: lordly interests in) Johns, Susan relationship between theory and contextualizing widows, 8, 273, 277, practice of: in Iceland, 88, 91–3, 296 95–7, 99, 100–3, 116, 298; in on identity, 246, 273, 277, 296 Yorkshire, 88–91, 92–3, 97, 99, 115, on lifecycle, 8, 11, 179, 273 121 on seals, 273, 276–7 remarriage and, 183, 186, 188 on women’s power, 9, 237 shift from woman’s claim to Jón Brandsson, 94, 94–5, 419 expectation of, 55, 61–2, 83, 104–5, Jón Loftsson,96 , 196, 415 115–6, 130, 305–6 Jón Snorrason murtr, 122, 127 as social structure, 3, 6, 8, 19, 257, Jón Sturluson, 202, 326, 369, 413, 415 288–90 Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, 6, 7, 17, 169 n. 106, in sources: in charters, 45; in legal 173 n. 111 statements, 25–6, 28–34, 42–3, Jóra Klængsdóttir, 96, 165, 323, 416, 51–67, 72–6, 79–82; in sagas, 38–40 417 transference to heir of, 223–4, 240–1, Jordan de Curcy, 97 301–2; strategies for, 199–210; Jóreiðr Hallsdóttir, 322, 326, 388, 417 wardship aided, 216, 300, 306 chieftains and, 180, 182, 267; support woman’s control over own, 74–5, 76, from, 181, 183, 357 79, 81–2; loss of, 72–3 daughter of: age of, 326, 350; See also under individual widows inheritance of, 180–1, 183, 223; Inquisitions post mortem, 137 marriage of, 181–3, 267 Isabel de Brus, 330, 333, 400, 425, 429 family of: brother of, 181, 342, 357; children of, 153 n. 57; ages of, 333, gift to granddaughter, 219; support 347; naming and, 372; wardship of, from, 181, 183, 239 213–4, 215 n. 141 fertility of, 180, 350 family of, 331, 344, 372; gift from goals of, 183, 223 grandmother, 87, 236 as húsfreyja, 267 fertility of, 153, 215 n. 141, 347 marriage of, 180, 322, 350 marriage and, 330, 347 political rivalry and, 182–3, 267 property and, 344; dowry of, 126, 340; property and, 180, 337, 342; protected, gift given to, 87, 236, 340 183, 219, 223 rank of, 146–7 n. 41, 363 rank of, 180, 357 remarriage and, 146–7 n. 41, 330, residence of, 180–1, 267 index 471

resisted unwanted marriage, 168, rank of, 146–7 n. 41, 361–2 180–3, 219 remarriage, 146–7 n. 41, 151–2, 215, room for manoeuvre, 181–3, 239 328, 352; lord involved in, 190, 193, Jórunn Kálfsdóttir, 321, 325, 386, 413, 361 423 chieftains and, 268–9, 359; aid from, Kálfr Brandsson, 198, 202, 210, 325, 369, 199, 202, 209–10; sons lost property 413 to, 202, 209–10 Kálfr Guttormsson, 266, 320, 423 children of: age of, 325, 351; Ketill Þorvaldsson, 203, 421 inheritance of, 198, 199, 202, Kibworth Harcourt, 140 209–10, 218 n. 153; shared name Kimbolton, Huntingdonshire, 107, 109 with kinsman, 369 king as daughter, 85 n. 2, 325 lacking in Iceland, 4, 15 family of, 268–9, 369 no royal intervention in family matters fertility of, 351 and, 29, 156, 174 as húsfreyja, 268–9 room for manoeuvre and, 36, 240, 300 marriage of, 268–9, 321, 351; age at, See also king of England; king of 313 n. 2 Norway; lordship: royal; royal property of, 337; as heiress, 85 n. 2, intervention 343 king of England, 4 rank of, 359 involvement in marriage, 71, 183, 213; residence of, 218 n. 153 gained politically through, 155, 185, Joscelin de Louvain, 106 190–2, 193–4; remarriage of widows, Juetta de Arches, 328, 332, 395, 425 152–5, 184–5, 190–5, 239–40, 301, children of, 104; age of, 332, 346, 352; 360–4; through fines, 152–4, 155, gift of land to daughter, 87, 236, 175, 185, 190, 193, 195 399 n. 1; shared names with kin, legal statements originating from point 371, 376; son as ward, 213, of view of, 27–9, 35, 67, 70–1 215 legislation of, 33, 35 family of, 225; gift of land to as lord: from whom tenants-in- granddaughter, 87, 236; parents’ chief held land, 19, 29, 114, 152; foundation and, 104–5, 225, 230 prerogative wardship and, 211, n. 211, 281 n. 139; sister as prioress, 213–4; of widows, 155, 360–4 104–5, 167 n. 97 room for manoeuvre and, 30, 36, 83, fertility of, 151–2, 215, 346, 352 301; widows fined with to avoid as heiress, 90, 104–5, 151–2, 190, 344; remarriage, 152–4, 175, 179, 195 acted as lord as, 229, 270 tensions between king and family: identified with natal kin, 252–3, 259, in early twelfth-century legal 292–3 statements, 28–30, 67; in Glanvill, length of widowhood, 148–9, 238 34–5, 62, 67; related to inheritance, lord of, 287 n. 148, 361–2 19, 36, 59, 62, 67, 83, 298; related to marriage of, 328, 346; married when marriage, 36, 59, 70–1, 83 inherited, 89, 90 See also Cnut, king of England; David, naming and, 252–3, 371, 376; paternal king of Scotland; Henry I; Henry toponymic of, 259, 270 II; John, king of England; lordship: Nun Monkton and, 104–5, 167 n. 97, royal; Richard I; royal intervention; 225, 281 n. 139 Stephen, king of England patronage of, 229, 238, 287 n. 148, king of Norway, 180, 271 n. 95 290 n. 159, 292–3; gifts to family, influence on Icelandic politics, 17–8, 87, 236, 399 n. 1; grants to Nun 94, 300; control over chieftaincies Monkton, 225, 281 n. 139 and, 17, 240–1; impact on widows property and: inheritance of, 89, 90, and, 240–1, 302, 309 104–5, 151–2, 190, 339; marital See also king assignments of, 290 n. 159, 339 kinship, 3, 5, 38, 354–9 472 index

bonds of, 152, 154–5, 178–9, 182 held by widows’ family, 106–8, comparison of Iceland and Yorkshire held by widows’ husbands, 120, 128 and, 4, 12, 297, 304, 307 and n. 154, 252, 285 contextualization of women and, 14, in return of 1166, 120, 128, 232, 253, 255–6 285 (see also Red Book) identity shaped by, 40, 257 Kolbeinn Arnórsson kaldaljós, 197 n. 79, as impediment to marriage, 70 323, 367, 413 marital, 255–7 Kolbeinn Arnórsson ungi, 413, 414, 415 names and: as kinship markers, 248–52 as chieftain, 205–8, 358 and n. 15; naming patterns and, 253, family and, 222–3, 325, 358, 368 258 marriage and, 268, 315, 321 narrowly defined, 288, 292–3 naming of, 368 natal, 255–7, 258, 288 political rivals of, 173, 205–8, 222–3 patronage and, 288, 293–4 Kolbeinn Sighvatsson, 173, 207 n. 112, related to lordship, 152, 154–6 and 325, 368, 413, 422 n. 66 Kolbeinn Tumason, 166–7, 188–9, 221, as social structure: changes in, 12, 324, 356, 367, 413, 416 76, 298–9; different in Iceland and Kolfinna Gizurardóttir,319 , 324, 382, Yorkshire, 4, 12; shift in, 56–60, 416 65–6, 78–9, 82–4, 288–92, 309; children of, 324, 345 widows and, 4, 14, 297, 307 fertility of, 345 system: bilaterally organized, 15, 65, marriage of, 164, 319, 345 84, 258; bilateral tendencies in, 64, not wealthy, 335, 342 253, 298, 304; organization of, 78–9, rank of, 146 n. 40, 354 82, 138; patrilineally organized, remarriage of, 146 n. 40, 169, 319, 353, 56, 83 (increasing importance 354 of in England), 134, 253, 293–4, Kolfinna Hallsdóttir, 318, 323, 378, 417 298–9 (increasing importance children of: age of, 86 n. 3, 88, 323, 348; of in England), 309 (increasing number of, 314 n. 3; shared names importance of in England); with kin, 367, 373; son as chieftain, patrilineal tendencies in, 57, 65–6, 88, 355 258, 304; rigid definition of, 79, 304, fertility, 348 305; seen through legal statements, marriage of, 88, 318, 348 57, 64–6, 78–9 not wealthy, 88, 334 See also children: kinship and identity rank of, 88, 355 of; family; and see also under dower; residence of, 86 n. 3 dowry; earl; identity Kolfinna Þorvaldsdóttir, 325, 374, 416 Kirkjubær nunnery, 166–7 and n. 87 Kolskeggr Eiríksson, 95, 96 Kirkstead abbey, 44, 232, 234, 272 Krákr Hrafnsson, 203, 208 Kleppjárn Hallsson, 198, 324, 368, 423 Króksfjarðareyjar, 94 Klængr Bjarnarson, 325, 368, 415, 416 Króksfjarðarnes, 94 Klængr Ejyólfsson, 423 kvánamundr. See brideprice age of, 200–1, 267, 324 chieftains and, 201 Lambert de Moulton, 115 n. 95 family and, 201, 218, 324 land. See property inheritance and, 200–1, 218, 224 large farmer. See under rank residence and, 257, 267 laws. See legal statements Klængr Þorsteinsson, bishop of Skálholt, legal administrator / guardian, 68, 69, 144 n. 35, 165, 318, 417 79–81, 186 knights’ fees, 316 legal statements, 24–37, 51–84 Avice Meschin and, 128 and n. 154, brideprice in, 74, 77–8, 122, 299 253 compared with practice, 5, 9, 26–7, 31; in division of inheritance, 106, 107, regarding division of inheritance, 110, 114, 116 113–4, 115–6, 298 index 473

dower in, 77, 79, 83; acquisition of, 78, royal origin of, 29, 32–3; from 81, 83; as customary, 75–6, 122, 299; viewpoint of king, 31, 35, 67 shift to held in usufruct, 75–6, 78, as royal promises, 28–9 283, 289–90; size of, 75–6, 299 as theory, 26–7, 35–6, 51–84 dowry in, 79; acquisition of, 78, 81, unwritten, 32, 33, 35 83; control over, 74, 83, 299; as See also II Cnut; Be Wifmannes customary, 73–5, 122, 299; as pre- Beweddung; Glanvill; Grágás; Henry mortem inheritance, 55–6, 60, 66, I’s coronation charter; Leges Henrici 78, 93; size of, 75, 78 Primi; statutum decretum female inheritance, 8, 92–3, 95, 97, Leges Henrici Primi, 30–2 99–100, 297–8; control over as comprehensive, 27, 30–1 property and, 219, 299, 301–2; doubt over applicability, 30, 54, 57, 65 guardianship and, 188, 195–6; inheritance in, 30–1, 57; female, 53–4, illegitimacy and, 121; lineal versus 57, 61; order of, 53–4; primogeniture collateral descent, 88–91; marital and, 54, 61, 65 assignments and, 122, 299 marital assignments and, 30, 75 comparison of Icelandic and English, remarriage and, 30, 71 27, 35; comprehensiveness and, See also legal statements 28–9, 30, 31, 34, 53, 55; as guide liaisons. See extra-marital relationships to practice, 28–9, 34; inheritance lifecycle and, 53, 55–60, 60–2, 62–3; marital guardianship linked to, 240, 301 assignments and, 35–6, 75, 122; household size fluctuate according to, property and, 76–9, 81–2; marriage 140 and, 32, 35–6, 70–1; similarities and, identity and, 275, 295; linked with 32, 35–6, 75 descriptions, 253–4, 264–5; variable guardianship / wardship in, 34, 188, across, 11, 245, 294, 303 (see also 195–6, 211 identity) inconsistencies in, 57–9, 61, 63, 66, important in remarriage, 169; past 88, 91 childbearing and, 151–2, 159–62, inheritance in, 31–2, 51–67, 195–6; 175, 185, 239–40, 300 division of inheritance and, 60–2, names acquired during, 253–4, 264–5 298; female inheritance and, 55–60, power and, 11, 13, 177 79, 95, 298; illegitimacy and, 62–3, widows in context of, 3, 12, 13–4, 273 119, 305 (see also under Glanvill; Lilleshall abbey, 270 Grágás; Leges Henrici Primi) Lincoln, battle of, 98 n. 36, 328 n. 1 legal developments and: in Iceland, 26, Little Fakenham, 123, 212 n. 127 35, 36, 84; in England, 31, 35, 36–7, Loengard, Janet Senderowitz, 7, 155 82–4, 298 lord, 354–64 marriage in, 28, 59, 67–73, 300, 305; control over property by, 89–91, 136, betrothal procedure and, 32, 62–3, 210–1 68 (see also under Grágás) family and: need for negotiation property in: control over, 79–81, 83, between, 67, 298; tension between, 283, 303; joint marital, 74–5, 197, 19, 34, 89–91, 153; as unrelated, 299; widow’s control of heir’s, 188, 152–4, 354–64 195–6, 301 guardianship of heir by, 210–1, 215 relationship between lordly and family inheritance and: choice of heir by, interests in, 28–9; inheritance in, 19, 57; role of lord in, 62, 67, 71–3, 29–30, 57, 62, 66–7, 83–4; marriage 89–91, 216, 298 in, 29–30, 70–3, 83–4; resolve legal statements and: II Cnut, 28, 34, tensions in, 29–30, 34, 66–7, 298 71–2; Glanvill, 34, 35, 62, 67, 73; royal interests in: inheritance in, 62, Henry I’s coronation charter, 34, 57, 67, 72–3, 83–4, 298; intervention in 67, 72; Leges Henrici Primi, 71–2; family matters, 31, 34; marriage in, originate from viewpoint of, 35, 62, 57, 71–3, 83–4 67 474 index

marriage and, 136; benefited from Mappowder, Devon, 107, 109 remarriage of widows, 189–92, Margaret, daughter of Robert, 104, 114, 239; choice of husband and, 71–3, 116, 332, 427 89, 110–1; lordly intervention in, maritagium. See dowry 152–4, 168, 214, 354–64; pressure to marital assignments. See brideprice; remarry from, 153, 168, 193 dower; dowry; property: difficult to widows acted as, 179–80, 259, 270; determine origins of exceptional case of, 235; as heiresses, marital demographics 232–4, 243, 278, 286–8; patronage age at first marriage, 133–9, 144 of, 243, 286, 287–8; titles and, 266, for England, 139, 149 269–71, 278; when married to earl, for Iceland, 137–8, 139, 149 233 n. 222, 234–5 incidence of widowhood, 139, 142 women’s room for manoeuvre and, 62, length of marriage, 139–40, 144–5, 71–3, 153, 240 145 See also chieftains; king; king of length of widowhood, 139, 142–3 England; king of Norway; royal remarriage and, 139, 142–3, 146–8, intervention 147, 149–63, 151 lordly interests children and: fertility and, 158–63; expressed in legal statements, 29, 30, number of, 139, 140–1, 145–6 59, 298 marital identity. See under identity lordly intervention in family matters, Markús Sighvatsson, 173, 207 n. 112, 325, 29, 82, 297; in marriage, 70–3, 194–5 413, 422 not in conflict with family interests, marriage, 318–30, 345–53 129, 154, 174, 193–4 age at first marriage, 133–9, 144, 313, tensions between family interests 328, 405–8 and, 8, 30, 129; in inheritance, 19, betrothal procedure for, 32, 34, 62–3, 59, 89–91, 298; widows’ room for 68, 70, 74 manoeuvre from, 30, 35–6, 71–2, 83 bonds established by, 65 and n. 53, 258 See also royal intervention Church and: consanguinity and, 70, lordship 73; doctrine of consent and, 67–8, acts of: authority of, 233, 273; by 167–9, 308–9; limited influence over heiresses, 230, 237, 273, 306; marriage in Iceland, 18, 73, 165–6, through widows’ patronage, 224–5, 174, 300; strong influence over 230, 231–3, 237, 242, 303 marriage in England, 20, 119–20, female, 45–6; power derived from, 21, 300–1 179, 232–3, 242, 303 coercion and: evidence of in Yorkshire, identity and, 295, 303 168, 239, 308; by family, 68–9, 73, language of, 45–6, 233, 273 185–7; by king, 183–5, 240; little position as heiress and, 230, 233, 237, evidence of in Iceland, 168–9, 239, 303, 306 300, 305, 308; not always occurring, relationship between kinship and, 100, 174–5, 180–3, 187–9, 193–4, 300–1; 154–6, 193, 301 widows not to be forced into, 71–3 remarriage and, 152–6, 189–5; factor consent in, 67–73, 188–9, 180–95; in, 158, 174–5, 300, 301 doctrine of, 167–9, 308–9; in legal royal, 152–5, 153, 175, 190–2 statements, 34, 71–3, 300; unknown, ties of, 21, 179 187–8 See also chieftains demographics of, 144–63; age at lovers. See extra-marital relationships first marriage, 133–9, 144; length Lucy de Rumilly, 104–5 of marriage, 139–40, 144–5, 145; number of children and, 139, 140–1, maðr, 79–80 145–6; widowhood and, 139, 142–3, Maitland, Frederic William, 29, 54 n. 7, 148–9 149 extra-marital relationship as alternative Malton priory, 44 n. 90, 287 n. 148 to: in Iceland, 165–6, 174, 203–5, index 475

300; not acceptable alternative, 175, political, 202, 267–8; benefited 301 chieftain / lord, 180–3, 190–2, 194; factors affecting, 118 see( also under to establish alliance, 97, 131, 157, remarriage) 208; politically motivated, 93, family and, 67, 84, 152–6; alliances 187–9 and, 93–5, 157, 188, 208, 258; property and, 59, 74–5, 149–52, 203–5, inheritance and, 108–12, 114, 230; grants made during, 229, 234, 187–8, 200; involvement in Icelandic 237, 242–3; inheritance and, 103, children’s, 118–9, 122, 157, 187–8, 109–12, 114–5 and n. 95, 131–2, 202, 208; involvement in Yorkshire 200; protection of, 183, 188; received children’s, 111, 120–1, 157, 195–7, at, 60, 73, 75–6, 122, 130–1 (see also 210–1, 213–4, 240; lack of, 184–5, brideprice; dower; dowry; property: 239; marital, 185–7, 188; natal difficult to determine origins of) interest in, 68–71, 73, 84, 300; rank and, 156–8; made between property and, 101–3, 122, 192–3, different ranks, 102, 142–3, 146–7 203–5; siblings and, 101–3, 108–12, and notes 40–1; illegitimacy and, 114, 180–3, 192–3; tensions between 118, 120–1 lord and, 8, 30, 71–3, 83; from royal intervention in, 8, 32; benefited viewpoint of, 29, 32; by widow to aid king, 98, 155, 190–2, 194; fined children, 187–9, 200 with king to avoid, 83, 152–4; gave family reconstruction and, 38, 43, widows room for manoeuvre, 30, 46–7, 108–9, 184 n. 25, 402–8 71–2, 83; of heiresses, 28, 57, 114, identity and: natal, 245, 258, 259–60, 183–5; of widows, 28, 152–5, 174, 276, 288–91, 304; shaped by 184–5, 190–2, 194, 240 (see also marriage, 283–5, 288–91, 292, 295, marriage: lordly involvement in) 303, 304; as wife, 257, 275 (see also of wards, 114–5 and n. 95, 192–3, identity: marital) 195–7; Yorkshire widows had little indissolubility of, 119, 163 control over, 210–1, 213–4, 240, informal, 144 n. 35, 266–7 306 lawful: conditions for, 34–5, 62–3; as women’s power and, 6–7, 180–7, 295; heir-producing union, 63, 66, 119, ability to avoid, 167–9, 183–5, 239, 163, 175, 184, 299, 304–5 300; fined with king to avoid, 185, in legal statements, 35; in early 195; influence over children’s, 69, English, 27–8, 30, 32, 57, 70–2, 300; 195–7 , 240; property and, 203–5, from family’s viewpoint, 29, 32; in 229, 230, 234, 237 Glanvill, 34–5, 60, 63, 72–3, 300; in See also extra-marital relationships; Grágás, 25, 29, 68–70, 73, 300 remarriage; and see also under lordly involvement in, 70–3, 89; individual widows benefited lord, 189–90, 192–4; Martindale, Jane, 58–9, 82 chieftains and, 70, 174, 180–3, 186; Matilda d’Aubigny, 214, 332, 429 gave widows room for manoeuvre, Matilda de Arches, 104–5 and n. 57, 167 71, 83, 195; significant in England, n. 97, 425 175, 210–1, 213–4, 301 (see also Matilda de Flamville, 104, 106, 332, 376, marriage: royal intervention in) 425 lover taken during, 164–5, 186–7, 299 Matilda de Percy (daughter of Agnes de monogamy and, 20, 116–7, 138, 163–6, Percy), 332, 376, 429 174, 300 (see also Church: influence Matilda de Percy (widow), 329, 332, 396, over marriage by) 428, 429 negotiations, 102, 169, 195 as childless, 332 in non-legal sources: in charters, 45, family of: as daughter, 271, 293–4; gifts 47; in sagas, 38–9 to, 121, 236; legitimate sister and, patterns, 133–9, 247 (see also European 106, 120; illegitimate sister and, 120, marriage pattern; non-European 362; as stepdaughter, 228, 284–5 marriage pattern) fertility of, 151–2, 346 476 index

as heiress, 104, 151–2, 229, 233–4, 271, Henry I’s coronation charter and, 29 274, 277, 344 inheritance and, 8, 88–9, 91, 92, 104, identity of: natal, 271, 276–7, 293–4 110–1 inheritance of, 90, 293–4, 339, 344; mistresses. See concubines division of, 106, 120 Molland, Dorset, 107, 109 lord and: acted as, 226, 229, 233–4; monogamy. See under marriage king as, 363; of sister, 362 monastic establishments marriage of, 90, 120, 228, 284–5, founded by widows, 228, 230–1, 329, 346; to earl, 271, 274, 276–7; 283–4, 286–7 remarriage and, 151–2, 363 in Iceland, 18, 166–7, 171 n. 108, 224 patronage of: to family foundations, in Yorkshire, 19, 167; as beneficiaries 226, 293–4; to nephews, 121, 236; of widows, 225–31, 237, 281–7, similar to male heirs, 229, 233–4 289–94, 303 property of: dower of, 123, 128, 339; See also Arthington nunnery; Binham natal, 120–1, 151–2, 236, 339 abbey; Bridlington priory; Byland rank of, 151–2, 274, 276, 363 abbey; Calder abbey; Conishead seal of: 273 n. 111, 274, 365; identified priory; Croxton abbey; Drax priory; as countess on, 271, 276–7 Embsay priory; Finchale priory; Matilda, Empress, 98–9, 111–2, 193–4, 407 Fountains abbey; Handale priory; Matilda Meschin, 327, 331, 392, 430, 431, Holy Trinity, York; Kirkjubær 432 nunnery; Kirkstead; Lilleshall children of, 270; age of, 331, 346; abbey; Malton priory; Meaux shared names with kin, 370, 375 abbey; Newhouse abbey; Nostell dowry of, 110, 112, 124–5, 338 priory; Nun Appleton; Nunkeeling; family of: co-heiress sisters and, 90, Nun Monkton; Orford nunnery; 104, 106–12, 115–6, 124–5, 193–4; Pontefract priory; priory of St. as daughter, 104, 106–8, 124–5, Denis; Rievaulx abbey; Rufford 193, 270, 331; shared name with abbey; Sallay abbey; Stainfield grandmother, 370, 375 priory; St. Bees priory; St. Mary’s, fertility of, 346 York; St. Peter’s hospital; The as heiress, 97, 104, 106, 124, 270, 344 Templars; Thurgarton priory; Troarn identity of, 270 abbey; Vaudey abbey; Warter priory; inheritance of, 338, 344; division of, Whitby abbey; York Minster 104, 106–12, 107, 115, 116; married Múli, 197, 219 at, 90, 108, 124; small, 110, 111, 116 Mundal, Else, 178 n. 3 lord of, 361 Mýrar, 203–5, 221 marriage of, 327, 346; date of, 108, 331; Möðruvellingar and Fljótamenn, 172 linked with inheritance, 90, 108, n. 109 111–2, 270 naming and, 370, 375 names, 246–65, 367–77 politics and, 111–2, 193–4; remarriage descriptions of widows: in Iceland, 255, and, 146–7 n. 41, 327, 353, 361 257, 258; in Yorkshire, 262, 263–5, rank of, 106, 146–7 n. 41, 361 274 (see also titles) McNamara, Jo Ann and Wemple, Susan, as evidence for identity, 246–7, 253–4; 179 cultural, 246–7, 260–1; familial, Meaux abbey, 44 n. 90, 225, 234, 281, 290 255–6, 257–8, 259–60, 261–5; Menuge, Noël James, 195, 214–5 marital, 256, 257–8, 262–5 Meschin fee (barony), 108 n. 71, 109–11, first names, 246–53 115, 124 indicative of strong natal attachment, See also Copeland, honour of 248; in context of birth kin, 255–6, Miller, William, 25–6, 41 258, 304; linked to inheritance, Milsom, S.F.C. 251–2, 262; through toponymic, compares theory with practice, 8 259–60, 262 female lordship and, 233 naming patterns, 367–77; in Iceland, index 477

249, 255–7; in Yorkshire, 249–50, Nun Monkton, 104, 105 n. 57, 225, 399 254, 259–60, 263–5 n. 1 patronymics, 254, 258; primarily nunneries identified by in Iceland, 255, 263, 304 as alternative to marriage, 21, 166–7, reasons for choice of, 247–9, 250–3, 260 174, 175, 300, 301 surnames, 254, 255, 259–61, 277 foundations of, 104, 166–7, 237, 286, toponymics, 254, 259, 260, 269; 300; by widows, 228, 230–1, 237, authority and, 262, 270–1; in 283–4, 286–7 Iceland, 255, 257, 278; land tenure in England, 167 not sole basis for assigning, 257, in Iceland, 18, 166–7, 174, 300 259, 261, 263, 278; linked with land in Yorkshire, 167, 175; as beneficiaries tenure, 251, 260–2, 270–1, 276–7; of widows, 253, 263, 292, 399 n. 1 Norman, 260–1; on seals, 274, 276–7 See also Arthington nunnery; natal identity. See under identity Kirkjubær nunnery; Nun Appleton; Nelson, Janet, 12–3 Nunkeeling; Nun Monkton; Orford Newhouse abbey, 228 nunnery Nigel d’Aubigny, 99 non-European marriage pattern, 134–8, Oddaverjar, 38, 172 n. 109 144 Oddný Þorgeirsdóttir, 172 n. 110, 323 Nordal, Guðrún. See Guðrún Nordal Oddr Álason, 164, 204–5, 210, 321, 322, Normandy, 16, 121, 212, 403, 405 n. 10, 420, 421 406 Oddr dignari, 164, 219–20 Norman Oddr Oddsson, 325, 369, 420 customs and laws, 19, 27, 33, 62, 214–5 Oddr Þórarinsson, 201, 219, 322, 414, identity, 254, 260–1, 294 415 land, 98, 105, 251, 254, 260–1, 262, Oliver de Tracy, 191, 430 403, 406 Orford nunnery, 228, 292 names, 247–8, 251, 254, 260–1, 262 Ormr Bjarnason, 325, 368, 415, 416 northern England, 109–10, 111, 405 n. 10 Ormr Jónsson Breiðbælingr, 95–6, 96, northern Europe, 134, 137 415 Northern Quarter, 201 Ormr Jónsson Svínfellingr, 251, 321, 414 Norway Ormr Ormsson, 201, 251, 326, 369, 414 colonization of Iceland from, 15, 247 Otkatla Þórólfsdóttir, 320, 325, 384, 424 Icelandic submission to, 15, 24, 217 as childless, 280, 325 travel to, 204, 208, 222–3; by Guðný brideprice and dowry of, 122, 280, 336 Böðvarsdóttir, 164, 219–20; by family of, 341, 356 Solveig Sæmundardóttir, 202, fertility of, 349 219–20; by Þorlaug Pálsdóttir, 86 n. marriage of, 122, 320 4, 146 n. 39, 170 rank of, 356 see also king of Norway Norwegian king. See king of Norway Óláfr Þórðarson, 101, 117, 198 n. 80, 422 Nostell priory, 44 n. 90, 229 Órækja Snorrason, 198 n. 80, 204–5, 421 Nun Appleton, 228, 230, 270–1, 287 Ósk Þorvarðsdóttir, 320, 325, 384, 423 Nuneham Courtenay, 212 n. 127 children of, 325, 350, 368 Nunkeeling, 123, 283 and n. 141 family of, 324, 342, 358, 368 Nunkeeling nunnery, 44 fertility of, 350 daughter as patron of, 225, 235, 289 as heiress, 85 n. 2, 188, 342 as focus for family patronage, 263, as húsfreyja, 266 283–4 marriage of, 266, 320 founded: by Agnes de Arches, 228, 230, property of, 336, 342 264, 283–4, 292; on dower land, 228, rank of, 358 283–4, 292; to commemorate souls of husband and sons, 228, 264 Páll Hallsson, 181, 183, 417 identity and, 263–4, 283–4, 289, 292 Páll Sölvason, 102, 355 478 index

Páll Þorvaldsson, 203, 421 225–31, 237, 286; secular, 231–5, Pontefract priory, 44 n. 90, 229, 261 237 parage, 62, 115 rank and: of both honorial baronage See also inheritance: partible and tenants-in-chief, 227–30, 233, patrilineage. See under kinship: system 236–7, 243, 286–8, 303; comital, patrimony 234–5; founding of religious houses depletion of, 124, 230, 289 and, 230–1, 237; position as heiress division of, 61, 62, 77 more important than, 229–30, 233, dower as part of, 77, 264, 289 237, 243, 303 kept intact, 66, 78, 105 religious, 231, 237, 242, 246, 303; lineal descent and, 78, 289, 293–4 foundations by widows, 111, marriage and, 134, 136 230–1, 286–7; to houses connected none in Iceland, 78, 257 with marital kin, 227–8; to large primogeniture and, 65–6, 78 Yorkshire houses, 229–30, 233–4, patronage 286; to natal foundations, 225–7, as acts of lordship, 180, 130; position 235, 281–2 as heiress and, 233, 237, 243, 287–8, secular, 237, 242, 246, 303; to 303; tenants and, 231–3, 242–3; illegitimate kin, 120–1, 130, 236; widows acting like male lord to legitimate kin, 87, 236, 237, 243, through, 229–30, 232–4, 234–5, 288; to tenants, 231–5, 243, 287–8 286 in sources, 43–5, 48 confirmations, 224–5, 231–2, 234–5, using marital lands: free disposal of, 242–3, 287–8, 303 289–90; to houses connected with exercised power through, 224–5, 231, marital kin, 227–8, 242, 282–6, 303; 242, 303 to kin, 288; to tenants, 234–5 gifts (see gifts) using natal lands: to kin, 236, 288, 303; of heiresses: during first marriage, to natal foundations, 225–7, 242, 229–30, 233–4, 237, 286, 303; 281–2, 303 importance of position as, 229–30, as widow, 229–30, 233–4, 286; grants 233, 237, 243, 303, 307; lordship made mainly as, 226–7, 237, 242–3, and, 229–30, 233, 237, 243, 286–8, 282, 287–8, 303 303, 307; most active of widows, See also under individual widows 225, 242, 303; natal identity and, patronymics. See under names 237, 281–2, 290–2; religious, 227, Paynel family, 97–9, 259, 265, 402–8 229–30, 237, 281–2, 286, 303; Paynel fee (barony), 98–9, 127, 406, 407 secular, 233–4, 236–7, 243 Percivall, Nic, 137, 144, 316 identity expressed through, 45, 246, Percy family, 99, 120 n. 119, 167, 260 280–1, 286–7, 307; heiresses linked of baronial rank, 15, 99 to natal kin, 237, 281–2, 287–8, cartulary of, 44–5 290–2, 294; indicates shift of identity heiresses and, 15, 286, 293–4 at marriage, 283–6, 288–90; natal, identity of members of, 293–4 288–9, 290–4; non-inheriting Percy fee (barony), 106, 112, 115, 120–1 widows linked with marital kin, 237, and n. 119, 285, 399 n. 1 282–3, 290–1, 292, 304 Peter de Brus, 193, 216, 225, 331, 364, length of widowhood and, 237–8, 242, 425 303 Peter de Fauconberg, 263–4, 331, 426 motives for, 224–5, 282, 284, 285, 303 Peter de Valognes, 212, 329, 431 of non-inheriting widows, 225, 234–5; Philip de Belmeis (husband of Matilda grants to kin, 236–7, 243, 288; Meschin), 108, 112, 193–4, 270, 327, indicates link to marital kin, 237, 430 282–3, 290–1, 292, 304; religious, Philip de Belmeis (son of Matilda 227, 229–30, 282 Meschin), 270, 331, 370, 430 patterns of, 229–30, 286, 303; power Philip de Kyme (son of Rohaise), 333, and, 224–5, 242, 303; religious, 217, 72 index 479 politics definition of: traditional, 6, 9, 177, 217; family and, 67, 87, 99, 194, 267, 289; wider, 9–10, 177–8, 239, 301 affect on children, 188–9, 201–2, informal, 6, 9, 177–8 and notes 3 and 5 206–9, 212, 242, 279; affect on lifecycle and, 11, 188, 203 dowry, 93–5, 99–100; affect on linked with property, 10, 132, 178, 217, inheritance, 62, 95–9, 100, 106–12, 222–3, 306: of children, 188, 196, 129–30, 298; political marriage 201–2, 218, 241; derived from use and, 93–5, 99–100, 154, 157, 169, of, 1, 9–10, 219–22, 224–5, 231–5, 188–9, 202; women’s power and, 241–2, 287–8 178, 204–9, 218, 241, 305, 306; remarriage and, 180–7, 194–5, 309 women used by kinsmen in political sources of, 10, 179, 192, 203–7: alliances, 40, 129–30, 188, 202 administration of children’s húsfreyja and, 266, 267–9 inheritance, 188–9, 196–7, 218, 241; marriage and, 67, 106–12; for bonds of kinship, 10, 178–9, 200; kinsman’s benefit, 1, 169, 188–9, chieftains, 200, 205–6; guardianship, 202; politics in Iceland influenced, 188–9, 196–7, 301; land, 10, 132, 99–100, 169, 170–4, 180–3, 240, 178, 217; sexual power, 147, 179, 300; royal involvement in, 97–8, 186–7, 200, 204–5; use of property, 190–2, 194, 239–40, 407–8; used to 219–22, 224–5, 231–5, 241–2, 301–3 establish alliance, 99–100, 131, 154, associated with titles, 266–9, 269–70 157, 188; used to reward supporters, women’s power, 6, 180; dependent 154, 182, 192–3, 407–8 on circumstances, 13, 241–2, 310; national, 28, 99, 267; affected difference between the sexes and, remarriage, 170–4, 190–4, 240–1, 7, 179; as powerful or powerless, 6, 309; influenced transference of 217, 310 property, 130, 197–8, 201–2, 204–9, See also children: inheritance of, 240–1, 309; political instability in marriage of; household: widows, England and, 18–9, 130, 190–4; women; inheritance: woman’s political change in Iceland and, 17, control over own; lordship: female; 170–4, 197–8, 201–2, 240–1, 309 marriage: coercion, women’s power politics: chieftains and, 95–7, power and; politics: power politics, 180–3, 187, 201–2; inheritance widows and; remarriage: coercion; and, 95–8, 106–12, 192, 201–2; wardship; and see also control over king used women in, 97–8, 106–12, under guardian; heirs; inheritance; 155, 190–2; marriage and, 1, 97–8, property; remarriage; and see also 106–12, 155, 180–3, 187, 190–2, 202; under individual widows by widows, 1, 147, 180–3, 187, 218, Prestssaga Guðmundar góða, 39, 168 204–9, 221–2 prerogative wardship. See under wardship religious patronage and, 282, 303 primogeniture. See under inheritance widows and, 1, 206–10, 218, 222–3, priory of St. Denis, 123 232–3, 267; acquisition of property property, 334–44 and, 297, 298; power through extra- acquisition of, 9–10, 68, 87, 129, 297, marital relationships, 147, 204–5, 334–44; according to sources, 35–6, 221–2, 242; used political rivalry for 38, 40, 42, 75, 79; as large dowry, own ends, 180–3, 187, 206–9, 221–2, 74, 93–5 and n. 23, 99; flexibility in, 240, 242 131, 252, 298; marital, 74, 75, 86–7, Pollock, Frederick, 54 n. 7, 149 130–1; natal, 85–6, 92–3, 129–31, Poll Tax returns, 134, 135, 140 252, 298 Port fee, 123 charters and, 47, 303; intimately power, 341–4 concerned with, 43, 104, 217 chieftains and, 181–3, 201–2, 205–8, Church and, 20, 224, 302, 306 309; political changes and, 17–8, 156, circumstances affected descent of, 99, 173–4, 210, 241, 309; widows used 115, 298 balance of power between, 182, 187 close family unit and, 64–5, 88, 304 480 index

control over, 79–80, 179–80, 223, 237; Radstone, Northamptonshire, 107, 113, acts of lordship and, 232, 242–3, 113 303; alienation of, 81–2, 219, 223, Ragnheiðr Aronsdóttir, 320, 324, 383, 420 236, 241–2, 301, 306–7, 309; for chieftains and, 355 benefit of children, 179, 224, 302, children of, 324, 345, 374 306; children’s paternal property, family of, 100, 355, 374 188, 196–7, 218–9, 240–1, 278, 299, fertility of, 345 301, 306–7, 309; forced removal inheritance of, 100, 335, 341 from, 201, 207, 222–3, 242; identity marriage of, 146 n. 40, 169, 320, 345, and, 36, 278; little over heir’s 355; remarriage of, 320, 355 property, 6, 214, 240, 299, 301, 306; rank of, 146 n. 40, 355 patronage and, 224–5, 237, 242, 288, Ralph d’Aubigny, 228 and notes 199–200, 303; power and, 9–11, 210, 218–23, 284 n. 143, 329, 429 224–37, 241–2, 301–3, 305–6; as Ralph Louvel, 191 widow, 68, 74, 76–7, 83, 177 Ralph Paynel, 403, 406, 407, 431 difficult to determine origins of, 42–3, Randalín Filippussdóttir, 322, 326, 388, 47, 122–6, 131, 280, 299, 306–7 414, 415 division of, 100–16, 117–8 aid from marital kin, 199, 201–2, 279 equal inheritance of, 56, 60, 64, 65 chieftains and, 201–2, 210, 359 gifts of, 87, 120–1, 225, 242, 288, 303 children of: age of, 326, 351; loss of (see also gifts) inheritance of, 198, 199, 201–2, 210, identity and, 36, 43, 278, 3034 218–9 landholding system and, 15–6, 19, 40 family of, 100, 201, 279 marital, 86–7, 122, 130–1, 210, 299; fertility, 351 communal, 40, 42, 74–5, 81, 299, property of, 337; inheritance of, 100, 304, 306–7; transferred, 202, 343 288 rank of, 279, 359 marriage and, 59, 67, 230; remarriage residence of, 201, 218–9 and, 149–52, 151, 179, 183, 200 rank, 354–64 maternal, 54; paternal and, 53, 65, affected division of inheritance, 113–4 95–6, 114; naming and, 253, comital, 234–5, 238, 272, 278 261–2 demographics and: age at marriage names and, 252–4, 261–2 and, 135–8, 144; children and, natal, 288; acquisition of, 85–6, 92–3, 140–1, 146; remarriage and, 142–3, 129–31, 252, 298 146–7 and notes 40–1, 157–8, 158 as movables, 16, 53–4, 75, 76, 126, 127; extra-marital relationships and, 146–7 acquisition of, 85, 93, 122; dowry and notes 42–3, 157, 158, 163, 174 as, 55–6, 74, 93, 122, 126; rarely as factor in remarriage: in Iceland: mentioned in sources, 42, 47 157, 158, 162–3, 169, 170, 307; in protection of children’s, 180–3, 200, Yorkshire, 157–8, 158, 175 223–4, 301–2, 306 farmer / large farmer: extra-marital sagas uninterested in, 42–3, 47, 104, relationships and, 146–7 and 217 notes 42–3, 157, 158, 163, 174; few tenants and, 224–5, 231–5, 242–3 remarried, 157, 158, 174, 300; as transference of to children, 25, 197–8, supporter of widow, 203, 206–7; 199, 305, 309; strategies for, 200–10, widow had power over, 1, 206–7, 220, 240–1, 301; widows’ goal of, 218 179, 223–4, 278, 301–2 honorial baronage, 269–71, 274–5, See also brideprice; dower; dowry; 276–7; founded own nunnery, 230, guardian: control over inheritance 237, 286–7; gifts to kin, 236–7, 288; of; inheritance; wardship: institution grants to larger Yorkshire religious of aided transfer of property houses, 237, 286; grants to marital public / private dichotomy, 6, 178 and religious houses, 229–30, 237, n. 5 282–3; grants to natal foundations, index 481

227, 281–2; patronage as lords, 233, extra-marital relationships as 235, 243, 287–8, 303; remarriage of, alternative to, 185–7, 203–5, 300–1 157–8, 158 factors affecting, 174–5; children as, identity and: influence of rank on, 160–2; fertility as, 151–2, 158–60, 284–5, 303; marital, 290–1, 296; 162–3, 168–9, 170–1, 183–7, 240, natal, 290–1, 295, 296 307–8; lordship as, 152–6, 240; marriage and: patterns, 135–8; rank kinship as, 152–3, 154–5, 156, 240; affected property settlements of, politics, 170–4; position as heiress 102, 118; women used by kinsmen as, 151–2, 183–7; rank as, 156–8, in, 154, 156–7 170–1, 183–5, 240; wealth as, position as heiress more important 149–51, 183–7, 240 than rank: in acts of lordship, 233, family and, 152–4, 180–3, 185–7, 237, 243, 278, 303; in benefactions, 192–3, 239, 300; children and, 73, 229–30, 237, 243, 303, 307; for 77, 187–9, 215, 239 identity, 290–1, 295, 296, 307; for identity and, 271–2, 275, 283–6 independent action, 278, 296 in legal statements: in English, 30, 35, royal, 111, 157–8, 158 71–2; in Icelandic, 25, 35, 73 seals and, 274–5, 276–7 lordly involvement in, 71–3, 194–5; tenant-in-chief, 269–71, 274–5, 276–7; benefit to lord from, 155, 189–90, founded own monastery, 230–1, 190–4; no systematic control over, 237, 286–7; gifts to kin, 236–7, 288; 153, 155, 301 (see also remarriage: grants to larger Yorkshire religious royal involvement in) houses, 237, 286; grants to marital marital demographics and, 139, 142–3, religious houses, 229–30, 237, 146–8, 147; factors involved in 282–3; grants to natal foundations, 149–63 227, 281–2; patronage as lords, 233, political, 180–3, 187–9, 190–2, 194 243, 287–8, 303; remarriage of, pressure for, 120, 153–5, 168–70, 174, 157–8, 158 186–7, 203 titles and, 267–8, 269–71, 272 property and, 45, 179, 192–3; See also chieftain; earl; tenants-in- protection of, 77, 187–8, 200, 215; chief; and see also under individual wealth and, 149–52, 151, 163, 169 widows rank and, 156–8, 161, 163, 169, 174–5 Ranulf de Belmeis, 331, 370, 430 resisted, 152–3, 168, 180–3, 184, 203 Ranulf Meschin, earl of Chester, 97, 251, royal involvement in, 183–5, 190–2, 430 194, 240; widows fined to avoid, 83, Ranulf Meschin, son of William Meschin 152–5, 185, 195 and Cecily de Rumilly I, 108, 110, widows’ room for manoeuvre in, 11, 124–5, 251, 331, 370, 430 83, 180–3, 185–7, 300–1 (see also Rawdon, 108 n. 71, 403 n. 3 remarriage: lordly involvement in) Razi, Zvi, 136 n. 9 See also extra-marital relationships; Red Book, 232, 253, 405 n. 10 marriage; and see also under lands specified in, 108 n. 71, 115, 128, individual widows 403 and n. 3 residence, 40, 196, 203–7, 218, 220, 278–9 number of knights’ fees held according See also farms; household; and see also to, 120, 285 n. 145 under individual widows remarriage, 318–30, 345–64 return of knights’ fees in 1166. See Red Book chieftains and, 174, 180–3, 186 Richard I, king of England, 155, 184–5, choice in, 179, 185–7, 188–9; in legal 212, 254 statements, 35, 68–9, 71–3 Richard de Clare (son of Count Gilbert coercion and, 71, 73, 185–7, 193–4, de Brionne), 250 240; evidence of in Yorkshire, 168, Richard de Curcy, 98 and notes 36–7, 183–5, 239; little evidence of in 192, 232, 328, 404 n. 7, 405 and n. 10, Iceland, 168–9, 180–3, 239, 305 408, 431 consent and, 69, 71–3, 168–70, 180–95 Richard de Lucy, 113, 432 482 index

Richard de Moreville, 120–1 and n. 119, inheritance of, 340, 344; as co-heiress, 329, 429 90, 104, 114, 116 Richard de Percy of Dunsley, 189–90, marriage of, 90, 114, 330 294, 327, 331, 428 naming and, 250, 372, 376 Richard de St. Quintin, 123, 263, 283 rank of, 364 n. 141, 426 wardship of, 114 Richard Malebisse, 236 Rohaise, daughter of Walter Giffard Rievaulx abbey, 228, 229, 292 (great-grandmother of Rohaise de Rikiza Oddsdóttir, 201, 219, 326, 414, Clare), 250 415 Rohaise de Clare, 328, 332, 394, 426, 427 Robert, bishop of Lincoln, 272 acts of lordship, 233 n. 222, 234–5, 272 Robert de Brus (Yorkshire tenant-in- children of, 215 n. 141, 376; age of, chief ), 192, 260 n. 54, 425 214, 332, 346; as heir to earldom, Robert de Courtenay, 113, 329, 432 214, 215 n. 141, 233 n. 222, 235, Robert de Curcy III of Normandy, 405 238, 272–3, 276; marriage of, 214; n. 10 wardship of, 214, 215 n. 141 Robert de Curcy (son of Avice Meschin), fertility of, 215 n. 141, 346 97, 331, 370 identity of, 250, 271–2, 275–6 Robert de Fauconberg, 190, 327, 426 marriage of, 328, 346; confirmed Robert de Gant, 127, 128 and n. 154, 192 husband’s grants, 228, 234, 272; to and n. 63, 328, 404 n. 6, 407, 427, 431 earl, 233 n. 222, 235, 238, 271–2, Robert de Ros, 228, 284 n. 143, 329, 274, 275–6; lordly involvement in, 429 328 n. 190 Robert de Rumilly, 125 and n. 136, 430 naming and, 250, 376 Robert de Rumilly’s wife, 125 and n. 136 as non-inheriting, 233 n. 222, 234–5, Robert Jordan, 235 238, 271, 344 Robert le Poher, 213 property: dower, 228, 234, 272, 276, Robert fitz Fulk, steward of the Percys, 290 n. 159, 339; of uncertain origin, 252, 270 n. 94, 287, 328, 426, 427 86, 339 Robert fitz Robert, steward of the Percys rank of, 146–7 n. 41, 238, 272, 361 (son of Alice de St. Quintin), 426, 427 remarriage of, 146–7 n. 41, 215 n. 141, death of, 114, 328 271–2, 275–6, 328, 353; benefactions as eldest son, 214, 252, 264, 332, 371 with husband, 228, 272 n. 105, 276; as father of Rohaise, 104, 114 royal involvement in, 190, 361 marriage of, 214; as husband of seals of, 272–3, 274, 275–6, 365 Rohaise de Clare, 272, 275, 276, 328 as sister of earl, 274, 275, 344 shared name with father, 252, 371 title of comitissa and, 271–3, 274, 275–6 wardship of, 214 Rosenthal, Joel T., 142–3, 146, 149, 158 Robert Tresgoz, 211–2 n. 70 Roger de Flamville, 190, 287 n. 148, 328, Rotuli de dominabus et pueris et puellis, 425 135, 137 Roger de Mortimer, 331, 370, 430 royal intervention Roger de Mowbray, 190, 231 n. 212, 287 exclusion of, 32 n. 148, 361–2 in family matters, 29, 82, 83, 89–90, Roger de Valognes, 32 298 Roger Mauduit, 153 n. 57, 330, 425 gave widows room for manoeuvre, Rohaise, daughter of Robert, 330, 333, 71–2, 298; through fines, 83, 153, 195 401, 427 in inheritance, 62, 71–2, 91; given children of: ages of, 333, 352; shared in marriage with, 59, 114, 183; name with kin, 250, 372 redistribution of, 127, 151 n. 54, family of: as daughter, 104, 114, 250, 406–7; in time of war, 98–9, 100, 332, 376; sister of, 90, 104, 114, 116 407–8; as ward, 89–90, 108–9, 114, fertility of, 352 213–4 index 483

in legal statements, 28–9, 31, 32, 62, See also under Alice de Curcy; Alice 82, 298 de Rumilly I; Alice de Rumilly II; in marriage: noble marriage, 28, 71–2; Alice de St. Quintin; Avice Meschin; political, 59, 98–9, 100, 190–2, 194; Gundreda de Warenne; Hawise, as ward, 89–90, 109, 213–4; woman countess of Aumale; Matilda de given with inheritance, 59, 114, 183 Percy; Rohaise de Clare none in Iceland, 29, 156 Searle, Eleanor, 59, 97, 98 in remarriage: coercion, 184, 240; Seldælir, 38, 172 n. 109 little evidence of king’s systematic Settle, 121 involvement in, 133, 153–4, 153, sexual relationships. See extra-marital 175; through fines, 83, 152–4, 195 relationships See also king of England: involvement Sibyl de Valognes, 329, 332, 398, 428, 429 in marriage; wardship: prerogative; children of, 215 and n. 141, 332; age and see also under marriage of, 211 n. 122, 285, 346, 352; shared Rufford abbey, 44 n. 90, 228 name with kin, 372, 377; wardship Rumilly family, 167, 402 of, 213–4, 215 high rank of, 15, 192, 251, 286 dower, 123, 339; benefactions from, marriages of controlled to prevent 283, 284–6, 290; composition of, alliances, 192, 213 127–8, 284 n. 143 naming and, 250, 251, 260 family and, 228, 284–5, 290, 372, 377 property and, 99, 286 fertility of, 215 and notes 141 and 143, Russell, J.C., 137, 141 and n. 21, 146 346, 352 identity and, 283, 284–6, 290, 292 sagas. See contemporary sagas; length of widowhood, 238 Guðmundar saga dýra; Íslendinga saga; marriage of, 228, 284–5, 329, 346 Prestssaga Guðmundar góða; Sturlu naming and, 372, 377 saga; Svínfellinga saga; Þórðar saga patronage of, 228, 283, 284–6, 290, 292 kakala; Þorgils saga ok Hafliða, Þorgils power / room for manoeuvre and, saga skarða 213–5, 238, 284–6, 292 Saint Þorlákr, bishop of Skálholt, 165–6 rank of, 146–7 n. 41, 285, 362–3 Sakka, 257, 267 remarriage of, 215, 228, 284–6, 329, Sallay abbey, 44, 120 n. 119, 226, 293 346, 352, 362; benefited men Sauðafell, 181, 202, 218 n. 153, 219–20 involved in, 190, 194, 362; children Saurbær, 180 and, 211 n. 122, 215 and n. 141; seals, 365–6 consent and, 193, 194; patronage imagery on, 273–4, 275; express and, 228, 284–5, 290 identity, 46 Sighvatr Sturluson, 413, 415, 416, 419, importance of marriage to earl and, 420, 422 274–5, 296 age of, 324 identity and, 46, 246, 266, 275–6, 278; as chieftain, 101–2, 173, 207, 222–3, express different aspects of than text 357 of charter, 276, 277; indicate shift in, children of, 222–3 275–6 death of, 173, 207 n. 112, 321 legends on, 271: changed after family and, 196, 207, 256, 257, 324, 357 remarriage, 272, 275–6; express marriage and, 101–2, 189, 222–3, 321 identity, 46, 276–7 politics and, 173, 189, 222–3 linked to independent action, 273, 278 residence of, 196, 207, 222–3, 257 none in Iceland, 273 Sighvatr Tumason, 201, 326, 369, 413, patterns of women’s, 273–4, 276–7; 415 exception to, 274, 296; mainly used Sigríðr Sighvatsdóttir, 207, 222 by heiresses, 274–5, 278; mainly Sigríðr Sturludóttir, 172 n. 110, 323 used by high aristocracy, 274–5 Sigríðr Tumadóttir, 142 n. 24 titles on, 271–2, 275–6 Sigríðr Úlfheiðinsdóttir, 257 484 index

Sigríðr Þorvarðsdóttir, 196 n. 73, 197 Snælaug Högnadóttir, 320, 325, 383, 419 n. 79, 323, 417, 418 chieftain and, 357 Sigurðr grikk, 165, 321 children of, 196 n. 73, 197 n. 79, 325, Sigurðr Ormsson, 142 n. 24, 166, 188–9, 349–50, 368, 374 221, 319, 356, 413, 414, 416 extra-marital relationships of, 147 Simon, Avice Meschin’s man, 254, 259 n. 43, 196 n. 73, 320, 349, 357 Simon de Kyme, 114, 330, 427 fertility of, 349–50 Simon de Senlis III, 214 and n. 137, 427 marriage of, 320, 350 Símon Þorvarðsson, 185–6, 321 rank of, 147 n. 43, 357 Skálholt, 18, 24 social status. See rank Skipton, caput of honour of, 106, 107, Solveig Jónsdóttir, 96, 415 109–13, 124–5 Solveig Sæmundardóttir, 321, 326, 386, Skipton, honour of 413, 415, 420 composition of, 106–8, 107, 109–12, aid from marital kin, 199, 202, 219–20, 232 279, 358 control over through marriage, chieftains and: as daughter of,119 , 279; 109–12, 183, 190–1 had no chieftain, 358; married to, dowry lands from, 124–5, 127 119, 267 inheritance of, 183–4, 261, 274; children of, 202, 218, 219–20; age of, division of, 109–12, 112–3, 113, 115 218, 326, 351; shared name with kin, Smith, Richard M., 135–6, 138–9 369, 375; son inherited only in part, Snailwell, 123 199, 202 Snóksdalur, 218 n. 153 control over marital property, 202, 218, Snorri Húnbogason, the Lawspeaker, 180, 219–20, 337 417 death of, 117, 326 Snorri Snorrason, 423 family of, 117, 369, 375; father of, 100, age of, 200–1, 324 103, 257 chieftains and, 201 fertility of, 351 family of, 201, 218, 324, 367 identity of, 257, 279; as húsfreyja, 257, inheritance of, 200–1, 218, 224 267 naming of, 367 inheritance of, 337; at expense residence of, 257 of brothers, 95, 100, 103; as Snorri Sturluson, 415, 419, 421, 422 illegitimate, 117, 118, 119; as children of, 202–4, 280, 358; marriages wealthy heiress, 118, 119, 151, 343 of, 122, 182, 202–3 marriage of, 313 n. 2, 321; to his death, 205 chieftain, 119, 202, 267; linked divorce and, 142 n. 24 with inheritance, 95, 100, 103; no family of: Sturla Sighvatsson, nephew remarriage, 151; politics and, 100, of, 181, 202, 204, 219–20; as son, 103, 267 126, 196, 220, 256, 324, 367 naming and, 369, 375 fostering of, 103, 196 politics and, 100, 103, 202, 219–20, marriage and: daughter’s, 182, 202–3, 267 315; his own, 103, 126; son’s, 122 rank of, 119, 267, 279, 358 naming and, 367 residence of, 218 n. 153, 219–20, 267, politics and, 182, 202–5; as most 279 powerful man in Iceland, 1, 103, 202 travel to Norway, 202, 219–20 property and: had control over, 103, Spitchwick, Devon, 107, 109 122, 202, 203–4; other’s controlled, Staðarhóll, 93 n. 23, 181 126, 220 Staðarhólsmenn, 172 n. 109 relationship with Hallveig Ormsdóttir, staðir, 18, 43, 93 n. 23, 200 n. 82, 201 266, 321 Staður, 101, 101 as writer, 38, 42 Stafford, Pauline, 12–3, 28, 79 n. 109 Snorri Þorvaldsson, 203–4, 421 Stainfield priory, 226, 293 Snorrungagoðorð, 181–3 Stakkar, 126 index 485

Standard, battle of the, 98 n. 36, 190 insecure as king, 19, 99–100, 109 status. See rank as lord, 111–2 statutum decretum politics and, 99 and n. 36, 109, 111–2, debate over origin of, 32–3, 58, 61 190–4 and notes 58 and 63, 405 division of inheritance and, 32, 61–2, n. 10, 407–8 105 wardship and, 214 recording in charter of, 32–3, 58 stepmother, 77, 177 women’s claim to inheritance and, 54, stepson, 405 n. 10 58, 59, 65–6 aided by stepfather, 187, 189, 200 See also legal statements as chieftain or lord of widow, 128, 154, St. Bees priory, 44, 226, 261, 281 n. 139 358 St. Denis priory, 123 possible threat to widow’s children, 1, Steinunn Brandsdóttir, 322, 326, 387, 203–4, 220 419 widow’s lands held of, 128, 263–4, 285 chieftains and, 357 Stert, Somerset, 107, 109 family of, 326, 342, 369 steward’s fee, 114, 252 marriage of, 322, 357 St. Mary’s, York, 44, 229, 269 naming and, 369 Stockdale, 120 n. 119 property and, 85 n. 2, 337, 342 Stogursey, barony of, 403, 405 n. 10 rank of, 357 St. Peter’s hospital, 120–1 n. 119, 229 residence of, 218 n. 153 Sturla Sighvatsson, 413, 415, 420, 422 Steinunn Hrafnsdóttir, 321, 325, 385, 420, age of, 315, 325 421 as chieftain, 181–3, 204–5, 267 chieftains and, 199, 208, 209, 358 death of, 202, 208, 321; at battle of children of: age of, 325, 350; Örlygsstaður, 173, 207 n. 112; inheritance of, 198, 343; number politics and, 173, 205, 207 n. 122 of, 314; political marriage of, 208; family of, 202, 325, 368; brother as shared name with kin, 369, 374 successor, 207, 208; dispute with family of, 198, 249 n. 17, 369, 374; uncles, 181–3, 203–4 death of brothers, 208, 209 marriage and, 315; in relation to wife, fertility of, 350 202, 257, 267, 321; politics and, as húsfreyja, 268, 296 181–3 marriage of, 268, 321, 350, 358 naming and, 368 naming and, 249 n. 17, 369, 374 politics and, 173, 181–3, 203–5, 267 politics and, 208–9 residence of, 181 power and, 198, 199, 208, 209, 268 travelled to Norway, 204 property and, 198, 199, 336, 343 Sturla Sæmundarson, 201, 326, 369, 413, residence of, 218 n. 153, 268 414, 415 rank and, 208, 268, 296, 358 Sturla Þórðarson (author of Íslendinga Steinunn Sigmundardóttir, 325, 375, saga), 417, 422 420 as author, 38–9, 173 Steinunn Sturludóttir, 94, 94, 118, 323, as chieftain, 359 419 children of, 188, 359 Steinunn Þorsteinsdóttir, 257 and family: cousin of, 117, 173; stepdaughter, 69, 228, 284–5 grandparents of, 38–9, 251; as son, stepfather, 94, 109, 215, 221, 342 101, 117, 182–3, 198 n. 80; uncles of, Stephen, count of Aumale, 360, 425 38–9, 173 Stephen, king of England fostering of, 251 civil war and, 19, 130, 405 n. 10 inherited as illegitimate son, 101, 117, confirmation of grants and, 406 n. 11 198 n. 80 control over heir’s inheritance by, 98–9, marriage of, 182–3, 188 100, 407–8 naming and, 251 control over marriage by, 98–100, politics and, 173, 188 111–2, 190–2, 193–4, 214, 407–8 Sturla Þórðarson (Hvamm-Sturla). See 486 index

Hvamm-Sturla Þórðarson as indicator of authority, 266–9, 270–1, Sturlungar, 95, 101, 172 n. 109, 189 277–8, 296 Sturlunga saga, 37–43, 142 n. 24, 154 as indicator of family association, n. 60, 224, 313 266–7, 269, 270, 275–6 Sturlu saga, 39, 173, 187–8 as indicator of identity, 246, 266, Styrmir Þórisson, 207, 222 272–3, 275–8, 294, 296 surnames. See under names toponymic as, 261 Svarthöfði Dufgusson, 208, 420 See also countesses; domina; húsfreyja; Sveinbjörn Bárðarson, 355, 420 and see also under individual widows Sveinbjörn Hrafnsson, 203, 208 toponymics. See under names Sveinbjörn Sigmundarson, 325, 369, 420 Trafford, Claire de, 119–20 Svínafell, 218 n. 153 transference of chieftaincy. See under Svínfellingar, 38, 172 n. 109 chieftains: aid from Svínfellinga saga, 39 transference of property. See under Sælingsdalsheiði, battle of, 173 property; inheritance Sælingsdalstunga, 126, 180–1, 200, 219 Troarn abbey, 125 Sæmundr Jónsson, 96, 96–7, 103, 257, Tumi Kolbeinsson, 198 n. 80, 319, 413, 357, 415 414 Sæmundr Ormsson, 196, 322, 326, 359, Tumi Sighvatsson (oldest son of Halldóra 413, 414, 415 Tumadóttir), 325, 368, 413, 422 Tumi Sighvatsson (youngest son of Teitr Bersason biskupsefni, 167, 324, 416 Halldóra Tumadóttir), 207, 219 n. 155, Teitr Guðmundarson, 122, 320, 424 222–3, 321, 325, 369, 413, 415, 416, Templars, 228, 284–5, 290, 292 422 tenants-in-chief, 354–64 Tunga in Svínadalur, 197, 219 benefactions of widows as: acts of lordship and, 233, 243, 287–8, 303; usufruct, 75–6, 79 n. 108, 128, 235, to found male monastery, 230–1, 289–90, 299 237, 286–7; to kin, 236–7, 288; to large Yorkshire houses, 229–30, 237, Úlfheiðr Gunnarsdóttir, 319, 323, 380, 286; to marital religious houses, 237, 418 282–3; to natal foundations, 227, children of, 164, 323, 349; 237, 281–2 guardianship of, 196; inheritance of, identity of, 291, 307 198; residence of, 257; shared name kinship and: parent as, 111, 263; sibling with kin, 367, 373 of, 152, 153, 192, 251 extra-marital relationship of, 319, naming and, 247–8, 251 349, 354; child with lover, 164; Norman, 98–9, 251; Domesday, 403, guardianship and, 196; as informal 406 marriage, 144 n. 35; rank and, 147 remarriage and, 157–8, 158, 192; n. 42; residence of, 257 involved in, 152, 153, 192 family of, 85 n. 2, 198, 199, 341 seals and, 274–5, 276–7 fertility of, 349 widows as: 251, 269–71 identity of, 257 See also rank: position as heiress length of widowhood and, 148 The Church.See Church, the marriage and, 144 n. 35, 168, 319, 349 theory of consent. See marriage: consent naming and, 367, 373 Thomas de Moulton, 115 n. 95 property and, 85 n. 2, 198, 199, 335, Thomas Paynel, 97–8, 402–3, 406 341 Thurgarton priory, 44 n. 90, 290 rank of, 147 n. 42, 354 titles residence of, 196, 257 comital, 269, 271, 276, 278; marriage Úlfrún, anchoress, 167 n. 94 and, 157, 240, 271–3, 275–6, 296 as description, 266, 267 Valgerðr Árnadóttir, 322, 326, 388, 422 hereditary, 251–2, 254, 261 brideprice of, 101, 101, 337 index 487

as childless, 326 linked with widow’s: lifecycle, 212, 215, marriage of, 322 240, 301; power, 195 rank of, 358 marriage of wards, 109, 114–5 and stepson as chieftain,358 n. 95, 136–7, 192–3, 210–1 Valgerðr Gizurardóttir, 172 n. 110 prerogative, 211, 214 Valgerðr Jónsdóttir, 255, 257 See also guardian; guardianship; and Valgerðr Markússdóttir, 256 see also under individual widows Valgerðr Sturludóttir, 172 n. 110, 323 Warin fitz Gerold, 212, 330, 431 Valgerðr Þórðardóttir, 101, 117, 198 Warkleigh, Devon, 107, 109 n. 80, 422 Warter priory, 44 n. 90, 228 Valla-Brandr Eyjólfsson. See Brandr wealth. See property Eyjólfsson wealthy Valþjófsstaður, 210, 219 definition of, 16,316 ; denoted by term Vatnsfirðingar, 38, 172 n. 109 ‘inn augði’, 43, 102 Vatnsfjörður, 204, 206, 218, 279 staðir as, 18, 201, 218 Vaudey abbey, 228, 254, 265, 291 remarriage and widows as, 150–2, 169, Vellir, 200–1 and n. 82, 218 170–1; examples of, 180–5, 188, 189 Viðimýrr, 218 n. 153 widows as, 334–40 Vigdís Sturludóttir, 196, 256, 324, 373, Weeton, 108 n. 71, 403 n. 3 419 Wemple, Susan, 179 Vigdís Svertingsdóttir, 256 West Fjords, 1, 203–8, 210, 218, 279 Vilborg Gizurardóttir, 320, 325, 384, 416 Whitby abbey, 44, 226, 227–8, 293–4 children of, 325, 368 widowhood, 233, 300 family of, 172 n. 110, 342, 368 comital title usually retained in, 271, as illegitimate, 119 272 n. 101 marriage of, 119, 320 demographics of, 139, 142–3, 148–9; naming and, 368 remarriage and, 146–8, 158–60, 159, as non-inheriting woman, 119, 342 160–1, 161, 169–74 rank of, 119, 354 examination of property acquisition not confined to, 12, 129, 297 Walter d’Argentom, 189, 194, 327, 428 greater room for manoeuvre during, Walter de Fauconberg, 235, 263, 426 177, 234, 294 Walter de Gant, 251, 427, 428 identity and, 287, 296; of heiresses Walter de Percy (illegitimate son of during, 287, 290–1; marital identity William de Percy II), 120 in, 291, 294, 295, 296, 304; natal Walter de Percy of Kildale (son of Agnes identity strong in, 260, 282, 288–9, de Flamville), 333, 399 n. 1, 425 290–1, 294, 295, 304; shaped by, 295 Walter de Percy (son of Emma de Gant patronage and, 225–7, 288–9; by and husband of Avice Meschin), 251, heiresses, 229–30, 286; identity and, 254, 265, 327, 331, 370, 428, 431 288–9, 290–1, 294, 304 Walter de Percy (younger brother of Alan length of, 237–8 de Percy I), 251, 331, 428 as period of activity: greater activity, Walter de St. Quintin (son of Agnes de 234, 237, 287, 296, 303; length of Arches), 228, 264, 283, 331, 426 widowhood and, 237–8, 242, 303 Walter Espec, 284 n. 143 religious life and, 166–7, 300 Walter, kinsman of Roger de Valognes, 32 widows wardship, 405 n. 10 contextualization of, 304; need for, 5, difficult for Yorkshire widows to 12–4, 84, 238, 239, 296, 297; often obtain, 213–5, 240, 299, 301, 306 too limited, 3, 7–8, 217 of heiresses, 72, 114–5 generalizations about: freedom of institution of aided transfer of action as, 3–4, 237–8; more research property, 216, 240–1, 301–2, 306 needed before, 11–2, 308–9; need in legal statements: English, 28, 34, 36, for qualification of, 2–4, 238, 291–2, 72, 316; Icelandic, 25, 36, 195–6, 301 307–8; testing of, 13, 180, 291–2, 297 488 index

historiography of, 5, 7–8 William de Forz I, 184–5, 214, 330, 432 statistics and, 171–3; property and, 85, William de Forz II, 185, 214, 333, 372, 92–3; marriage and, 142–9, 149–63 432 See also individual widows and topics William de Kyme, 114, 427 Wike, 108 n. 71, 403 n. 3 William de Mandeville, 183–4, 330, 432 Wilkinson, Louise, 88–9, 90, 91 William de Percy I, 123, 293–4, 327, 428 William, count of Aumale, 425, 432 William de Percy II, 428, 429 child of, 108–9, 183–4 children of, 271; illegitimacy of, 120–1 death of, 183, 329 and n. 119; inheritance of, 106, 120, as earl, 113–4, 183–4, 192 293–4; marriage of, 120–1 n. 119, family of, 112–4; sister of, 192–4, 213, 285; patronage of, 228, 285, 293 216, 225, 281 family of, 370; as son, 331, 370 marriage and: control over sister’s by, as lord, 229, 294, 361 192–4, 213; to Cecily de Rumilly II, marriage and, 193, 284 n. 143, 329; 108–9, 329 patronage of wife, 228, 285 foundation of Meaux by, 225, 281, 290 naming and, 370 patronage of, 98 n. 36, 225, 283 n. 141 patronage of, 120–1 n. 119, 293 power used for personal gain, 19, property and, 120–1 n. 119, 193, 285: 192–4 children’s succession to, 106, 120, property and: control over, 112–4; loss 294; dower to wife of, 127–8, 284 of ward’s lands to, 192–3, 213, 216 n. 143 rank of, 113–4, 184, 192, 283 n. 141 rank of, 229, 285, 294 wardship and, 192–3, 213, 216 William de Percy III, 213–4, 333, 372, William de Arches, 98–9, 252, 370, 399 425, 429 n. 1, 425, 426 William de Percy, illegitimate nephew of William de Bricqueville-sur-Mer, 403, Agnes, 236, 428 431 William de Percy of Dunsley, 293–4, 331, William de Briwere, 213–4 370, 428 William de Brus, 332, 371, 425 William de Percy of Kildale, 329, 399 William de Curcy I, 403–4, 431 n. 1, 425 William de Curcy II, 331, 431 William de Percy, son of Agnes de children of, 97, 291 Flamville, 333, 372, 399 n. 1, 425 family reconstruction, 97, 108 n. 71, William de Percy, son of Emma de Port, 327, 403–6 and n. 10–1 331, 370, 428 impact of marriage on wife’s William de Roumare I, 269, 281 n. 138, inheritance, 108, 111–2 425 lack of identification with by wife, 291 William de Roumare II, 281 and n. 138, William de Curcy III, 431 328, 425 age of, 331, 405 n. 10 William de Roumare III, 213, 269, 331, family reconstruction and, 97, 108 371, 425 n. 71, 403–6 William de Sturton, 232 as husband of Gundreda de Warenne, William de Tracy, 146 n. 41, 190–1 212, 329 William de Warenne, 211–12 property of, 108 n. 71, 403 William, earl of Warwick, 106, 276, 329, shared name with kinsmen, 370 429 as son of Avice Meschin, 97, 214, 331, William fitz Duncan, 430, 432 370; confirmed mother’s grant, 253, children of, 112, 262 265; grant made by mother for his marriage of, 108, 111, 190–1, 327; soul, 108 n. 71, 403 n. 3; as heir, 291, control over wife’s lands through, 403; wardship and, 214, 405 n. 10 109–11, 190–1 William de Curcy IV, 212–4, 332, 371, as nephew of Scottish king, 108, 110–1, 431 190–1 William de Egremont, 108–9, 213, 331, patronage of, 111, 190–1 371, 432 politics and: mother-in-law’s marriage index 489

and, 191–2, 193–4; Scottish legal rights and, 5, 76, 79–81 ambitions in northern England and, power of, 5–6, 178–9 and n. 5; consent 108, 190–1, 193–4 and, 68–9, 70–3; control over William fitz Wimund, 97, 406, 431 property, 79–81, 177, 218–21, 223, William Foliot, 235, 263–4, 327, 370, 426 224–5; definition of too narrow, William Malebisse, 120–1 n. 119 9, 177–8, 217; guardianship and, William Mauleverer, 232 195–6, 211, 214–5 William Meschin, 430, 431, 432 See also chieftains: remarriage children of, 97, 270; inheritance of, 97, of women of chieftain rank; 106–10, 107, 123–5; naming and, Commonwealth period: power of 251 women during; inheritance: female; death of, 108, 190 legal statements: female inheritance; family of, 112, 251 lifecycle: widows in context of; marriage of, 190, 327 seals: patterns of women’s; and see naming and, 251 also under authority; contemporary rank of, 97, 251 sagas; Europe; household; William Paynel (alleged son of Hugh inheritance; lord; marriage; power; Paynel), 97, 403, 406 witnessing William Paynel (father of Alice Paynel), Wormald, Patrick, 33, 35 431 Wulfstan, archbishop of York, 27, 72 as ally of Empress, 111–2, 193–4 children of: Alice, 97, 403–8; Hugh, Yngvildr Þórðardóttir, 318, 323, 379 Fulk and siblings, 97–8, 406–8; chieftains and, 354 stepson and, 405 n. 10 children of: age of, 323; daughters death of, 327, 408 as unmarried, 160 n. 73, 197, 348; family reconstruction of, 97–8, 403–8 property of, 197 n. 79 as founder and patron of Drax, 254, extra-marital relationship of, 160 n. 73, 265, 291, 403–4 318, 354 ; félag as, 197, 353; stable marriage to Avice Meschin, 97, concubinage, 147 n. 42 108, 254, 327, 403–6 and n. 10; fertility of, 348 benefactions made by wife, 265, 291 marriage of, 318, 348, 354 rank of, 229 property and, 197 and n. 79, 334 William Rufus, king of England, 29 rank and, 147 n. 42, 354 William, son of Alice de St. Quintin, 252, residence of, 197 264, 332, 426, 427 Yngvildr Þorgilsdóttir, 318, 323, 380, 417, witnessing 418 of betrothal / marriage, 63, 68 and chieftains: aided by, 221–2; brother witness lists and: descriptions in, 45, as, 341, 355; used political rivalry of 108, 253, 265, 404 n. 6; identity to obtain goal, 221–3, 242 of witnesses in, 45, 108, 225, 253, children of: age of, 160 n. 73, 323; bore 265, 269–70, 284, 293; as source lover’s child, 144 n. 35, 165, 221–2, for women, 45–6, 48; title domina 315; marriage of, 165; none at start in, 269, 270; used for family of first liaison, 224, 242; property of, reconstruction, 45, 108–9, 253, 265, 197 n. 79; residence of, 196 n. 73 270, 404 n. 6 extra-marital relationships of, 147 See also under Agnes d’Aumale; Alice n. 42, 160 n. 73, 221–3 and de Rumilly I; Alice de St. Quintin; n. 165, 242, 318, 348–9; brother Alice Paynel; Avice Meschin involved in, 255, 355; desired sexual women, 39 independence, 222, 223; disapproval contextualization of, 260; lack of full, 3, of, 165, 222, 255; resulted in child, 9, 14; need for, 277, 291, 297; within 196 n. 73, 315; treated as informal kin group, 255–6, 258, 263 marriage, 144 n. 35 historiography of, 3, 11–2; in England, family of, 249 n. 17; brother of, 222–3, 9–10; in Iceland, 5–6, 129, 178 242, 341, 355 490 index

fertility of, 348–9 fertility of, 203, 350 identity of, 255 identity of, 279–80 marriage of, 318, 348 as illegitimate, 1, 119 naming and, 249 n. 17 marriage of, 322, 350; age at, 1, 202–3, property and, 335, 341 313 n. 2; to chieftain, 1, 119, 202–3; rank and, 147 n. 42, 355 control over, 1, 202–3; political, 1, residence of, 196 n. 73; established own 182, 202–3 household, 221, 242 power / room for manoeuvre: acted York Minster, 229 like chieftain, 1, 204–5; control over Yorkshire, 1, 18–20 household, 1, 203–5, 210, 218, 221, Yorkshire barons, 44, 192, 229 279; power over farmers, 1, 207; took lover to gain, 1, 204–5, 210, Þóra Eiríksdóttir, 95–6, 96 280; used rivalry between chieftains Þóra Guðmundardóttir, 320, 325, 384, to attain goals, 205–7, 208–9, 210 415, 416 property and: marital, 204, 210, 218, chieftains and, 251, 358 279, 337; natal, 342 children of, 358; age of, 86 n. 3, 325, rank of, 1, 119, 147 notes 42–3, 358 350; shared name with kin, 251, 368, residence of: at Mýrar, 1, 203, 204–5, 374 210, 221; at Vatnsfjörður, 204, 218, family of, 249 n. 17, 251, 343 279 fertility of, 350 Þórdís Sturludóttir, 172 n. 110, 323, 373, marriage of, 96, 97, 320, 350 419 naming and, 249 n. 17, 251, 368, 374 Þórdís Þórðardóttir, 256 property of, 336, 343 Þórðar saga kakala, 39, 207, 222 rank of, 358 Þórðr Andréasson, 201, 415 residence of, 86 n. 3 Þórðr Gilsson, 256 Þóra Ormsdóttir, 196, 326, 375, 414 Þórðr Magnússon, 256 Þóra Þorgeirsdóttir, 318, 323, 379, 418 Þórðr Narfason, 180, 322, 417 family of, 341; as daughter, 172 n. 110, Þórðr Sighvatsson kakali, 413, 420, 422 323 as chieftain, 201, 202, 206–8, 359 marriage of, 169, 318; remarriage of, family of, 368; alliance through cousin’s 146 n. 40, 318, 353, 354 marriage, 206, 208; brother’s widows property and, 341 and, 201, 202, 220, 359; father and rank of, 146 n. 40, 354 brothers killed, 202, 220, 222–3; as Þórdís Snorradóttir, 322, 326, 338, 421, son, 207, 220, 222–3, 325 422 naming and, 368 chieftains and, 199, 202–9, 279, 358; property and, 201, 202 aided by, 199, 205–6, 207, 209; as travelled to Norway, 206–8, 220, 222–3 daughter of, 1, 119, 280, 358; political Þórðr Sighvatsson krókr, 173, 207 n. 112, choice of, 205–6, 207–8, 210 325, 368, 413, 422 children of: age of, 1, 160 n. 73, 203–5, Þórðr Sturluson, 416, 419, 422, 423 210, 218, 326, 350; inheritance of, as chieftain, 111 n. 85; aided friend, 199, 203–7, 209–10, 218, 279 181–3, 357 extra-marital relationships of, 147 children of: inheritance of, 100–1, notes 42–3, 160 n. 73, 322, 350, 358; 101, 117–8, 198 n. 80; marriage of, choice of lover political, 204, 210; 181–2, 183 identity and, 280; lack of disapproval family of, 111 n. 85, 181–3, 367; of, 164; lover killed, 205, 210; used brother of, 181–3, 196; as son, to attain goals, 1, 199, 204, 210 196–7, 220, 256, 324, 367 family of: as daughter, 1, 182, 202, marriage of: arranged by mother, 197, 205, 210, 280, 358; cousins of, 182, 220; remarriage, 188, 320, 322 204, 205, 207–8; siblings of, 202–3, naming and, 367 204–5, 342; stepsons as rivals, 1, property of, 220 202–4, 358 residence of, 181, 196 index 491

Þórðr Þórðarson, 101, 117, 198 n. 80, Þorvaldr Snorrason Vatnsfirðingr, 182, 422 202–4, 208, 322, 421 Þórðr Þorgeirsson, 172 n. 110, 323 Þorvarðr kamphundr, 186–7 Þórðr Þorvaldsson (chieftain of Yngvildr Þorvarðr Þórarinsson, 201–2 Þórðardóttir), 354 Þorvarðr Þorgeirsson, 417, 418 Þórðr Þorvaldsson Vatnsfirðingr (stepson as chieftain, 355, 356 of Þórdís Snorradóttir), 203–4, 358, children of: illegitimate daughter of, 421 196 n. 73, 221, 315; marriage of, 356 Þorgeirr Brandsson (son of Jórunn extra-marital relationship of, 221–2 Kálfsdóttir), 198, 202, 210, 325, 413 and n. 165, 318; child from, 196 Þorgeirr Hallason, 418 n. 73, 221–2, 315 as chieftain, 94, 187, 354 family of: sister of, 187–8, 221–2; children of, 172 n. 110; daughter illegitimate nephew of, 198; as son, of, 94, 187, 200, 256, 314–5, 354; 323, 355 inheritance of, 171 n. 108, 198, 200; politics and, 187–8, 221–2 marriage of, 187, 200, 256 property and: inheritance and, 171 family of: grandchildren of, 94, 94, n. 108, 198 187, 198, 200, 315; protection of Þuríðr Gizurardóttir, 319, 324, 382, 413, grandson, 187, 200 414, 416 family reconstruction and, 94, 172 children of: age of, 166–7, 188, 224, n. 110, 256, 314–5 324, 345; goal to protect interest of, marriage of, 256, 318 189, 210, 221, 224, 279; inheritance Þorgerðr Bersadóttir, 167, 324, 416 of, 188–9, 197, 199, 210; involved in Þorgils Böðvarsson skarði, 359 marriage of, 102–3, 189, 197; shared Þorgils Oddason, 111 n. 85, 180, 318, 354, name with kin, 252, 373, 376; son as 417 chieftain, 166–7, 356 Þorgils saga ok Hafliða, 37 n. 66, 39 death of, 167, 324 Þorgils saga skarða, 39 family of: marital, 188, 367; mother of, Þórhildr Gíslsdóttir, 147 n. 43, 255, 322, 252, 373; natal, 188, 199, 239, 249 326, 354, 387 n. 17, 341; sisters of, 166–7, 252, 373 Þórir Þorsteinsson inn augði, 102, 148 fertility of, 345 n. 45 identity of, 279 Þorlákr Þórhallsson, Saint, bishop of marriage of, 319, 345 Skálholt, 165–6 naming and, 249 n. 17, 252, 367, 373 Þorlaug Pálsdóttir, 319, 324, 380 as nun, 166–7 age of children, 86 n. 4, 146 n. 39, 324, power / room for manoeuvre and, 349 210, 239; administered bishopric, chieftain and, 355 87, 189, 221, 224, 242, 279; control death of, 86 n. 4, 148 n. 45, 170 over marriage, 102–3, 188–9, 197; family of, 341; father of, 102, 355 guardianship of son, 188, 197 fertility of, 349 property and, 335, 341; control over, marriage of, 102, 319, 349 188, 197, 224 (see also Þuríðr property and, 102, 335, 341; dowry, Gizurardóttir: power) 102, 122 n. 124, 126 n. 142, 335 remarriage of, 146 n. 40, 319, 353, 356; rank of, 102, 355 acted jointly with husband, 189, 199, travelled abroad, 86 n. 4, 146 n. 39, 170 221; political, 169, 187–9 Þorsteinn Snorrason, 423 rank of, 146 n. 40, 356 age of, 200–1, 324 Þuríðr Ormsdóttir, 321, 326, 387, 413, chieftains and, 201 415 family of, 201, 218, 324 chieftains and, 359; daughter of, 119, inheritance and, 200–1, 218, 224 279 residence of, 257 children of, 201, 369; age of, 201, 326, Þorvaldr Gizurarson, 96, 96–7, 165, 320, 351; inheritance of, 199, 201, 218 357, 415, 416, 417 n. 153 492 index

family of, 369; brother-in-law of, 201, as illegitimate, 119 343, 359; half-sister of, 93 n. 21, 96, fertility of, 345 343; marital, 199, 279 identity of, 257 fertility of, 351 managed brother’s household, 257 identity of, 279 marriage of, 119, 319, 345 as illegitimate, 119 naming and, 249 n. 17, 375 marriage and, 321, 351; age at, 313 n. 2; property and, 341 to chieftain’s son, 119 rank of, 119, 146 n. 40, 355 naming and, 369 remarriage of, 146 n. 40, 319, 353; property and: control over, 218 n. 153; consent and, 169; father arranged, to half-sister, 93 n. 21, 96, 343; 355; political, 154 n. 61 marital, 279, 337 Þuríðr Sturludóttir (daughter of Sturla rank of, 119, 279, 359 Sighvatsson), 202, 268 and n. 84, 326, residence of, 218 n. 153, 279 375, 413, 415, 420 Þuríðr Sturludóttir (daughter of Hvamm- Sturla Þórðarson), 319, 324, 381, 419, Ögmundr Helgason, 196, 414 420 Ögmundr Þorvarðsson sneis, 198 n. 80, children of, 324 201, 418 as daughter of chieftain,119 , 355 Örlygsstaður, battle of, 173, 207 n. 112, family of, 154 n. 61, 375; siblings of, 208, 220, 222–3 249 n. 17, 257, 341; as daughter, 323, 355 THE NORTHERN WORLD NORTH EUROPE AND THE BALTIC C. 400-1700 AD PEOPLES, ECONOMIES AND CULTURES

Editors

Barbara Crawford (St. Andrews) David Kirby (London) Jon-Vidar Sigurdsson (Oslo) Ingvild Øye (Bergen) Richard W. Unger (Vancouver) Piotr Gorecki (University of California at Riverside)

ISSN: 1569-1462

This series provides an opportunity for the publication of scholarly studies con cerning the culture, economy and society of northern lands from the early medieval to the early modern period. The aims and scope are broad and scholarly contributions on a wide range of disciplines are included: all historical subjects, every branch of archaeology, saga studies, language topics including place-names, art history and architecture, sculpture and numismatics.

19. Cook, B. and G. Williams (eds.). Coinage and History in the North Sea World, c. AD 500-1250. Essays in Honour of Marion Archibald. 2006. ISBN 90 04 14777 2 20. Cathcart, A. Kinship and Clientage. Highland Clanship 1451-1609. 2006. ISBN 978 90 04 15045 4 21. Isoaho, M. The Image of Aleksandr Nevskiy in Medieval Russia. Warrior and Saint. 2006. ISBN 978 90 04 15101 7 22. Te Brake, W. and W. Klooster (eds.). Power and the City in the Netherlandic World. 2006. ISBN 978 90 04 15129 1 23. Stewart, L.A.M. Urban Politics and the British Civil Wars. Edinburgh, 1617-53. 2006. ISBN 978 90 04 15167 3 24. Burgess, G.S. and C. Strijbosch (eds.). The Brendan Legend. Texts and Ver sions. 2006. ISBN 978 90 04 15247 2 25. Bellamy, M. Christian IV and his Navy. A Political and Administrative History of the Danish Navy 1596-1648. 2006. ISBN 978 90 04 15450 6 26. Fonnesberg-Schmidt, I. The Popes and the Baltic Crusades 1147-1254. 2007. ISBN 978 90 04 15502 2 27. Line, P. Kingship and State Formation in Sweden 1130-1290. 2007. ISBN 978 90 04 15578 7 28. Fudge, J.D. Commerce and Print in the Early Reformation. 2007. ISBN 978 90 04 15662 3 29. Antonsson, H. St. Magnús of Orkney. A Scandinavian Martyr-Cult in Context. 2007. ISBN 978 90 04 15580 0 30. Jensen, J.M. Denmark and the Crusades, 1400-1650. 2007. ISBN 978 90 04 15579 4 31. Ballin Smith, B., S. Taylor and G. Williams (eds.). West over Sea. Studies in Scan- dinavian Sea-Borne Expansion and Settlement Before 1300. 2007. ISBN 978 90 04 15893 1 32. De Bruyn Kops, H. A Spirited Exchange. The Wine and Brandy Trade between France and the Dutch Republic in its Atlantic Framework, 1600-1650. 2007. ISBN 978 90 04 16074 3 33. Roslund, M. Guests in the House. Cultural Transmission between Slavs and Scan- dinavians 900 to 1300 AD. 2007. ISBN 978 90 04 16189 4 34. Hybel, N. and B. Poulsen. Danish Resources c. 1000-1550. Growth and Recession. 2007. ISBN 978 90 04 16192 4 35. Szabo, V.E. Monstrous Fishes and the Mead-Dark Sea. Whaling in the Medieval North Atlantic. 2008. ISBN 978 90 04 16398 0 36. Bes, L., E. Frankot and H. Brand. Baltic Connections. Archival Guide to the Mari- time Relations of the Countries around the Baltic Sea (including the Netherlands) 1450-1800. 3 vols. 2007. ISBN 978 90 04 16429 1 (set) 37. Unger, R. Britain and Poland-Lithuania. Contact and Comparison from the Middle Ages to 1795. 2008. ISBN 978 90 04 16623 3 38. Orning, H.J. Unpredictability and Presence. Norwegian Kingship in the High Middle Ages. 2008. ISBN 978 90 04 16661 5 39. Mackley, J.S. The Legend of St Brendan. A Comparative Study of the Latin and Anglo-Norman Versions. 2008. ISBN 978 90 04 16662 2 40. Bolton, T. The Empire of Cnut the Great. Conquest and the Consolidation of Power in Northern Europe in the Early Eleventh Century. 2008. ISBN 978 90 04 16670 7 41. Sicking, L. and D. Abreu-Ferreira (eds.). Beyond the Catch. Fisheries of the North Atlantic, the North Sea and the Baltic, 900-1850. 2009. ISBN 978 90 04 16973 9 42. Lewis-Simpson, S. (ed.). Youth and Age in the Medieval North. 2008. ISBN 978 90 04 17073 5 43. Korpiola, M. Between Betrothal and Bedding. Marriage Formation in Sweden 1200-1600. 2009. ISBN 978 90 04 17329 3 44. Riisøy, A.I. Sexuality, Law and Legal Practice and the Reformation in Norway. 2009. ISBN 978 90 04 17364 4 45. Wyatt, D. Slaves and Warriors in Medieval Britain and Ireland, 800-1200. 2009. ISBN 978 90 04 17533 4 46. Glete, J. Swedish Naval Administration, 1521-1721. Resource Flows and Organisa- tional Capabilities. 2010. ISBN 978 90 04 17916 5 47. Worthington, D. (ed.). British and Irish Emigrants and Exiles in Europe, 1603- 1688. 2010. ISBN 978 90 04 18008 6 48. Hall, A., O. Timofeeva, Á. Kiricsi and B. Fox (eds.). Interfaces between Language and Culture in Medieval England. A Festschrift for Matti Kilpiö. 2010. ISBN 978 90 04 18011 6 49. Ricketts, P. High-Ranking Widows in Medieval Iceland and Yorkshire. Property, Power, Marriage and Identity in the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries. 2010. ISBN 978 90 04 18471 8

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