The two chief difficulties facing historians of the Hebrides in the Viking Age remain the extent to which Scandinavian settlement displaced the previous inhabitants on the islands and their language(s); and the pace and nature of the conversion of Scandinavians to Christianity. This short contribution considers the nexus between these two problems and proposes some potential solutions.

The linguistic problem has been much reviewed and remains inconclusive (the best recent review remains Jennings and Kruse 2009; see also Crawford 1981; Barrett 2004; Jennings and Kruse 2005; Kruse 2005; Clancy 2010; Macniven 2013, 2015; Whyte 2016; 2017; see also the wider contextual review in Woolf 2007: 275–311). Our key source of evidence is toponymy: the rich harvest of place-names of Old Norse derivation throughout the Hebrides assures us that Scandinavian presence was deep, long-term and linguistically influential. However, the fact that the Hebrides emerge into the historically better-attested period of the later Middle Ages as a strongly Gaelic-speaking region poses some searching questions. Did Norse completely replace Gaelic in the Hebrides for some of the period between c. 800 and c. 1300, and if so, for how long? Or was there some continuity from the pre-Viking period? If Gaelic was completely displaced, how then did it come to dominate in the later Middle Ages?

Although often forgotten, it is crucial to note that in linguistic terms the Hebrides prior to 800 were not evidently a homogenous region (see Jennings and Kruse 2005; 2009). While Gaelic was certainly the language of the region south of Ardnamurchan (historically the kingdom of Dal Riata), and we can demonstrate Gaelic dominance in islands such as Islay and Tiree, matters are more difficult north of Ardnamurchan. The presumption, based on art-historical proxy evidence, is that this northern region prior to 800 had been predominantly Pictish-speaking. There is good reason to suspect the spread of Gaelic-speaking ruling kindreds, and churches, into this northern region across the later 7th and through the 8th century (see Fraser 2004; Jennings and Kruse 2009; Clancy forthcoming), but to what extent, if at all, this led to the northern region adopting Gaelic as a language is unknowable.

It has been well established that the name-stock of Scotland changed during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, in common with many other European countries. This change was characterized by a narrowing of the pool of personal names, and an expansion of the use of a smaller number of names (male names such as William, Richard, Stephen, and Jocelin; female names such as Matilda/Maud, Margaret, and Ada), mostly of Germanic or Latinate derivation, in common with other parts of Europe. The locus classicus for our appreciation of this phenomenon is Robert Bartlett's The Making of Europe, where he included this change amongst others in a package of what he termed ‘Europeanisation’. He illustrated his point with reference to the royal family of the Scots, where the eleventh-century kings such as Mac Bethad, Máel Coluim, and Domnall were succeeded by individuals with names such as William and Henry; in place of queens such as Bethóc and Gruoch, we find Margarets and Matildas.

Prominently, of course, King Máel Coluim mac Donnchada (Malcolm III, 1058–93) had younger sons named Alexander and David, new names amongst the Scottish royalty, and innovative names more widely in the eleventh century. While David was probably a biblical name, Alexander is more problematic. Its potential origin has been explored by Stephen Marritt, but certainly one aspect of it is likely to be its literary resonance, drawing, as it does, on the cycle of tales circulating in various languages in Europe at this stage relating to Alexander the Great. In this chapter, we argue that literature-inspired naming was a more widespread phenomenon amongst the nobility of twelfth- and thirteenth-century Scotland. Importantly, the fashion of innovating in naming practice by using names derived from literature was a cross-cultural phenomenon, with both the speech communities of the namers, and the linguistic and cultural origins of the literature from which these literary names were derived, being quite diverse. We will survey the data regarding this, and then drill down to examine a number of case studies which reveal the variety and diversity of this practice.

The data collected for the projects which go to make up The People of Medieval Scotland, 1093–1314 (poms.ac.uk) allow us to apply some numbers to this phenomenon.

Sometime in the second half of the tenth century, the ‘chief poet of Ireland’, Cinaed ua hArtacáin (d. 975), composed a poem that praised the Scandinavian king of Dublin, Óláfr Sigtryggsson, known to the Gaels as Amlaíb Cuarán. The poem was concerned with a place, Achall, not far from Dublin, a site which, in its placement in the landscape, confronted the Irish royal site of Tara, and which now housed a church dedicated to St Columba.

1. Amlaib Átha Cliath cétaig

2. rogab rígi i mBeind Etair;

3. tallus lúag mo dúane de,

4. ech d’echaib ána Aichle.

5. [Amlaib of Ath Cliath the hundred-strong,

6. who gained the kingship in Bend Etair;

7. I bore off from him as price of my song

8. a horse of the horses of Achall.]

Amlaíb had, of course, earlier in his career been king in Scandinavian York. He was a Christian, having taken baptism at the hands of the English king, Edmund. He would die a pilgrim and penitent on the Hebridean island of Iona, in 980. Cinaed ua hArtacáin’s kinsman, Fiachra, was prior of Iona (d. 978); the abbot of Iona, who died the same year as Amlaíb, was Mugrón. He was himself a poet, who had written litanies, devotional poetry and also a praise poem for the Irish king of Tara, an erstwhile ally of Amlaíb Cuarán. This nexus of a Scandinavian king in Dublin and the Hebrides, political and literary relationships across the Irish Sea, chief poets and clerical poets, is one we will return to periodically in this chapter exploring the diversity and richness of the literature of Ireland, and to a lesser extent Scotland, during the period 900–1150.

An examination of the evidence provided by medieval Irish chronicles for political organisation in the Gaelic world before about 1200 has shown that there was an absolute minimum of 600 population groups led by kings in the 750 years of record from the mid-fifth to the late twelfth century. The distribution of these across time and space is interestingly complicated, and detailed discussion of it will have to await publication of the evidence. Suffice it to say, for the moment, that, contrary to what has been stated by some historians over the last generation, the local kingship of local population groups is as visible in Ireland in the twelfth century as it is in the seventh. For what is now Scotland, of course, one could not make any such statement: from the later ninth century at the very latest (and arguably from the mid-eighth) Gaelic North Britain underwent a series of transformations, not the least aspect of which is the dramatic reduction in coverage of its affairs in the extant Irish chronicles – which date, as they stand, from the late eleventh to the mid-seventeenth century.

Early medieval Ireland is famed for its monasticism, and the century running from 540 to 640 is that of the major monastic founders, while also being marked by individual ascetic enthusiasm. For the most part, however, contemporary documentation comprises laconic notices in the annals, with just a scattering of more informative texts such as the Penitential of Finnian and The Alphabet of Piety. Against this background Columbanus stands out as the one figure for whom we have sufficient sources to enable us to discern his monastic vision and to see something of how he put it into practice. From his pen we have six letters, a series of thirteen sermons preached to his monks, a Regula Monachorum and Regula Coenobialis, a penitential and two poems, while within a generation of his death Jonas produced his Life of Columbanus and his Disciples, which, for all its spin-doctoring, was the work of a well-informed author.

There is, however, a problem about taking Columbanus as representative of the formative period of Irish monasticism. Although born in Leinster and trained in Comgall's monastery of Bangor, Columbanus had left Ireland around 591 to go as a peregrinus to the Continent. Thereafter he was based in Frankia, where his most important foundation was Luxeuil, until 610, when he was expelled. However, he escaped being sent back to Ireland and instead found his way to the Bregenz area and then over the Alps to northern Italy, where he founded a final monastery at Bobbio, and died in 615.

Interpreting Longes Mac nUislenn

This review of Healy Willan's opera Deirdre, a distant descendant of the early Irish tale Longes Mac nUislenn, is in a long interpretative tradition, even if indirectly. Of course, the twentieth-century opera is at many removes from the medieval narrative, separated by time and language, by substance and genre. Nevertheless, it reflects an assumption that this saga of broken bonds between men, of fraternal exile, of sex and death, pivots around its central female character, Deirdre. She is simultaneously catalyst and victim, helpless to save her lover Noísiu, and Noísiu's brothers, from deathly betrayal. This is no surprise: the Gaelic Irish themselves recalibrated the story. It was reinvented in the fourteenth or fifteenth century as Oidheadh Chloinne Uisnigh – still a tale of shattered male loyalties but now acted against a more emotive narrative of doomed love. This appealingly affective aesthetic underlies nearly all subsequent versions of what was increasingly seen as Deirdre's story, including those in English. Significantly, even Keating's retelling of the tale in Foras Feasa ar Éirinn, one largely based on Longes Mac nUislenn rather than Oidheadh Chloinne Uisnigh, did not displace the latter. Instead, subsequent redactions of the narrative attempted to harmonise the accounts, ultimately leaving the main substance of Oidheadh Chloinne Uisnigh intact. In the process Deirdre's identification as a suitably tragic Irish woman became predominant.

A cartulary of the Benedictine cathedral priory of Bath, which on the evidence of its script has been dated to around the mid-twelfth century, contains an indulgence granted by Marcus Cluanensis episcopus to the ‘truly penitent’ who with alms and prayers would visit the church at Bath on the feast of the Exaltation of the Cross (14 September). The text, which is printed in Appendix 1,2 is preceded in the cartulary by similar indulgences from Theobald, archbishop of Canterbury (1138–61), and Robert, bishop of Bath (1136–66), and followed by one from Nicholas, bishop of Llandaff (1148–83). As is usual in texts of indulgences, none contains a witness-list and this makes dating difficult, with the added consequence in the case of Marcus that his very identity remains obscure. The four indulgences evidently form a series, as in each the period of remission is twenty days and is linked to the celebration of the same feast. However, there are also differences in the wording of the four texts which may indicate that they were not necessarily issued on the same occasion. The indulgence of Robert, bishop of Bath, recorded that he had consecrated a cross in the cathedral church on the feast of the Exaltation of the Cross, and it was the acquisition of this new cross which appears to have occasioned the indulgences. It is conceivable that Robert may have been assisted at the consecration ceremony by one or more of the other bishops who also granted indulgences.

In 1988 Máire Herbert's magisterial Iona, Kells and Derry laid out a clear map of the progression of the authority within the Columban familia along the lines indicated in the title, with the comarbus or ‘successorship’ of the founder saint Columba passing to each of the named major monasteries within the federation from the sixth to the twelfth century. Importantly, she gave careful consideration to the nature of the ‘hand-over’ periods between the institutions, making it clear, for instance, that despite the construction of the monastery of Kells during the period 807–14, the idea of Iona's abandonment for Kells in the early ninth century owing to Viking raids was simply a modern myth. The comarbus of Colum Cille, by her reckoning, arrived in Kells de facto only with the accession of the comarba Pátraic, Mael Brigte mac Tornáin (891–927). There is no clear evidence that Mael Brigte was based at Kells itself, but his long rule (nearly forty years in Armagh, thirty-six as successor of Colum Cille), apparently spent in Ireland, and the certain fact that by the early eleventh century successors of Columba were based there, made it probable to Herbert that subsequent tenthcentury successors were in Kells de jure. Its loss of authority came only in the twelfth century, with the rise of Derry under the patronage of the Mac Lochlainn dynasty, 1150 being, in John Bannerman's words, Derry's ‘annus mirabilis’.

Cyfraith Hywel, the law of Hywel, was the system of law followed in Wales throughout the Middle Ages; attributed to Hywel ap Cadell (Hywel Dda), d. 949 or 950, it survives in some forty manuscripts dating from the mid-thirteenth century to the fifteenth century. It was a native legal system, distinct from both English law and Canon Law; had the system survived to this day, it would be a third class of law in the United Kingdom, a Volksrecht-system to join the Scottish civil law tradition and the English common law.

The manuscripts of Welsh law divide into three Welsh groups or redactions, named after eminent lawyers noted in the prologues of each redaction: Iorwerth, Blegywryd and Cyfnerth. The Latin manuscripts form a separate group. There are eight manuscripts in the Iorwerth redaction, and they take up the first letters of the alphabet in the sigla assigned to them by Aneurin Owen. They are: Aberystwyth, National Library of Wales, Peniarth 29 (The Black Book of Chirk, Owen's A); London, British Library, Cotton Titus D.ii (B); BL Cotton Caligula A.iii (C); NLW Peniarth 32 (D); BL Additional MS. 14931 (E); NLW Peniarth 35 (G); NLW Peniarth 40 (K); and NLW Peniarth 39 (named Lew by William Maurice, it was not known to Owen). Llyfr Colan, NLW Peniarth MS 30, is a revised version of the Iorwerth redaction. The Iorwerth redaction is from north Wales and includes some of the earliest manuscripts of Welsh law; the text itself can be linked to the kingdom of Gwynedd during the time of Llywelyn ap Iorwerth and Llywelyn ap Gruffudd.

In a short tract on the Milesian Invasion there is a curious passage in which the Sons of Míl arrive in Ireland only to find the island inhabited by a group of Hebrew maidens. The maidens will not give up their land without receiving a payment (tindscra) for their ‘friendship’ (cairdes): ‘Is de at fir crendai mnai i n-Eri co brath ar im chrenad lanamnai isin doman oilcheanai.’ Rudolf Thurneysen has discussed this passage in relation to the notion of marriage by bride-purchase and states that this passage represents the older procedure whereby a man simply buys a wife without expecting a dowry in return. In this essay the extant sources for this practice are re-examined and it is argued that the concept of the husband purchasing his wife may be more a linguistic and terminological artefact than a reflection of reality.

A second instance of this usage occurs in the mythological text Tochmarc Étaíne ‘the wooing of Étaín’. In his analysis of this text Thomas Charles-Edwards discusses, among other matters, the possible significance of the use of the verbs renaid ‘sells’ and crenaid ‘buys’ in relation to the marriage of Étaín and Midir.

Specifically, he discusses the type of marriage Óengus arranges for his fosterfather, Midir, and Midir's later acquisition of Étaín from her husband, Eochaid Airem. In the former marriage arrangement Óengus effectively purchases Étaín from her father, Ailill, who, according to Charles-Edwards's interpretation, might thereby forfeit all of his rights to compensation should any injury be done to his daughter.

This passage in Asser's Life of King Alfred has given rise to discussion owing to the uncertainty of the meaning of the word parochia, and particularly with regard to its potential implications for the ecclesiastical assimilation of Cornwall into Wessex, since Cornwall's integration into Wessex advanced considerably during King Alfred's reign. The translation by Keynes and Lapidge, using the noncommittal word ‘jurisdiction’, wisely avoids precision about its implications. My purpose here is to examine some aspects of this clause in closer detail than has been possible in the more general surveys in which it has usually been discussed.

One preliminary aspect to be clarified is the exact meaning of Saxonia and Cornubia. It has generally been assumed without comment that, in this context, these words mean the later Devon and Cornwall respectively. The interpretation is surely right, but it bears closer examination. At this period such words would normally be understood with an ethnic or linguistic meaning, rather than a political one. In fact the River Tamar was probably, in the late ninth century, the boundary forming not only the administrative division between Devon and Cornwall but also, for much of its course, the linguistic division between speakers of West Saxon and Cornish.

A good deal of general information on the law relating to theft is to be found in the surviving Old Irish legal material from the seventh to the ninth centuries AD. The main law text on this topic is Bretha im Gatta ‘judgements about thefts’, though it is incomplete, owing to the loss of a page in the manuscript. Material on theft is also present in a number of other Old Irish law texts, such as Críth Gablach, Bechbretha and Bretha Cairdi.

The earlier material in Irish contains little specific information on the legal mechanisms for the recovery of stolen property. However, this aspect of the law of theft is touched on in more detail in a Treatise by Giolla na Naomh Mac Aodhagáin, chief judge of Connacht (ardollamh Connacht), whose death in 1309 is recorded in the annals. One passage which deals with the tracking of stolen cattle has been edited and translated by W. N. Osborough in an article entitled ‘The Irish Custom of Tracts’, published in the Irish Jurist. The general principle is that if the cattle can be tracked – presumably by the owner accompanied by witnesses – to a particular place, the inhabitants of that place must pay for the theft (íoc na gaide), unless they can show that the track continues in another direction, i.e. ‘to put the track of the theft from them’ (lorg na gaide do chur díobh).

The early-eighth-century collection of canons known as Collectio Canonum Hibernensis includes a book entitled On presbyters and priests. Chapter twenty-five deals with correct punishment to be meted out to priests who are absent from their locality:

This is a relatively rare example of concern about a priest's relationship with his congregation in this particular source. The other twenty-six chapters in the book concern the nature of the priest's role, their Old Testament precursors, the nature of sacrifice, the rituals of ordination and (by far the greatest area of concern, with ten separate chapters) the rules governing clerical income.

The evidence for the duties and functions of priests and their role in Irish society is not limited to On presbyters and priests, but can also be found scattered through other books within the Collectio. In Book twenty-one, for example, On judgement, a priest is identified as a suitable person to be a judge, along with fourteen other characters including a bishop, a king, a legal scholar, a kinsman (on issues concerning his own kin), a craftsman (on matters pertaining to his own craft), the old, the poor and the wise.

The capacity to hold court can be a key to the distribution and exercise of political power; to the existence of public or of private power; and to the interplay both between local community and landlords and between local community and rulers' agents. Of course, the phrase ‘holding court’ in modern English offers a multiplicity of meanings, just as the notion of holding court in the early Middle Ages covers a multiplicity of occasions: there were kings' courts, bishops' courts, secular lords' courts, monastic lords' courts – where business was done, celebrations held, visitors received, dues paid, gifts exchanged, plans made. My concern in this paper is with the court as judicial court – the place where disputes were heard, in accordance with fixed procedures and in the knowledge of such law as pertained, and where disputes were sometimes settled, sometimes judged, and unsuccessful litigants were sometimes sentenced.

My particular concern is with the presidency of the court. Did someone always preside, and was the presidency always held by a single individual? Can we always identify a president? Could someone preside in absentia – in other words, be notionally but not physically present? Was presiding separable from judging? Determining who presided in court is much more difficult to fathom than one might initially think. There are issues concerning both the normal actions, powers and obligations of court holders and also the meaning of words: it might be supposed, for example, that use of the Latin word ante ‘before’ would clearly identify a president, but that certainly was not always the case.

Compert Mongáin ocus Serc Duibe Lacha do Mongán (The Birth of Mongán and Mongán's Love for Dub Lacha – or Dub Lacha's Love for Mongán) belongs to the broad category of narrative Alan Bruford termed ‘Romantic Tales’, encompassing in his view ‘all the late medieval and later romances found in Irish manuscripts from the fifteenth to the nineteenth centuries and the related folktales’. The earliest copy is contained in the Book of Fermoy, written for David Mór son of Maurice Roche in the middle of the fifteenth century, and it was in Bruford's view among the best of the Romantic tales produced at a time when ‘Irish poets and scribes enjoyed the patronage of a powerful Irish-speaking aristocracy of mixed Norman and Irish descent’. Notwithstanding this, unlike other contemporary compositions which enjoyed widespread popularity in the seventeenth century and later, as far as post-classical transmission is concerned, our tale survives in a solitary copy written in Munster about the year 1811 by Seághan Mac Mathghamhna and entitled Tóruigheacht Duibhe Lacha Láimhe Ghile ‘The Pursuit of Dub Lacha of the White Hand’.

One of the many subjects on which Thomas Charles-Edwards has immeasurably broadened our understanding over the years is that of early Irish legal education. Through his work we have been invited to contemplate not merely what, but how, budding lawyers were being taught in the schools. No tract addresses the issue of instructional method specifically; however, given the traditional understanding of the extant law tracts as textbooks for junior jurists, it seems only reasonable to imagine that one might be able to infer something about this from the texts that remain. Particularly difficult to reconstruct from this distance are the oral aspects of early legal instruction, though one tract in the corpus has always seemed to me especially promising in this respect. Berrad Airechta, an early-eighth-century tract on suretyship and contract (and the first text I ever read with Professor Charles-Edwards thirty years ago at Oxford), is well known among specialists for the large amount of purportedly oral material it contains. Not only is it one of our most important sources for sayings attributed to the traditional oral law known as Fénechas, but at the core of the tract are replicated what purport to be the ritualised oral exchanges used by creditor and debtor in contracting obligations. Equally intriguing are the ten quotations not ascribed to Fénechas but introduced in the text by expressions such as is de asberr, ‘it is regarding this that this is said’, or cid dia nepir, ‘why is this said?’

In the first preface to the Descriptio Kambriae, completed in 1194, Gerald of Wales makes two related assertions: he had written a work of history, and he had sought to imitate the example of Gildas. Although by no means ignored, both statements have remained at the margins of scholarly discussion, which has tended to concentrate on the Descriptio's novelty as a remarkably detailed, albeit partial, account of a medieval country and people as well as on what it reveals of its author's attitude towards Wales and the Welsh. The emphasis on the work as an original contribution to ethnographic writing strongly coloured by its author's complex relationship with Wales remains highly illuminating. However, this essay will argue that, in order to appreciate the nature of that contribution, Gerald's presentation of the Descriptio as a piece of historical writing needs to be taken very seriously, for it was central to his purpose. In particular, it will suggest that, just as Bede's account of the seventh- and eighth-century Britons was informed by a reading of Gildas, so too was Gerald's description of the Welsh. After a brief introduction to the Descriptio Kambriae the discussion will consider how Gerald uses the past in the work in general before moving on to explore the implications of his specific identification with Gildas.