Elizabeth Ashman Rowe; Rory Naismith; Máire Ní Mhaonaigh, Writing Battles. New Perspectives on Warfare and Memory in Medieval Europe, London 2020

Writing Battles, a volume edited by three scholars associated with the University of Cambridge’s Department of Anglo-Saxon, Norse, and Celtic, explores the manifold functions of the battle depiction. Such depictions had the potential to shape the legacy of battles in different ways depending on the perspective of the source (4). The way a battle was to be remembered, the ‘battle after the battle’, was perhaps more important than the actual historic event itself (222). This book does not primarily aim to provide a military-historical reconstruction of what exactly happened on the battlefield: instead, it deals with the process of battle-writing and the potential utility of a depicted battle scene through various case-studies ranging from the Early Middle Ages to the modern cinematic recreations of medieval battles (177–206), and ends with a study on the memory of battles during the First World War (207–220). This review will forego the two latter contributions, but these underline once more the impact, longevity, and the importance of battle-writing in societies past and present.

First of all, remembering a battle entails the act of giving it a name. This would put a label on the combat that had taken place at a certain site. As Robert Bartlett points out in the first contribution (7–26), battles do not name themselves: we need to question whereafter they are named, who gets to name them, and whether there is a difference in battle-naming between the victorious and the defeated side. Battles could represent short skirmishes or last for several days. A name served as a recognizable label attached to the chaotic events of a battle affair (20).

All battles, as well as the wars they were a part of, would eventually end with peace. Narrating this transition of battle to peace represented another fundamental part of battle-writing, investigated by Jenny Benham (27–38). She seeks to shed light on the role of peace-making in the retelling of battle events between the tenth and the thirteenth century (27). By the twelfth century, writers could depict two interlinked but different manners in which peace could be achieved: mediation and arbitration. The mediator could help to create a settlement acceptable for both parties, whereas the arbitrator was granted the authority to decide and impose a settlement by himself. This latter authority was voluntarily bestowed on the arbitrator by the conflicting parties. Mediation was the preferred option because it gave the participants of the peace agreement a motivation to maintain peace and cooperate (30). In every description of how such a treaty was achieved, it was the main concern to limit further bloodshed born out of the Church’s attempt to limit sinful violence (31). Medieval Christian authors “had a difficult balance to thread between glorifying God’s judgement through victory in battle and holding up peace as the ultimate goal of warfare (34).”

The core of Petrovskaia’s argument consists of underling the differences between modern and medieval ways of depicting an ‘other’ (147–163). Concepts such as ‘pagan’, ‘Saracen’ or ‘Viking’ were used interchangeably to depict both Muslim and Norse opponents by medieval authors. Petrovskaia argues that these categorizations, as a form of conceptual continuity akin to the idea of translatio imperii, helped medieval authors depict new enemies in terms familiar to the audience (155–156). Terminology associated with past conflict could describe, and serve as a metaphor, for the depiction of violence in the present and vice versa (157), based on the influential historical template by Orosius who had structured his historiographical work as an opposition between Christians and Pagans (150–151).

The following contributions analyse the process of battle-writing in specific case-studies. Matthew Strickland discusses (39–75) the mythologization of battles which took place during the Anglo-Saxon period of English history, before the well-known battle of Hastings in 1066. His investigation goes beyond looking into historiographical writing, as he also includes an analysis of the practice of liturgical commemoration and weapons or banners associated with specific conflicts (43). Strickland also stresses that the focus on battles creates a distorted perception of medieval warfare, as they took place rather seldom compared to raids or sieges (43–45).

Rory Naismith addresses this last theme: he focuses on what he calls ‘Fortress London’ (77–105), and argues that London, due to its strategic location on the banks of the Thames, became the dominant city of England primarily because of warfare (77). Whereas most cities used their wealth for aggressive authority-challenging policies, Naismith argues that for London the reverse was true: it was the threat of warfare and conquest that rendered broader developments urgent (78). The pressures of war turned London into a community (94) with a strong link to the English kings since London’s prominence gradually rose thanks to a “unique conjunction of kingship, warfare and the background demands that both created” (90).

Elizabeth Ashman Rowe investigates war-writing across the North Sea, investigating the evolution of remembering and recording struggle from Viking to Medieval Scandinavia (107–129). This society’s memorial culture transitioned from a combination of oral transmission, Eddic and Skaldic poetry, and runic inscriptions to the Christian paradigms of remembrance characteristic of the medieval period (118). For example, prose narrative was introduced, yet Skaldic poetry remained as a possible form of mythologization. This transition went hand in hand with a change in the aim of battle-writing: records of battles in Viking Scandinavia sought to emphasize the virtues of a heroic warrior society, whereas medieval battles were recounted by historians who could alter their accounts for contemporary purposes (125).

Máire Ní Mhaonaigh again turns to the Insular World, with her contribution on the construction of battle-narratives in Ireland from the late eighth through the twelfth centuries in both Irish vernacular and Latin (131–145). A shift similar to that observed for Scandinavia, from shorter heroic stories to longer histories focusing on kings, can be discerned in the Irish case as well (137–139). Apart from being influenced by the Classical tradition, transmitted through Irish translations of original Latin works, this development might have also reflected the evolving reality of warfare, as kings gained more resources for protracted military conflict (138).

The editors of the volume analyse the manners wherein a single fight, the Battle of Stamford Bridge, was recorded by authors from different cultures with varying degrees of temporal distance to the event (166), offering the reader a florilegium of perspectives about the battle (165–176). Indeed, through the use of this example, the editors once more point out how “battles, as critical events that took a heavy toll of lives and offered potential for both the highest glory and the deepest sorrow, were examined and re-examined by all parties involved” (168).

To conclude, from a methodological standpoint, the contributions by Bartlett, Benham, and Petrovskaia are the most promising for medievalists interested in inspiration on the narrativity of conflict. The other studies are valuable and thought-provoking for historians primarily specializing in the Insular World and Scandinavia since this book mainly focuses on battle-writing in medieval North-western Europe.