Part 5

The barons promptly stormed the ‘outer bailey’ of the castle (April 19),[117] and strove desperately to gain the keep, till, a week later, they fled suddenly at the news of the king’s advance on London.[118] But so vigorous were the siege operations by attack, battery, and mining, that they were on the point of succeeding when they had to raise the siege.[119]

Surely a ‘History of the Art of War’ should mention the above remarkable allusion to Simon’s mastery of siege operations, and to his teaching the English, who were then ignorant of the subject. But all that Mr. Oman tells us is that--

the massive strength of Gundulf’s Norman keep was too much for such siege appliances as the earl could employ. The garrison under John de Warenne, the Earl of Surrey, held their own without difficulty (p. 416).

We have seen that, on the contrary, the keep was on the point of being taken. But what are we to say to the words, “_Gundulf’s_ Norman keep”? “It was long the custom,” as Mr. Clark wrote, “to attribute this keep to Gundulf, making it contemporaneous, or nearly so, with the Tower of London”; but, more than thirty years ago, it was shown by Mr. Hartshorne (in the ‘Archæological Journal’) that it was built in later days under William of Corbeuil (1126–1136).[120] No one, in the present state of our knowledge, could suppose that Gundulf was its builder; and it is obvious that a writer who does must have yet everything to learn on Norman military architecture.

* * * * *

I must lastly deal as briefly as possible with the subject of knight service. The view of modern historians has been that this was gradually evolved during the Norman period out of a pre-conquestual obligation to provide one armed man for every five hides held. As against this I have advanced the theory[121] that the whole arrangement was introduced _de novo_ at the Conquest, when the Conqueror assessed the fiefs he granted in terms of _the five-knight unit irrespective of hidation_. Put in a less technical form my theory is that the Conqueror called on the holder of every considerable fief to furnish a contingent of five knights, or some multiple of five, to the feudal host.[122] And this he did arbitrarily, without reckoning the ‘hides’ that might be contained in the fief. Further, by the _argumentum ad absurdum_, I showed that if every five hides had to provide a knight, there would be nothing, or less than nothing, left for the tenant-in-chief.[123] It was of this new theory that Professors Pollock and Maitland observe, in their history of English Law (i. 238–9), that they regard it “as having been proved by Mr. Round’s convincing papers.”

Mr. Oman, however, leans to the now exploded theory, and holds that under Norman rule “the old notion that the five hides must provide a fully armed man was remembered;”[124] and that though “some lay tenants-in-chief” got off easily, “the majority were obliged to supply their proper contingent.”[125] He then proceeds:

It has been clearly shown of late, by an eminent inquirer into early English antiquities, that the hidage of the townships was very roughly assessed, and that the compilers of Domesday Book incline towards round numbers.

Now apart from the fact that this “eminent inquirer,” my friend Professor Maitland to wit, gives me full credit for having been first in the field[126]--a fact which Mr. Oman, with my book before him, of course carefully ignores--his words show that he cannot understand the simplest historical theory. Professor Maitland and I have dwelt on the antiquity of this assessment, with which “the compilers of Domesday Book” had no more to do than Mr. Oman himself, and which indeed the compilation of that book has almost utterly obscured.

From the fact of the five-hide unit Mr. Oman argues “that there was little difficulty in apportioning the military service due from the tenants-in-chief who owned them,”[127] though such apportionment, as I have shown, would result in an actual absurdity.[128] Indeed, Mr. Oman himself observes that the tenant-in-chief, to discharge his obligation, “might distribute the bulk of his estate in lots roughly averaging five hides to subtenants, who would discharge the service for him,”[129] although a moment’s consideration will show that this process would absorb not “the bulk,” but the whole of his estate.

But all this is insignificant by the side of Mr. Oman’s double error on the _vetus feoffamentum_. This begins on p. 359, which is headed “The old enfeoffment,’” and which describes the distribution of fiefs by William among the tenants-in-chief. On the next page he writes of “the knights of ‘the old enfeoffment,’ as William’s arrangement was entitled,” and proceeds to vouch my ‘Feudal England’ as his authority for this statement! On the same page we read of the landholder’s “_servitium debitum_ according to the assessment of the _vetus feoffamentum_ of the Conqueror”; and further learn that Henry II.

demanded a statement as to the number of knights whom each tenant-in-chief owed as subtenants, how many were under the ‘old enfeoffment’ of William I., and how many of more recent establishment.

We also read that--

the importance of King Henry’s inquest of 1166 was twofold. It not only gave him the information that he required as to the proper maintenance of the _debitum servitium_ due under the ‘old enfeoffment’ of the Conqueror, but showed him how many more knights had been planted out (_sic_) since that assessment (p. 363).

Again, on page 364 we read of “the ‘old enfeoffment’ of the eleventh century,” and the phrase (which Mr. Oman quite properly places within quotation marks) occurs in at least three other passages.

It is quite evident that Mr. Oman imagines the _vetus feoffamentum_ to be (1) the original distribution by the Conqueror (2) among the tenants-in-chief. Both ideas are absolutely wrong. For (1) it had nothing to do with “William’s arrangement”--which determined the _servitium debitum_, a very different matter; and (2) it referred to the _sub_-enfeoffment of knights by tenants-in-chief. The dividing line between the “old” and the “new” feoffments, was the death of Henry I. in 1135. All fees existing at that date were of the _antiquum feoffamentum_; all fees created subsequently were of the _novum feoffamentum_. This essential date is nowhere given by Mr. Oman, who evidently imagined that the latter were those “of more recent establishment” than “the old enfeoffment of William I.”

The frightful confusion into which Mr. Oman has been led by his double blunder is shown by his own selected instance, the _carta_ of Roger de Berkeley in 1166. According to him, “Roger de Berkeley owed (_sic_) two knights and a half on the old enfeoffment.”[130] Two distinct things are here hopelessly confused.

(1) Roger “owed” a _servitium debitum_ (not of 2½, but) of 7½ knights to the Crown; and his fief paid scutage[131] accordingly in 1168, 1172, and 1190.

(2) Roger “has” two and a half knights enfeoffed under the old feoffment[132] (that is, whose fiefs existed in 1135), the balance of his _servitium debitum_ being, therefore, chargeable on his demesne,[133] as no knights had been enfeoffed since 1135.

It is difficult to understand how the writer can have erred so grievously, for it was fully recognised by Dr. Stubbs and by myself (‘Feudal England,’ pp. 237–239) that 1135 was the dividing point.[134] It may be as well to impress on antiquaries that fees “de antiquo feoffamento” were fees which had been in existence in 1135, at the death of Henry I., just as tenures, in Domesday Book, ‘T.R.E.,’ were those which had existed in 1066, at the death of Edward; for with these two formulas they will frequently meet. It is the “servitium debitum,” not the “antiquum feoffamentum,” which “runs back,” as Mr. Oman expresses it, to the Conquest.

The result of his confusion is that his account of the origins (in England) of knight service is not only gravely erroneous, but curiously topsy-turvy. This is scarcely wonderful when we find on page 365 that he is hopelessly confused about knights and serjeants, not having grasped the elementary distinction between tenure by serjeanty and tenure by knight service. From what I have seen of the author’s account of the battle of Bannockburn, his errors, I imagine, are by no means restricted to the subjects I have here discussed. A curious combination of confidence and unwillingness to admit his mistakes, with a haste or confusion of thought that leads him into grievous error, is responsible, it would seem, for those misconceptions which render untrustworthy, as it stands, his ‘History of the Art of War.’

IV

The Origin of the Exchequer

Historians have rivalled one another in their witness to the extraordinary interest and importance of the twelfth-century Exchequer. “The whole framework of society,” writes the Bishop of Oxford, “may be said to have passed annually under its review.... The regular action of the central power of the kingdom becomes known to us first in the proceedings of the Exchequer.” Gneist insists on “its paramount importance” while “finance is the centre of all government”; and in her brilliant monograph on Henry the Second, Mrs. Green asserts “that the study of the Exchequer is in effect the key to English history at this time.... It was the fount of English law and English freedom.” One can, therefore, understand Mr. Hall’s enthusiasm for “the most characteristic of all our national institutions ... the stock from which the several branches of the administration originally sprang.” Nor does this study appeal to us only on account of its importance. A glamour, picturesque, sentimental it may be, and yet dazzling in its splendour, surrounds an institution possessing so immemorial an antiquity that “Barons of the Exchequer” meet us alike in the days of our Norman kings and in those of Queen Victoria. Its “tellers,” at least coeval with the Conquest, were only finally abolished some sixty years ago, while the Chancellor of the Exchequer is believed to represent that “clericus cancellarii” whose seat at the Exchequer of the second Henry was close to that of the official ancestor of the present secretary to the Treasury. Yet, older than these, older even than the very name of the Exchequer, was its wondrous system of wooden tallies, that hieroglyphic method of account which carries us back to a distant past, but which, Sir John Lubbock has observed, was “actually in use at the Exchequer until the year 1824.” Of all survivals of an archaic age this was, probably, the most marvellous; it is not easy to realize that even in the present century English officials were keeping their accounts with pieces of wood which “had attained the dimensions, and presented somewhat the appearance, of one of the wooden swords of the South Sea Islanders.” It was an almost tragic feature in the passing of “the old order” that when these antique relics were finally committed to the flames, there perished, in the conflagration said to have been thus caused, that Palace of Parliament which, like themselves, had lingered on to witness the birth of the era of Reform.

But what, it may be asked, was the Exchequer, and why was it so named? The earliest answer, it would seem, is that of William Fitz Stephen, who, in his biography of Becket, tells us that, in 1164, John the Marshal was in London, officially engaged “at the quadrangular table, which, from its counters (_calculis_) of two colours, is commonly called the Exchequer (_scaccarium_), but which is rather the king’s table for white money (_nummis albicoloribus_), where also are held the king’s pleas of the Crown.”[135] The passage is not particularly clear, but I quote it because it is not, I believe, mentioned by Mr. Hall,[136] and because William Fitz Stephen knew his London well. The questions I have asked above are those which avowedly are answered in the first chapter of the famous ‘Dialogus de Scaccario’ (_circ._ 1178). I need not, however, repeat in detail the explanations there given, for they should be familiar from the works of Dr. Stubbs and of every writer on the subject. Suffice it to say that while, in shape, the ‘Exchequer’, with its ledge, as Mr. Hall observes, was not unlike a billiard table, “it derived its name from the chequered cloth” which, says Dr. Stubbs, covered it, and which gave it a resemblance to a chess board (_scaccarium_). Antiquaries have questioned this, as they will question everything; but the fact remains that the symbol of the Exchequer, of which types have been depicted by Mr. Hall, is that which swings and creaks before the wayside ‘chequers,’ which once, in azure and gold, blazed upon the hill of Lewes, and which still is proudly quartered by the Earl Marshal of England.

In the present paper I propose to consider the origin and development of the institution, and to examine critically some of the statements in the famous ‘Dialogus de Scaccario,’ of which the authority has hitherto been accepted almost without question.

It is alleged that a cruel hoax was perpetrated on the Royal Society by that ‘merry monarch’ Charles II., who called on its members to account for a phenomenon which existed only in his own imagination. Antiquaries and historians have, with similar success, been hoaxed by Richard the son of Nigel, who stated as a fact in his ‘Dialogue on the Exchequer,’ that there is no mention of a ‘blanch’ ferm to be found in Domesday Book. Richard proceeded to infer from this that those who spoke of ‘blanch’ ferm existing before the Conquest must be mistaken.[137]

Dr. Stubbs actually accepts the statement that “the blanch-ferm is not mentioned in Domesday,” but declares that Stapleton, in his well-known argument,[138] has clearly shown it to have had “its origin in a state of things that did not exist in Normandy, and was ‘consequent upon the monetary system of the Anglo-Saxons.’ The argument,” he writes, “is very technical, but quite conclusive.” Sir James Ramsay also, though writing as a specialist on finance, contents himself with citing Stapleton, through Stubbs, and with adding a reference to “white silver” in the Laws of Ælfred,[139] and ignores the evidence in Domesday Book.

Now the index to the Government edition of Domesday is a very imperfect production, but we need travel no farther than its pages to discover that there is no difficulty to solve; for the “alba firma” is duly entered under an Isle of Wight manor (i. 39 _b_). Moreover, we read on the same folio of “lx solidos albos” and “xii libras blancas” in a way that suggests the identity of the two descriptions. But, further, we find, scattered over Domesday, ‘Libræ albæ,’ ‘blancæ,’ and ‘candidæ,’ together with ‘libræ de albis denariis’ or ‘de candidis denariis,’ and ‘libræ alborum nummorum’ or ‘candidorum nummorum.’ The ‘blanch’ system, therefore, was already quite familiar. This, however, is not all. On the folio mentioned above (i. 39 _b_) we read of another manor: “T. R. E. xxv lib. ad pensum et arsuram.” This can only refer to that payment in weighed and assayed money, the method of which is described in the ‘Dialogue’ under ‘Quid ad militem argentarium’ and ‘Quid ad fusorem’ (I. vi.). All this elaborate system, therefore, must have been already in operation before the Conquest.

But the ‘Dialogue’ asserts in its next and very remarkable chapter--“A quibus vel ad quid instituta fuerit argenti examinatio”--that this system was first introduced by the famous Roger, bishop of Salisbury, the writer’s great-uncle, after he had sat at the Exchequer for some years, and had discovered the need of introducing it.[140] Between this statement and the evidence of Domesday the contradiction is so absolute that a grave question at once arises as to the value of the writer’s assertions on the early Norman period. Like the men of his time, he revelled in texts, and loved to drag them in on every possible occasion. One is, therefore, only following his example in suggesting that his guiding principle was, “I magnify my office.” The greatness and the privileges of a seat at the Exchequer were ever present in his mind. But to this he added another principle, for which insufficient allowance, perhaps, has hitherto been made. And this was, ‘I magnify my house.’ Nor can one blame the worthy treasurer for dwelling on his family’s achievements and exalting his father and his great-uncle as the true pillars of the Exchequer. He was perfectly justified in doing this; but historians should have been on their guard when he claims for Bishop Roger the introduction of a system which Domesday Book shows us as already in general operation.[141]

Enlightened by this discovery, we can more hardily approach a statement by the writer in the same chapter, which has been very widely repeated. One need only mention its acceptance by such specialists as Stapleton, in his work on the Norman Exchequer, and Mr. Hubert Hall, who, in his work on the ‘Antiquities and Curiosities of the Exchequer,’ refers to it four times.[142] He first tells us that

for half a century after the Conquest there could have been very little need of a central treasury at all, since the greater part of these provisions formed an intrinsic portion of the revenue itself ... which was still payable in kind. This point is both important and interesting, and has been hitherto somewhat overlooked by economic writers. The fact (which is probable enough in itself) rests on high authority--that of the famous treasurer of the first two Plantagenet kings (p. 4).

Again, he writes on p. 161:

We have seen that in the earliest times--previously, that is, to the reorganization of the Exchequer under Henry I.--the revenue of the sovereign was answered in two forms, namely, in specie and in kind, the former drawn from judicial fines and farms of towns, and the latter rendered, at an arbitrary assessment, by the cultivators of the royal demensne.[143]

The passage itself in the ‘Dialogus,’ which Mr. Hall translates _in extenso_ (pp. 180–182), requires careful examination. The “high authority” of which he speaks proves to be, in fact, only tradition, for the opening words of the passage run: “Sicut traditum est a patribus.” Now one would not strain unduly the words of the Dialogue’s author, but his meaning may be fairly understood to be that the rents of the royal demesne were not only paid in kind (for that he clearly asserts), but were also valued in kind alone. For he thus describes the change introduced under Henry I.:

Destinavit [rex] per regnum quos ad id prudentiores et discretiores cognoverat, qui circueuntes et oculata fide fundos singulos perlustrantes, habita æstimatione victualium, quæ de hiis solvebantur, redegerunt in summam denariorum.

This can only imply the substitution of a money valuation for a rent payable in kind. And yet we have to go no further than this very chapter to learn that these rents had previously been reckoned in money (not in kind). For if, as stated in the note below, they had, when they were paid in kind, to be reduced by the king’s officers to a money standard, it could only be because their amounts were due, not in kind, but in money.[144] Fortunately, however, we are not dependent on this obvious contradiction, for the evidence of Domesday makes it certain that, just as the assay was employed under the Conqueror, and indeed under the Confessor, instead of being first introduced under Henry I., so the valuation in money of the rents from the royal demesne was not a reform effected, as alleged, by the latter king, but was the rule under William I.; and, indeed, almost as much the rule before the Conquest.[145] We gather from Domesday that the Conqueror advanced the commutation of the old “firma unius diei,” etc., for a sum of money; but even under his predecessor there were only a few localities in which the archaic system had lingered on.

I have said something in ‘Feudal England’[146] of the “Firma unius noctis,” and I would now add to the evidence that I there adduced on this curious and interesting subject.

In Devonshire we meet with a singular feature, which, I think, has escaped attention. Exeter, we read, “reddit xviii. lib. per annum.” I have elsewhere[147] discussed this payment, and shown that it was strangely small; but I now proceed to a new point, namely, that the figure 18 may prove highly significant. Lidford, Barnstaple, and Totnes, we read,[148] “rendered” between them the same amount of (military) service as Exeter “rendered”; and this service was equally divided between them.[149] Now, if we turn from the service to the payments made by this group of boroughs, we find that the “render” of each was £3 a year, so that the whole group paid £9, exactly half the “render” of Exeter.[150]

If we follow the clue thus given us, and turn to the manors which Queen Edith and Harold’s mother and Harold himself had held, but which, in 1086, had passed to the king,[151] we find these remarkable figures: £15, £30, £45, £18, £48, £1½, £48 (formerly £23), £2, £6, £23 (formerly £18), £24, £3, £18, £3, £18, £12, £18, £24, £4 (?), £24, £1 (?), £7, £6, £6, £12, £8, £2, £3, £18, £20 (formerly £24). It is evident enough that these “renders” are based on some common unit, like the ‘renders’ of the comital manors in Somerset.[152] Moreover, we can trace, in Cornwall, something of the same kind. The manor of royal demesne which heads its survey “reddit xii lib. ad pondus et arsuram,”[153] and this is followed by renders of £8, £5, £6, £3 (‘olim’), £18, £6, £3, £7, £6, £6, £4, £5. Even a ‘render’ of £8 was duodecimal in a way; for on fo. 121 _b_ it occurs four times as £8 and thrice as “xii markæ.”

Not only is the rent of these manors distinguished from that of those in private hands by the form ‘reddit,’ instead of ‘valet,’ but the render is stereotyped, being normally unchanged, while the ‘valet’ ever fluctuates. The explanation I suggest for these archaic “renders” is that they represent the commutation of some formerly existing payment in kind similar to the “firma unius noctis.” If the unit of that payment was commuted at a fixed rate, it would obviously produce that artificial uniformity of which we have seen the traces in Devon and Cornwall. We may thus penetrate behind these “renders” to an earlier system then extinct.

This conclusion is confirmed, I think, by some striking instances in Hampshire.[154] Of ‘Neteham’ we read, “T.R.E. et post valuit lxxvi lib. et xvi sol. et viii den.” (i. 38); and of ‘Brestone,’ similarly, “T.R.E. et post valuit lxxvi lib. et xvi sol. et viii den.” (i. 38 _b_). The explanation is found in these two entries on the latter fo.:

Bertune. De firma regis E. Edlinges. Hoc manerium reddidit fuit, et dimidiam diem firmæ dimidiam diem firmæ reddidit in omnibus rebus ... T.R.E ... T.R.E. valebat T.R.E. valebat xxxviii lib. et xxxviii lib. et viii sol. et iiii viii sol. et iiii den. den.

That is, I take it that the half-day’s ferm “rendered” T.R.E. was worth £38 8_s._ 4_d._, so that the two other manors, for each of which the sum was £76 16_s._ 8_d._, must originally have rendered a whole ‘firma.’ This gives us the value of the ‘firma’ for the other Hampshire manors which “rendered.”[155]

We will now return to the ‘Dialogus’ and its statements on the “firma comitatus.”