Chroniclers appear to have assumed that their audience would know what was and was not licit behaviour in war. Beyond the legal texts that attempted to establish a theological framework for warfare, discussions about the legitimacy of deception usually occur when an author wishes to justify or defend their subject's behaviour or when discussing the cultural or religious ‘other’: those groups that were perceived to fight and behave contrary to Western European norms and were often labelled as habitually treacherous. Studying what Western chroniclers considered abnormal in ‘the other’ is another way of trying to understand what they believed to be acceptable behaviour.

Jus in Bello: Military Deceptions in Theology and Canon Law

Philosophical, ethical and theological anxieties about warfare are as old as war itself. When is it morally right to go to war? Who has the right to start or end a war? How should people act in war? Is there any way to limit its horrors? According to James Turner Johnson, in classic Western philosophy the definition of a ‘just war’ is typically divided into two parts. First, jus ad bellum: a just war must be declared by the proper authorities and for legitimate reasons. Second, jus in bello: a just war must be conducted in the right way, for example by refraining from doing harm to non-combatants or by showing clemency to enemy prisoners. Until the fourteenth century, medieval theologians and canonists had remarkably little to say about jus in bello and practically nothing about the legitimacy of particular tactics. Their primary concern was to demonstrate that it was legitimate for Christians to wage war and to determine who had the authority to declare war. This is only to be expected. The clerics and lawyers who wrote these texts had little first-hand experience of war and were not overly concerned with the niceties of military tactics.

The basis for all theological and canonical writing on stratagems in the Middle Ages was Augustine's Quaestionum in Heptateuchum libri vii, specifically his reflections on Joshua 7. In this passage, God commands Joshua and the Israelites to lay an ambush for the Canaanite citizens of Ai (as discussed in Chapter 3).

The feigned flight or retreat – pretending to run away in order to trick an enemy force into pursuing – was famously employed by the Normans at the Battle of Hastings (although this has been the subject of some debate, as outlined below). This makes Hastings a logical place to begin an analysis of this stratagem: whether such a manoeuvre was even possible, what may have happened during the battle and how it was portrayed by the various chroniclers. A wider reading of medieval narratives reveals that, far from being an isolated incident, the feigned flight was employed in a variety of conflicts and by a variety of forces.

The Battle of Hastings

Several scholars have claimed that the description of the Norman army feigning flight to draw the English off Senlac Hill on 14 October 1066 is a fiction, invented after the fact to cover up a very real and embarrassing retreat that almost cost the Normans the battle. The source of this theory appears to be Charles H. Lemmon, who argued that ‘such a manoeuvre is contrary to the principle that troops once committed to the attack cannot be made to change their direction’ and that it would be impossible to relay such an order to thousands of individuals, all fighting hand-to-hand. Furthermore, the feint would have been too obvious if the Norman army had fallen back at the same time, en masse. This argument was taken up by John Beeler, who concluded that the story of a feigned flight at Hastings was nothing more than a ‘legend’, a historical ‘hoax’ perpetrated by the Norman chroniclers. More recently, John Marshall Carter argued that there is limited evidence that the Normans were able to use this tactic and that the topography of the battlefield would have made it difficult for cavalry to perform such a manoeuvre. Carter proposed that the story of the feigned flight was inserted into the Hastings narrative by the early chroniclers in imitation of Vegetius, in order to make the Normans appear more skilful.

Bernard S. Bachrach provided a thorough criticism of this thesis, demonstrating that the feigned flight was employed by both the Huns and the Visigoths, many centuries prior to Hastings.

The 1884 London Health Exhibition was held, its organisers said, to demonstrate the concept of health in the ‘widest possible sense’. As its Official Catalogue noted, the displays would illustrate ‘all the conditions of healthful life, as regards the food of the people, their clothing, and the dwellings in which they live’. The South Kensington buildings were filled with exhibits of ‘healthy’ building materials, examples of public and industrial hygiene, and aspects of education and gymnasia. Dress also made up a large proportion of the display, with fabrics and manufacturing techniques shown next to morbid exhibits of the effects of ‘poisonous dyes’ on the skin and ‘displaced viscera’ produced by tightly-laced corsets. The majority of the exhibits, however, related to food. As Punch wryly remarked, it seemed the ‘great object of nine-tenths of the Exhibitors … to excite the appetite of the passer-by’. Throughout the Exhibition, visitors could examine different methods of food preparation and preservation, see exotic international foods, and even taste these for themselves in the many restaurants inside the building. It was here that the first Chinese restaurant in London could be found, extending out over an artificial ornamental lake in the grounds. And, for diners in this restaurant, as The Times noted, ‘no Chinese banquet is considered complete without music’.

Every day of the Health Exhibition, visitors to the Chinese restaurant heard music by a band of Chinese musicians. But this band was not the only non-Western ensemble to appear at exhibitions in the British Empire during this period. A year earlier, at Calcutta 1883, a Burmese troupe performed daily with an orchestra in a theatre constructed on the far side of the Exhibition grounds. Also in London, the year after the Health Exhibition, the Court Band of the King of Siam appeared at the Inventions Exhibition where they performed three times per week in the Albert Hall. Live performances given by visiting musicians, unlike the depersonalised and decontextualised exhibits of non-Western instruments, allowed audiences to engage with the sonic realities of their respective musical traditions. For many audience members, these performances may have provided a first encounter with the sound of any non-Western music, beyond its representation in European exotic opera or operetta.

Taxonomy of Military Deceptions in Medieval Chronicles c. 1000–1320

Trinity College, Cambridge, MS R.3.15 [Tc2] is a late fifteenth-century copy of Chaucer's Canterbury Tales whose text is very closely affiliated to that of Caxton's first edition, although critics disagree as to the exact nature of this relationship. The presence of individual lines in Caxton's edition that are not found in Tc2 rules out the possibility that the manuscript served as Caxton's exemplar, but it remains possible that the manuscript was copied from the printed text. N. F. Blake included Tc2 in his listing of ‘Caxton prints for which a copy-text survives, or which were used as a copy’, suggesting that the manuscript may have been copied from Caxton's first printed edition. C. A. Owen Jr considered Tc2 to have used the exemplar employed by Caxton for his edition as its copytext, while D. W. Mosser concludes that the precise nature of the association is impossible to determine.

In addition to its text of the Canterbury Tales, Tc2 contains several other Middle English works, copied by a secretary hand of the sixteenth century, as follows:

• 1. (folios 1r–2r) ‘Eight goodlie questions with their answers’ (NIMEV 3183/1)

• 2. (folios 2r–3r) ‘Balade au tres noble Roy H[enri] le quint’ (Hoccleve NIMEV 3788/1)

• 3. (folio 3r) ‘Whan faithe faileth in prestes sawes’ (NIMEV 3943/10)

• 4. (folios 317r–28r) Pierce the Ploughman's Crede (NIMEV 663/1)

The three items that precede the Canterbury Tales in Tc2 appear in this same position in William Thynne's edition, The Workes of Geffray Chaucer (STC 5068), first issued in 1532, and scholars have consequently assumed that they were copied directly from this edition. Collation of Thynne's version of these texts with those in Tc2 confirms that they are very close to the printed text. Variants shared by both witnesses include the following readings in the opening lines of the Canterbury Tales, added by the sixteenth-century copyist as a replacement for a missing leaf: 2 droghte] drought; 5 sweete] sote; 6 in] om.; 10 the] om.; 13 for] om.; 19 Bifil] it befel; in that] om.; 21 wenden] go; 22 ful] om.; 23 At] That.

In quadragesima, de penitentia (‘In Lent, concerning penitence’) is a treatise on the practice of penitence and the doctrine of the Creed. Part one conveys seven commonplaces of sacramental confession [lines 2–33]: [1] since Christians cannot be baptized twice for the forgiveness of sins, penance cleanses them from sins committed after baptism; [2] having repented, they must cease from sin and do good; [3] God forgives every sin provided that the sinner ceases from it and repents according to a confessor's instructions; [4] one who laments sins and then repeats them is like a dog returning to eat his vomit; [5] no person should delay, lest shame in confessing to a priest result in shame in confessing before God at the Last Judgment; [6] no one receives forgiveness from God without confessing and atoning according to a priest's instructions; and [7] penitents who seek God's forgiveness for their sins ought to forgive those who have sinned against them as Christ taught in the Lord's Prayer. With a declaration that every Christian ought to know the Lord's Prayer and Creed, Ælfric then turns to expound the Creed in part two of De penitentia [lines 34–80]. He concentrates on the doctrine of the Trinity, and the unity, coeternity, and consubstantiality of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit are primary concerns. The uniqueness of the Son's incarnation, however, gives Ælfric scope to touch on Christ's crucifixion, death, harrowing of hell, resurrection, ascension, and return, echoing language used in the Creed. Christ's Second Coming prompts the concluding reflection on the fate of the wicked and the righteous at the Last Judgment. The eternal suffering of the damned recalls the eternal shame of the unconfessed in part one, and the salvation of those who were pleasing to God looks back to the repentance that merits a penitent's inclusion among the saved.

With De penitentia's rationale for penitence and digest of core doctrine, Malcolm Godden calls attention to the treatise's ‘affinity to the standard procedure for confession’, with part one being equivalent to an exhortation to confession and part two to a discussion of the doctrine on which the penitent was customarily questioned.

Læwedum Mannum Is to Witenne (‘The Laity Are to Know’), a brief exhortation to laypeople about chastity, fasting, and sobriety, appears as the final item in a series of fifteen texts suitable for use by catechists and confessors that Ælfric composed in 992 and then appended to Cambridge University Library, Gg. 3. 28 [K]. The exhortation follows De penitentia (AH II.19) and like that treatise would have been appropriate for use during Lent, though Ælfric's advice applies as well to ‘holy times’ (halgum timum) and Ember fasts as well [lines 1–2]. Ember Days were days of fasting, abstinence, and prayer observed about every three months on the Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday of a given week, while halgum timum may refer to Sundays and feast-days like those commemorated in the Catholic Homilies. Exhortations similar to those in Læwedum Mannum regarding Lenten chastity and fasting, and the tithing of one's body and goods [lines 2–6] may be found in Ælfric's sermons for the First Sunday in Lent (CH I.11 and CH II.7). And though he also warns against drunkenness in other Lenten sermons, only here does he single out the sin's potential to negate one's fast altogether [lines 6–7]. In the final sentence of Læwedum Mannum, admonition gives way to benediction as the rare second-person blessing conveys the exhortation's catechetical thrust. There a speaker, presumably a priest whose purview it was to offer a benediction, turns from teaching the laity what is expected of them and blesses their efforts to meet those expectations: ‘Se Scyppend þe eow gesceop sylle eow godne willan and eow gelæde to ðam ecan life’ (‘“May the Creator who created you give you good will and lead you to the everlasting life”’ [lines 7–8]).

We cannot say for certain what context Ælfric had in mind for this interaction. Lent figures prominently in the exhortation, and its contents are appropriate to the catechesis of the season. The Paternoster, creeds, prayers, and penitential treatise that precede Læwedum Mannum in K are also suited to the season, and Ælfric encourages Christians to go to confession during the first two weeks of Lent. As the plural form of the address in the benediction may suggest, perhaps he had in mind moments when priests would instruct the laity in groups.

‘The king is dead, long live the king!’ Thus Henry B. Wheatley described the opening of yet another international exhibition in London. ‘No sooner’, he wrote in 1885, were the doors of one exhibition closed, than ‘preparations were made for the reopening of these doors’; just as the exhibits of one show were removed, those of the next were installed. Wheatley referred only to London, which held four exhibitions in quick succession throughout the 1880s, but his observations could be applied to exhibitions in many parts of the British Empire. During this decade, there was barely a year without an international exhibition, in continuation of a fairly recent tradition that had begun with the Great Exhibition in 1851. Arguably some of the most significant cultural phenomena of the nineteenth century, international exhibitions used comparative and competitive displays to reflect – their organisers claimed – the totality of human endeavour, from industry and manufacturing, to art and design. Moreover, they influenced the social, cultural, economic, and political lives of the cities that hosted them. Usually six months long and held in enormous purpose-built edifices packed full of objects, exhibitions were a massive and literal manifestation of the Victorian obsession with collecting, ordering, and classifying the world. But exhibitions were not just a physical and visual display; sound, and particularly music, was integral to their experience.

This book interrogates the role of music at international exhibitions in the British Empire throughout the 1880s. At these events, music was codified, ordered, and all-round ‘exhibited’ in multiple and changing ways. Sometimes it was represented through physical objects, sometimes through performance. It was used to fulfil the educational remit of the exhibitions, as a rarefied symbol of the highest human achievements in art, and its ‘enlightening’ qualities employed to edify the public both morally and culturally. At other times, it was engaged for commercial ends, as a tool for instrument manufacturers to advertise their wares, or as a commodified entertainment that could draw a paying crowd. Music was used as a vehicle for nationalist sentiments, or invoked as a marker of universalism. It could represent local talents, or appear so foreign that it challenged the very idea of what music was.

In an 1885 Magazine of Music article, George Bernard Shaw described his frustration at the way musical instruments were exhibited at the London International Inventions Exhibition:

As understandable as the restrictions placed on touching or playing musical instruments were – particularly given the sonic chaos of the early exhibitions before such rules were introduced – Shaw was not the only one who was unsatisfied with these arrangements. The primary mode of engagement with objects displayed at exhibitions was visual, and as we have seen, as far as musical instruments were concerned, the press and public went to great lengths to give these ‘senseless objects’ meaning, without them needing to be heard. But for manufacturers and exhibitors, this ignored the primary function of the instruments. While some makers clearly took pride in the physical aesthetic qualities of their products, all wanted their instruments to be able to demonstrate their reason for existing: making music. Thus, at all the exhibitions in this study where instruments were displayed, the manufacturers themselves arranged public recitals to fully exhibit their wares.

Demonstration recitals were given on a variety of different instruments across the exhibitions. At London 1885, for example, there were concerts of wind instruments arranged by firms such as Boosey, Besson, and Metzler, violin recitals on instruments by Jeffrey James Gilbert (1850–1942) or George Gemünder (1816–99), and a few on the banjo by Arthur Tilley (1847–1921) playing his own instruments.

De sancta uirginitate, uel de tribus ordinibus castitatis (‘Concerning Holy Virginity, or Concerning the Three Orders of Chastity’) is a composite homily assigned to the Assumption of the Virgin Mary (15 August) in the one manuscript wherein it survives. Scholars agree that Ælfric composed its component parts but are less certain that he was responsible for the whole. With varying degrees of reservation, Godden, Pope, and Clemoes acknowledge the possibility that Ælfric could have compiled the homily, while more recently Kezel concludes that we are ‘reasonably justified’ in attributing the work to him. If Ælfric was the compiler, then he completed the homily between about 1006 and 1010 using parts of two works that he had written around 1005–6. De sancta uirginitate would have been his third homily for the feast-day commemorating the Virgin Mary's reception into heaven in body and soul at the end of her life.

Part one of De sancta uirginitate [lines 1–213] is adapted from Ælfric's Letter to Sigefyrth, a freely composed defense of sacerdotal chastity addressed to a layman who may have been a member of the local gentry living near Ælfric's abbey at Eynsham. Ælfric opens with proofs that Christ loves þa halgan clænnysse (‘holy virginity’ [line 3]). Jesus, the Virgin Mary, John the Evangelist, and the Apostles who forsook their marriages when called to follow Christ provide biblical support for Ælfric's assertion that lifelong celibacy and good works on earth merit a hundred-fold reward in heaven [lines 2–46]. A discussion of a particular kind of celibacy, clerical celibacy, follows [lines 47–120], and Ælfric grounds it in the distinction between the Old and New Law, the time of bigamy and married bishops having given way to the age of unmarried, chaste priests who alone can serve at God's altar. The need for an accurate understanding of differences between the Old and New Law extends to all Christians who need teachers to teach them about the three conditions that are pleasing to God – marriage, widowhood, and lifelong virginity – and whose good fruit yields, respectively, thirty, sixty, and hundred-fold heavenly rewards [lines 121–82]. Having explained the hundred-fold reward, Ælfric continues to comment on the virginal state.

Though now damaged and incomplete, De creatore et creatura (‘Concerning the Creator and Creation’) and its companion piece De sex etatibus huius seculi (‘Concerning the Six Ages of the World’ [AH II.15]), once contained Ælfric's comprehensive outline of Christian history. De creatore appears to have combined a doctrinal exposition of the Trinity with an account of God's creation and fall of the angels, and the creation, fall, and redemption of mankind to argue for the existence of a triune God who, when he created the world in time, planned to redeem it for eternity. De sex etatibus picks up at the Fall and provides an overview of salvation history from Noah's day to the dawn of Eternity, so the two sermons present ‘the Christian “world picture” of Creation, Fall, Redemption, and Judgment in its essential simplicity’. As late works composed ca 1006, they also testify to the commitment Ælfric maintained in the last decade of his life to the ‘staged programme of teaching … designed to tell the basic Christian story sequentially from the beginning’ that he had initiated with the completion of the Catholic Homilies between 989 and 992.

Because the doctrinal discussion and episodes from salvation history that survive in De creatore are central to Ælfric's program of religious education for all Christians, it is not surprising to find that he took up this combination of ideas throughout his career. They feature in De Initio Creaturae (‘On the Origin of the Created World’ [CH I.1]), the first homily of the Catholic Homilies (989); in the Hexameron, a homily that focuses on the six days of creation (ca 993–8); in two letters to the laymen Wulfgeat and Sigeweard (ca 1005–06), and yet again in De creatore (ca 1006). Among these works, De creatore bears most resemblance to the Hexameron because Ælfric draws on the homily as one of his two main sources. De creatore is singular, however, for the way in which it marshals arguments about the Trinity, Creation, Fall, and Atonement to counter a worldview that in the extreme denies the existence of God and in the main ignores the need for salvation.

Introduction

Trench 1, approximately 70m in size, was located in the eastern sector of the Secano, N of Calle Real de la Alhambra, near the modern tourist path. The trench was situated between several visible structures, which were non-scientifically restored in the early 1970s by Francisco Prieto Moreno and in principle identified as pottery kilns.

A total of four kilns flanked the trench on several sides, and the excavation led to the discovery of a succession of workshop areas, confirming that the area was used for industrial production without interruption from the Nasrid period to the 17th century.