But if anyone kills a free Frank … let him be liable for … 200 solidi.
But if a Roman landowner … is killed, let him … be held liable for … 100 solidi.
In Ine’s Wessex, some 200 years later, the situation was similar: a Briton in royal service had a higher blood-price than an ordinary Saxon, but a much lower one than a Saxon of equivalent standing. The advantages of wealth and royal patronage meant that within all the new kingdoms some natives were far higher up the pecking order of society than many Germanic settlers. But, in the case of settlers and natives of equal wealth and position, there existed structures, both formal and informal, that favoured the newcomer.17
Theoderic’s Moustache and Germanic Identity
Eventually, of course, the distinction between Germanic rulers and Roman subjects became blurred, and finally disappeared altogether. But the change was undoubtedly very slow. It is also very difficult to document, because our sources rarely record the kind of detail—such as which language people were speaking—that we need to know in order to chart cultural separation and eventual cultural assimilation. For instance, Ostrogothic Italy is much the best documented of all the early Germanic kingdoms; but it is only from scattered snippets of information that we learn the important, if unsurprising, fact that Goths continued to speak their native Gothic while resident in Italy, and that some Romans chose to learn the language of their new masters.18 Cassiodorus tells us that the loyal Roman servant of the Ostrogothic kings, Cyprianus (whom we have met above), had himself learned Gothic, and had also educated his two young sons in the same language. Gothic was presumably the favoured language of the Gothic elite, which it was advantageous to have learned. Procopius, in his history of Justinian’s conquest of Italy in the 530s and 540s, happens to tell two stories that reveal ordinary Ostrogoths communicating amongst themselves in Gothic some forty years after their people had arrived in Italy. One story, set during the siege of Rome in 537–8, involves a Gothic soldier talking to his comrades ‘in their native language’. The other, set in 536, describes how a soldier in Justinian’s army, Bessas ‘a Goth by birth’, talked to two enemy soldiers defending Naples (presumably Ostrogoths) ‘in the language of the Goths’. Gothic as a spoken language was still in normal use amongst the Ostrogoths of Italy during the 530s. The Goths in Italy were still some way from assimilating fully with the Latin-speaking majority.19
There is also a very interesting piece of evidence to show that King Theoderic himself, and one of his successors, continued to feel different from their Roman subjects, almost certainly because they still felt ‘Gothic’. The only certain representation that we have of Theoderic is on a gold medallion, known as the ‘Senigallia medallion’ (Fig. 4.2). He is shown here in very Roman mode: identified by a Latin inscription and Roman titles; wearing a cuirass and cloak (in the manner of contemporary coin portraits of east-Roman emperors); and bearing an orb surmounted by a Victory. But he is also shown with long hair covering his ears, and, most significantly, with a moustache. There is no representation that I know of, from any century, that shows a Roman, or indeed a Greek, with a moustache (unless it is accompanied by a beard); and there is not even a word in the Latin language for ‘moustache’. Contemporaries, whether Romans or Goths, will have interpreted Theoderic’s moustache as a sign of his un-Romanness, indeed of his Gothicness; and, in doing so, they will surely have been right. As late as 534–6, one of his successors, Theodahad, is also shown on coinage sporting a prominent moustache (Fig. 4.3). Theodahad, according to Procopius, was an unwarlike man, learned in Latin literature and Platonic philosophy; in these respects he had clearly moved towards ‘Romanness’. But even the learned Theodahad kept his Gothic moustache.20
4.2 Gold medallion with the bust, and in the name, of Theoderic. The inscription on the reverse, ‘King Theoderic victor over foreign peoples’ (victor gentium), is an implicit claim that the Ostrogoths were less foreign, and therefore more Roman, than other Germanic tribes.
4.3 A philosopher-king with a Gothic moustache. Copper coin of the Ostrogothic king Theodahad (534–6). The design on the reverse is closely modelled on coins of the first century AD, down to the claim that this was issued ‘by decree of the Senate’ (Senatus consultu, the ‘SC’ that appears on either side of the Victory).
Penetrating the smokescreen of Latin culture is particularly difficult for Ostrogothic Italy, where Theoderic’s minister Cassiodorus produced for his masters a studied image of Gothic Romanness. The Goths are presented in most contemporary texts as upholders of Roman culture, and as a force for spreading it to other, less civilized peoples. For instance, Theoderic, in a letter penned by Cassiodorus, hoped that a lyre-player sent to Clovis, king of the Franks, would ‘perform a feat like that of Orpheus, when his sweet sound tames the savage hearts of the barbarians’. Sentiments like these, of course, implied that the Goths themselves were not barbarians. Ostrogothic propaganda even extended this patronizing treatment of other Germanic peoples to their own ‘cousins’, the Visigoths of Gaul and Spain. In about 510, soon after he had taken over control of a large part of southern Gaul from the Visigoths, Theoderic wrote to his new Gallic subjects, describing his own rule as ‘Roman’ and regulated by law, and contrasting it explicitly with the unregulated ‘barbarian’ rule of the Visigoths: ‘You who have been restored to it after many years should gladly obey Roman custom … And therefore, as men by God’s favour recalled to ancient liberty, clothe yourself in the morals of the toga, cast off barbarism, throw aside savagery of mind, for it is wrong for you, in my just times, to live by alien ways.’ Only very rarely, as with Theoderic’s moustache, does a different reality show through—one that reveals the survival of a Gothic identity, which, of course, the Romans would have had no hesitation in branding as ‘barbarian’.21
To a lesser extent, the same problem of penetrating a very Roman public face is also present in other kingdoms. The Visigothic king Euric (466–84), for instance, did some very Roman things: he patronized a Latin poet, Lampridius; and his regime helped restore the great Roman bridge at Mérida in Spain, recording this achievement in a Latin verse inscription. It is only by chance, in the Life of the saintly Italian bishop Epiphanius (who was sent on an embassy to Euric), that we are treated to a vignette of life at the Visigothic court of Toulouse, which suggests a different reality. In this story, Euric, while in the presence of the ambassadors from Italy, talks Gothic to his fellow courtiers, ‘burbling some unintelligible native mutterings’. He eventually replies to Epiphanius, who has been trying to gauge the king’s mood through his facial expressions, only through an interpreter. The story does not prove that Euric could not speak Latin—he may have been deliberately seeking to confuse and annoy Epiphanius—but it does show that Gothic was still very much a live language at his court, more than fifty years after the Visigoths had arrived in Aquitaine.22
It is clear that important and easily identifiable differences between the Germanic incomers and their Roman subjects persisted for many years after the initial settlements. By the start of the sixth century, the Visigoths had ruled parts of Gaul for over eighty years. As far as we can tell, after an initial seizure of resources, they had not been particularly oppressive masters; certainly, they had not attempted to encourage the spread of their own Arian Christian beliefs in the brutal manner that the Vandals had occasionally used in Africa. There is also evidence of a degree of integration between Goths and natives. Individual Roman aristocrats are well attested in Visigothic service, such as Leo of Narbonne, who rose to be a close counsellor of Euric II (466–84); and some Goths had adopted very Roman ways—in around 480, Ruricius of Limoges, a landowner in Aquitaine, addressed a letter to a fellow landowner, with all the elaborate courtesy and stylistic tricks that are familiar in the correspondence of this period between highly educated Romans. The recipient of this letter of friendship, however, was a man named ‘Freda’, almost certainly a Goth by birth. A little later, in 507, a noble Roman, Apollinaris—despite being the son of t
he man who had vehemently resented the Visigothic takeover of Clermont in 475—led a large force of Romans from the Auvergne to fight on the Visigoths’ side against the Franks. At first sight, the Visigoths in around 500 seem completely assimilated and integrated.23
However, in the very early sixth century, probably in the face of an ever-increasing threat from the Franks, the Visigothic king did two interesting things. First, he issued a solemn compendium of Roman law (known as the Breviarium of Alaric), to be used in the judging of Romans living under Visigothic rule. This, we are told in its preamble, was produced after extensive consultation, with all departures in wording from original imperial texts being approved by a group of bishops and ‘selected men amongst our provincials’. Secondly, he allowed, indeed almost certainly encouraged, the holding of a great council of the Catholic churches under his rule in Gaul, at Agde in 506. This even involved recalling from exile the leading Catholic bishop—and president of the council—Caesarius of Arles. The assembled bishops duly prayed for their royal master, despite his Arian beliefs:
The holy synod met in the city of Agde, in the name of the Lord, and with the permission of our master, the most glorious, most magnificent and most pious king. Kneeling on the ground we prayed to the Lord for his rule, his longevity and his people, that God might extend in good fortune, govern in justice, and protect in courage, the kingdom of him who granted us the right to meet here together.
An even greater council was planned for the following year (507), to be held at the royal capital of Toulouse and to be attended by Catholic bishops from Spain as well as Gaul. The Breviarium and the Council of Agde show Visigothic rule in Gaul at its most benign; but they also show that, right up to its final defeat in 507, it was still alien rule, over Roman subjects who were readily identifiable as different from the Visigoths through their adherence to Roman law and to Catholic Christianity.24 Indeed, it was not until 587, over 200 years after their first arrival in the empire in 376, that the Visigoths finally abandoned their Arianism and converted to Catholic Christianity.
Generally within the new kingdoms, despite differences, those of Roman and those of Germanic descent lived peacefully side by side. The Romans had little choice in the matter, and the Germanic peoples had no need and no particular wish to be unpleasant. However, times of stress could inflame ethnic tension, just as they can today, with bloody consequences. In 552 the Goths in Italy suffered two important reverses in quick succession at the hands of the invading army of Justinian: a defeat in open battle and the loss of the city of Rome. Embittered by these events and by the obvious favour shown to Justinian’s army by Italy’s Roman aristocracy, the defeated Goths destroyed ‘without mercy’ those Romans they met during their retreat, and, more specifically, killed any patricians they found in the cities of Campania, and slaughtered in cold blood 300 aristocratic Roman children whom they were holding as hostages. Distrust of their parents had made these children prisoners; bitterness killed them.25 When placed under stress, the apparently peaceful coexistence of Goths and Romans in Italy collapsed into bloodshed.
Moustachioed Romans and Pen-Wielding Barbarians: The Making of Single Peoples
There is no reason to believe, as people once did, that ethnic behaviour and identity are genetically transmitted, and therefore immutable. But experience suggests that a great deal of an individual’s identity is acquired during childhood and early youth, from parents, the wider family, and companions, and that this identity, once acquired, is not easily forgotten. This being so, individuals have never been entirely free to choose what they wish to be; old identities, even inconvenient ones, die hard. Furthermore, for a change of identity to be successful, this requires, not only mental and cultural adjustments on the part of the person making the shift, but also the acceptance of that person into the group they wish to join. As we know from modern experience, acceptance is by no means always freely given, and often has to be ‘earned’ over time—for instance, as an Englishman, I am not sure that, even if I had lived my life in Scotland, I could ever have earned acceptance as a Scot. Individuals and groups can successfully change their identities, even dramatically; but to do so they have to overcome barriers, both in their own minds and in those of the group they wish to join. This takes time, often several generations.26
Modern experience also suggests, unsurprisingly, that some changes of identity are very much easier to make than others. It is, for instance, simple for me to be ‘British’, and, although I am now too old to change, it would once have been comparatively simple to become an ‘American’. A great deal of scholarly ink has been used recently to show how flexible and changeable various Germanic tribal identities were in the post-Roman West, suggesting that individuals and groups could fairly easily and rapidly change their allegiance from one Germanic tribe to another. However, changes such as these within the broad ‘Germanic’ family of peoples—say, from being an Alaman to a Frank, or a Sueve to a Visigoth—may have been amongst the easier transitions to make, though I doubt that even such comparatively simple transformations could have been effected rapidly.
The verse epitaph of Droctulft, a Sueve who served in the Byzantine army in Italy in the later sixth century, is very interesting in this regard. It tells us that Droctulft was born a Sueve, but brought up amongst the Lombards, before abandoning his adoptive people to fight against them on behalf of the Byzantines. We are also specifically told that he sported a long beard, which may well have been a mark of his adopted Lombard identity (the ‘Longobards’, or Lombards, were known precisely for this feature). However, at the time of his death, according to his epitaph, ‘he considered [Byzantine] Ravenna to be his homeland’. Droctulft’s epitaph shows that it was indeed possible to change allegiance, in his case more than once (from Sueve to Lombard, and from Lombard to Byzantine Roman)—but it also shows that an individual’s past, and his former identities, right back to his distant birth and parentage, were not necessarily forgotten; in Droctulft’s case they travelled with him to the grave.27
The barrier between ‘Romans’, within the empire, and ‘barbarians’, outside it, had been a formidable one in the fourth century and earlier, and we should therefore not expect the distinction between Germanic incomers and their Roman subjects to vanish in a hurry—though in time we would expect the differences to become attenuated, and eventually to disappear. In Frankish Gaul, as we have seen from the Salic Law, the distinction between Romans and Franks was still very significant in around AD 500, with Romans holding different (and inferior) blood-prices from their Frankish neighbours. However, this distinction appears to have blurred by the time of Gregory of Tours, who in the late sixth century wrote a long history of his own times and a large number of miracle stories, full of lively and circumstantial detail, which very seldom mention whether someone was a Roman or a Frank. People in Frankish Gaul, whatever their ancestry, were apparently slowly adopting a common identity; indeed, by the end of the seventh century there were no ‘Romans’ left in northern Gaul, only people who considered themselves ‘Franks’.28
Unfortunately, our sources seldom give us more than the barest hint of how such assimilation came about. In part it must have happened through a process of Roman subjects wishing to better themselves, by adopting some of the culture, and eventually the identity, of their new masters. Earlier in this chapter we have seen the Catholic Romans of Carthage who worked in the Vandal court and wore Vandal dress (though, they may, of course, have done so reluctantly and at the behest of their employers). A more extreme, and obviously voluntary, case of cultural movement into the Germanic ruling class is that of Cyprianus and his sons in Ostrogothic Italy. He was himself ambitious enough to learn Gothic, and ambitious enough for his children to train them in the same skill. This achievement was praised by his Gothic masters as a sure sign of the young men’s future devoted service: ‘The boys are of Roman stock, yet speak our language, clearly showing the future loyalty that they will hold towards us, whose speech they now are seen to have ad
opted.’ Unfortunately, we do not know the names of these boys who were being so carefully groomed for success under Ostrogothic rule. It is entirely possible, indeed quite likely, that their upwardly mobile father gave them Gothic names.29
However, there were problems for Romans who wanted to adopt Germanic culture—in particular, a centuries-old, deeply ingrained certainty that their own ways were immeasurably superior to those of the barbarians. In Ostrogothic Italy, the learned Ennodius mocked Jovinianus, a Roman who sported both a Roman cloak and a ‘Gothic beard’ (very possibly a moustache in the style of Theoderic and Theodahad). Jovinianus’ Roman dress and Gothic facial hair are to us a fascinating example of two ethnic groups beginning to fuse into one; but, for Ennodius, Jovinianus was ‘mixing discordant offspring in a hostile alliance’, and his beard gave him a ‘barbarian appearance’. Ennodius’ scorn illustrates the barriers that still defended Roman ways. Similarly, when Sidonius Apollinaris wrote to Syagrius, the Roman noble who had entered Burgundian service and had learnt their language to do so, he mocked and reproved him, gently but firmly, for this achievement. He reminded Syagrius of his distinguished Roman ancestry and his education in Latin literature and rhetoric, and told him what he and others thought of his new-found skills: ‘You cannot guess how much I and others laugh when I hear that in your presence the barbarian is frightened to commit a barbarism in his own language.’ Germanic languages, with their lack of a written history or literature, were not for gentlemen.30
The Fall of Rome: And the End of Civilization Page 9
