[Oxford Studies in Medieval European History] Alessio Fiore - The Seigneurial Transformation_ Power Structures and Political Communication in the Countryside of Central and Northern Italy, 1080-1130 (2020, Oxford U.pdf

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OX F O R D S T U D I E S I N
M E D I EVA L E U R O P E A N H I ST O RY
General Editors
pat ri ck j. geary amy re m e n sn y de r
and
Joh n Wat ts
The Seigneurial
Transformation
Power Structures and Political
Communication in the Countryside of
Central and Northern Italy, 1080–1130
A L E S SIO F IO R E
Translated by
SE R G IO K N I P E
1
1
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One can only see what one observes, and one observes only things which
are already in the mind.
(Alphonse Bertillon)
The summer grasses For many brave warriors The aftermath of dreams.
(Basho)
The resilient resists shocks and stays the same; the antifragile benefits
from shocks. Such things thrive and grow when exposed to volatility,
randomness, disorder, and stressors, and love adventure, risk, and
uncertainty.
(Nassim Taleb)
Acknowledgements
This book is an important stage of the research trajectory I embarked upon ten
years ago, and which initially focused on an analysis of the system of political
languages in the kingdom of Italy between the late eleventh and early twelfth cen
tury. As my research developed, the break with the previous period became
increasingly clear to me, and this led me to rethink the whole project. On the one
hand, I chose to broaden my agenda to include political, social, and economic
issues, in such a way as to better elucidate the overall features of this transforma
tion; on the other hand, I came to focus my attention precisely on the decades
around 1100, which struck me as the crucial moment to fully understand this
complex process of transformation. As the research progressed, certain parts of
the present book (esp. Chapters 6, 9, and 10) were anticipated through various
articles and contributions to conference proceedings, although almost always in
very different forms from the ones they take here.
Every research project, especially such a long and complex one as this, can only
be accomplished through other people’s help. For their suggestions, stimuli, and
material and intellectual help, I wish to thank Giovanna Bianchi, Simone
Collavini, Maria Elena Cortese, Gianmarco De Angelis, Paola Guglielmotti,
Tiziana Lazzari, Vito Loré, Piero Majocchi, Thomas Köhl, Alma Poloni, Giuseppe
Sergi, Paolo Tomei, and Gian Maria Varanini (no doubt in the rush of the moment
I will be forgetting someone, for which I apologize in advance). As regards the
book itself, I am especially indebted to Sandro Carocci, Gigi Provero and Chris
Wickham, who have discussed the full manuscript with me, and to Andrea
Gamberini and Jean-Claude Maire Vigueur, who have offered feedback on spe
cific sections. To all of these people go my heartfelt thanks, for their criticism,
(many) valuable suggestions, and encouragement.
Finally, I should note that the text of this book is largely the same as that of ‘Il
mutamento signorile. Assetti di potere e comunicazione politica nelle campagne
dell’Italia centro-settentrionale’ (c. 1080–1130), published in Italian by Firenze
University Press in 2017; I have only made a few changes and additions to the
English version. I would like to thank Sergio Knipe, my cordial translator, for pro
viding the translation, and Chris Wickham (another time) for supporting from
the very beginning the translation of this book, and Stephanie Ireland and
Cathryn Steele of OUP for their help.
I dedicate this book to my family, exemplar of patience.
Table of Contents
Maps
1. Cities (c. 1100) xi
2. Rural localities (c. 1100) xii
A Note on Names xiii
Introduction xv
PA RT 1 . N EW F R A M EWO R K S O F L O C A L P OW E R
1. Civil Wars: Collapse and Rebuilding of Political Structures 3

1.1 The structure of the kingdom around the mid-eleventh century 3
1.2 The civil wars and the breakdown of political order 7
1.3 From fragmentation to recomposition 12
1.4 On the apparent irrationality of dynastic strategies:
political plans and family tensions 27
2. Imperial Power: Crisis and Transformation 37
2.1 Henry III: realizing the limits of imperial power 39
2.2 Henry IV: a creative destruction 40
2.3 Henry V: the plan for a permanent royal infrastructure 43
3. Territorial Lordship: Rise and Spread of a Model of Power 50
3.1 Power in the countryside before 1050: land and public rights 50
3.2 The new forms of local power 52
3.3 Archaeology of power: castles in the light of the written sources
and material evidence 58
3.4 Seigneurial ‘central places’ and their role 67
4. Inside the Lordship: Reshaping Local Societies 74
4.1 Village elites and their militarization 75
4.2 Peasantries: a differential society 87
5. Collective Powers: Political Actions of Urban and Rural
Autonomous Communities 101
5 .1 Urban proto-communes 101
5.2 Autonomous rural communities 125
x Table of Contents
PA RT 2 . A C U LT U R E O F P OW E R :
T H E D OM I NAT U S LO C I B E T W E E N
P R AC T IC E S A N D D I S C OU R SE S
6. Royal Legitimation and its Crisis 141
6.1 Royal power as a source of legitimacy 144
6.2 The crisis and its consequences 149
7. Fidelity: A Pervasive Language 154
7.1 Fidelities in the ‘aristocratic’ world 155
7.2 Subjects’ fidelity 169
8. Pacts: The Foundations of a New Legitimacy 178
8.1 Pacts between lords 180
8.2 The idea of reciprocity in the relation between subjects
and lords 187
9. Custom: Rituals of Memory 199
9.1 Chronologies and contexts 200
9.2 The jurors between lord and community 208
9.3 Time, memory, and custom 211
9.4 Custom and franchises: complementarity and overlaps 215
9.5 When custom turns bad: the malus usus220
10. Violence: A Pragmatic Language 226
10.1 Violent practices in the documentary evidence 227
10.2 Urban communities and violence: differences and similarities 235
10.3 Violence among lords 238
10.4 Violence from the lords’ perspective 242
Conclusions: A Seigneurial Revolution (and More) 248
Abbreviation for Primary Sources and Journals 265

Index 289
Maps
Belluno Boundaries of kingdom

Cites
Como
Bergamo Vicenza Treviso Papal territories
Novara Milan
Brescia Verona
Turin Vercelli Lodi Venice
Pavia Mantua Padua
Asti Cremona
Piacenza
Tortona Reggio
Alba Parma Ferrara
Genoa Modena
Bologna Ravenna
Savona
Lucca
Pisa Florence
Osimo
Volterra Arezzo
Perugia
Fermo
Siena
Ascoli
0 100
Km
Rome
Map 1. Cities (c. 1100)

Bassano
Castle/village
Gorizia Seigneurial central place
Chiavenna Montebelluna + Rural abbey
Isola comacina
Cannobio Calusco Marzana
Inzago VENETIAN
+ Biandrate Crema Cerea TERRITORY
San Michele Sacco
Soncino
della Chusa
Priocca Loreto Guastalla Argenta
Molassana
San Dalmazzo Diano Nonantola
Lavagna
Tenda Sambuca Modigliana
Moriana
Ceriana
San Casciano Empoli

Montegrossoli Montecerro
Poggibonsi Antignano
Stablamone Civitanova
Agello
Offida
0 100
+ Farfa
Km
Subiaco
+
Tusculum
Map 2. Rural localities (c. 1100)

A Note on Names
Almost all personal names mentioned in this book are rendered into modern
Italian from Latin, thus Bonifacio di [son of] Attone. The exceptions are the
names of popes and emperors, the names of non-Italian persons, and these who
are very well-known in their English version, such as Matilda of Canossa.
Introduction
A book focusing on the transformations of power in the countryside of central

and northern Italy around the year 1100 requires—perhaps more so than other
books—an introduction accounting for the choice of chronological and geo
graphical coordinates, as well as of research topics. None of these elements, in
itself, is particularly original in medieval studies; what is far more original is their
specific combination. I will therefore set out from the geographical and chrono
logical framework, and move on to the more strictly thematic one, in such a way
as to clarify the import of my endeavour. Finally, I will discuss the actual structure
of the book.
The grand narrative of the Italian Middle Ages has traditionally revolved
around cities, which are said to find their highest expression in urban communes.
The study of the origins of communes has conventionally seen the years around
1100 as a moment of marked discontinuity.1 In this respect, an evident connec
tion is to be found with what has been described—using a rather outdated and
problematic formula—as the ‘investiture contest’.2 The stage of conflict between
papacy and empire, and between their respective allies, following the crisis of
legitimation experienced by the traditional political and religious authorities,
along with the coeval breakdown of public power, is regarded as the soil from
which those events leading to the first consular governments sprung: a topical
moment, of course, in the grand narrative of the Italian Middle Ages.3 This close
connection is also confirmed by the most recent research on the topic, in which
the formula ‘civil wars’ is becoming increasingly used to label this stage of harsh
conflict, at least partly disengaging it from the clash between a reformist papacy
and the empire, and viewing it within a broader and more fluid framework linked
to regional and local power balances.4
Over the last two decades, interest in this period of transition and its intrinsic
features has expanded compared to the past, bringing other fields of research into
1 On this, see Bordone, ‘Civitas nobilis et antiqua’.

2 Cantarella, ‘Dalle chiese alla monarchia papale’. On this problematic in recent scholarship, see
Miller, ‘The crisis in the Investiture Crisis’.
3 The crucial importance of national grand narratives in the shaping of medieval studies has been
underlined by Wickham, ‘Alto medioevo e identità’.
4 Some examples in Bordone, Città e territorio, pp. 333–53 (on Asti); Keller, ‘Gli inizi del comune’
(on Lombardy); Ronzani, Chiesa e «civitas» (on Pisa). More in general Milani, I comuni italiani,
pp. 16–24. On the use of ‘civil wars’ to label the phase of military conflicts opened in 1080s, see
esp. Wickham, Courts and Conflicts, pp. 39–53; on its recent diffusion in academic textbooks, see
e.g. Collavini, ‘1183. I comuni italiani’.
The Seigneurial Transformation: Power Structures and Political Communication in the Countryside of Central and Northern
Italy, 1080–1130. Alessio Fiore, Oxford University Press (2020). © Alessio Fiore.
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198825746.001.0001
xvi Introduction
play. For example, scholars have explored the transformation of justice and its
modes of exercise, and more generally of the way in which conflicts were
resolved;5 they have analysed the terminal crisis of the last major margravial
domains possessing a markedly public character, such as the march of Tuscany
and that of Turin;6 and they have newly engaged with the transformation in the
mode of functioning of ecclesiastical institutions, adopting fresh perspectives
compared to the past.7 All in all, these insights and perspectives vary consider
ably, but it is precisely the diversity of such research that has contributed to fur
ther bringing into focus this phase, which has emerged in an increasingly clear
way as a moment of powerful, if not explosive, acceleration of existing social and
political dynamics in the regnum Italiae. One of the defining features of Italian
medieval studies is that it focuses on long-term transformations and processes,
and avoids stressing the break brought about by short chronological phases—by
contrast to other historiographical traditions that have taken a keen interest in
such watershed moments for the sake of periodization. Still, Italian historiog
raphy has acknowledged this (rather long) period as a turning point, according to
interpretations that essentially converge despite the very different vantage points
adopted.8
Studies on lordship are, by and large, an exception within this literature that
presents the turn of the 1100s as a moment of sharp discontinuity compared to
the previous period. However, before we proceed any further, it is better to reflect
on the term ‘lordship’ and its meaning. Each national scholarly tradition has
indeed conceptualized lordship in its own way, stressing specific aspects of rela
tions between the ruler and his men, creating categories that are only partially
comparable. Italian scholarship tends to regard lordship as a political and institu
tional reality and this often creates a distinction between what the Italians call
signoria (and more specifically signoria territoriale, or sometime, in Latin, domi-
natus loci) and the English term ‘lordship’. For Italian historians, the signoria indi
cates not just the possession of large lands, but, above all, a share of the essential
attributes of public authority, such as the rights to administer justice, to levy cer
tain taxes, to organize military defence, and also forms of monopoly and control
of mills, hunting, woodland and pasture. In this book I will focus on this specific
model of lordship, and I will translate this concept with ‘territorial
lordship’/‘seigneurie’ (and with the adjective ‘seigneurial’).
Starting from the 1960s, particularly with the work of Giovanni Tabacco,
Cinzio Violante and their pupils, research on territorial lordship in the
5 Wickham, ‘The “feudal revolution” ’.

6 Sergi (ed.), Storia di Torino, I, pp. 449–81; Sergi, I confini del potere; Provero, Dai marchesi del
Vasto; Pinto and Tanzini (eds.), Poteri centrali e autonomie; Cortese, Signori, castelli; Puglia, Potere
marchionale.
7 D’Acunto, ‘Chiesa romana e chiese’; D’Acunto, L’età dell’obbedienza; Cantarella, Pasquale II;
Cantarella, Il sole e la luna; Ciccopiedi, Governare le diocesi.
8 On these peculiarities of Italian scholarship, see Wickham, ‘Alto medioevo e identità’.
Introduction xvii
countryside of central and northern Italy has no doubt constituted one of the
strong suits of Italian medieval studies. It has produced a series of sophisticated
analyses of the modes of functioning of local power and rural societies, focusing
in particular on issues related to the exercising of jurisdiction and to the institu
tionalization of power. However, even in recent decades, this research has for the
most part retained the traditional ‘continuistic’ approach, insofar as it has inter
preted the emergence of seigneurial powers from a long-term perspective, as a
slow and progressive process of affirmation extending from the late ninth to the
early twelfth century. An exception, of course, is southern Italy, which in any case
falls outside the regnum Italiae: scholars by now regard the emergence of rural
lordship in this area as a turning point, but one closely connected to the military
rise of an exogenous actor such as the Normans.9
More in particular, historians tend to envisage territorial lordship as a phe
nomenon that by the early decades of the eleventh century was already wide
spread and consolidated across much of the kingdom, although it is only in the
twelfth century that we gain a more detailed understanding of its functioning
thanks to transformation in documentary practices.10 In other words, the surge in
sources pertaining to the functioning of seigneurial authorities in the first dec
ades of the twelfth centuries is traced back to the emergence of a new attitude to
written documents on the part of society as a whole, leading to the written
recording of practices and actions that had hitherto been confined to the oral
sphere, within a context of increasing formalization of local authorities that
affects not just rural lordships but also urban communes. Within this essentially
homogeneous picture—regional nuances notwithstanding—Tuscany constitutes
an exception. Here the rise of territorial lordship has been associated, in a par
ticularly evident way over the last few years, with the crisis of public structures in
the march at the turn of the 1080s.11 However, this is precisely an exception,
which may be explained by the peculiar balances of power in Tuscany, which as
late as the mid-eleventh century were still connected to forms of power of dis
tinctly Carolingian origin. This delay in the transformation of local framework,
compared to other regions, is believed to have made the process of transforma
tion a particularly violent and sudden one, occurring under the influence of local
political actors, and finally bringing Tuscany into line with the rest of central and
northern Italy.
From this perspective, a strong contrast emerges with France. Here the schol
arship on the same topics first developed a model based on the transformation of
9 On the affirmation of this model, see Loré, ‘Sulle istituzioni’; for a recent and deep discussion of
this topic, see Carocci, Lordships, pp. 69–114.
10 Cammarosano, ‘Cronologia della signoria rurale’. Sandro Carocci has a different opinion, seeing
a territorial lordship—or better still, a lordship tending towards territoriality—still in development in
the mid-twelfth century; on this, Carocci, ‘Signoria rurale, prelievo signorile’.
11 For a convenient historiographical guide to this abundant scholarship, see Provero, ‘Forty Years
of Rural History’; on Tuscany, Bianchi, Collavini, ‘Risorse e competizione’.
xviii Introduction
seigneurial authority in a short watershed period, namely the early decades of the
eleventh century—the well-known thesis of the mutation féodal, or feudal revolu-
tion—only to then dispute it and staunchly reject it. While the topic is well-
known, a short summary might be of some use, given its crucial historiographical
implications.12 The starting point is Georges Duby’s landmark study on the region
of Mâcon, in Burgundy, published in the 1950s; in this work the French scholar
argued that the chief turning point in medieval French history was the break
down of principalities (counties, duchies, and marches) around the year 1000 into
a multitude of castle-lordships.13 This transformation was also marked by a deep
alteration of the forms and very nature of local power, which up until then had
preserved the features it had acquired in the Carolingian age. This thesis—which
became increasingly influential as Duby’s reputation grew in following years—
was further developed and newly advanced in 1980 in an important book by Éric
Bournazel and Jean-Pierre Poly, entitled La mutation féodale.14 At the same time,
the ‘mutationist’ position took root in France as the dominant paradigm, aiming
to establish itself as a valid interpretative model applicable to post-Carolingian
Europe as a whole, from Galicia to Lombardy.
However, this undisputed predominance—characterized by an increasing
degree of rigidity of the model (even from a chronological perspective) and of the
research related to it—did not endure for long. Already by the early 1990s the
argument had become the target of consistent and well-argued criticism, on the
part of both French scholars, such as Dominique Barthélemy, and Anglo-
American ones like Stephen White.15 This criticism was first directed against
more extreme mutationist positions, Guy Bois for example, and then extended to
the very foundations of the theory, in an attempt to undermine it.16 The passion
ate (and harsh) debate that followed witnessed the two sides hardening their
views more and more and essentially failing to deliver their criticism in any con
structive way. The polemic de facto ended a few years later with no victors—the
contestants having run out of intellectual steam. Still, the fact remains that in
France, the epicentre of the theory, the anti-mutationist position nowadays con
stitutes a new historiographical dogma—and is laid out as such in university text
books—whereas views still associated with mutationism have essentially taken a
back seat in academia.17 Nevertheless, it is worth noting that in recent years the
12 The most equilibrate reconstruction of the debate until the middle of 1990s is Carocci, ‘Signoria
rurale e mutazione’; it should be integrated, for the latest phase of debate, with West, Reframing the
Feudal Revolution, pp. 1–8.
13 Duby, La Société aux XIe et XIIe siècles, esp. pp. 200–69.
14 Poly, Bournazel, The Feudal Transformation.
15 See for example the articles collected in White, Re-thinking kinship; and in Barthélemy, The Serf,
the Knight.
16 Bois, The Transformation; see the hard criticism of the positions of Bois in L’an Mil. Rythmes
et acteurs.
17 A ‘mutationist’ example in Larrea, La Navarre. On the new reference paradigm, see Mazel,
Féodalités.
Introduction xix
anti-mutationist camp seems to have lost some of the interpretative rigidity that
had characterized the most heated stage of the debate. What proves particularly
interesting in this respect is Florian Mazel’s position. While highly critical of
Duby’s views, Mazel emphasizes the importance for the territorialization of
local power of the stage after 1060; however, he connects this not to any socio-
institutional crisis, but rather to a separation between the ecclesiastical and the
secular sphere—traditionally symbiotic to each other—under the influence of
what he describes as the ‘Gregorian rupture’, and hence of ecclesiastical reform.18
The question of change has also been newly raised in a very fruitful way, free
ing it from the exclusively French focus that had distinguished it in the past, by
the contributions of some Anglo-American scholars.19 In particular, in his exten
sive book on the transformation of nature and of methods of government in
twelfth-century Europe (i.e. the period after the feudal revolution), T. N. Bisson
has further refined Duby’s hypothesis and associated the localization of power
with an outburst of violence and a profound reshaping of the relations between
the aristocracy and peasant society. With his monograph on Lorraine and
Champagne between the years 800 and 1100, Charles West has offered the first
long-term regional study of an area of the Carolingian heartland; a comparison
with Carolingian-age material has shown that the new seigneuries constituted an
innovative form of power compared to the past, marked by an explicit formaliza
tion and patrimonialization of jurisdictional prerogatives. Furthermore, both
these scholars have emphasized the importance of conducting analyses on a
European scale and from a comparative perspective, stressing the existence of dif
ferent chronologies and of specific processes of transformation connected to the
local socio-political conditions at play in the various regions of post-Carolingian
Europe.
Not least in the light of the valuable insights provided by these studies, it seems
crucial to me to try and reinterpret the situation in the Italian countryside, by
focusing on the decades around 1100, in order to assess whether in this con
text too—so different from the urban one—a break is discernible with respect
to the models at work in the previous period. This operation is all the more
important in view of the fact that—as we shall see in greater detail later on—
during such phase urban communes had not yet established themselves politically;
even from an economic perspective their role was vastly inferior to that which
they were to play, say, around the year 1200. The countryside was still the main
sector of Italian society (and its economy), and an analysis of what took place in
this phase allows us to contextualize and to put in perspective coeval
18 An elaborate criticism of Duby’s positions is Mazel, ‘Pouvoir aristocratique et Église’. On the
periodization of the ‘Gregorian rupture’ and its consequences on the forms of local power see Mazel,
Féodalités, pp. 233–98, 447–91.
19 Bisson, The Crisis; West, Reframing the Feudal Revolution.
xx Introduction
developments in the urban sphere, stripping them of that aura of exceptionality

that all too often shrouds them.
In embarking on this reinterpretation of rural dynamics, I will attempt to shed
light on what, to my mind, is the key socio-political process in this phase, namely
the crisis of central authority and the proliferation and formalization of local
forms of power (in particular, territorial lordship); a sharp shift that can be
labelled as ‘feudal revolution’, but also, and perhaps more precisely, as ‘seigneurial
transformation’.20 Beside terminological problems, I will discuss this process not
just from a concrete perspective, but also by focusing on languages and discourses
of power, by examining the connections between practices and words, between
actions and written texts. Here it will be necessary, of course, to directly engage
with the available sources but also, given the extensiveness of the object of
enquiry, to reassess the important regional and local studies published over the
last thirty years from this particular perspective, to see what they can tell us about
the specific problem under consideration. The historiographical orientations
which I have referred to have most often prevented scholars from fully appreciat
ing the significance of this phase in relation to the specific topic of seigneurie and,
more generally, the exercising of power in the countryside. It is a matter, then, of
systematically combining the plenty of insights already provided by the extant
historiography, and of setting them within an organic and explicit interpretative
framework.
Given the complexity of the topic, I will be articulating my enquiry into two
distinct parts, respectively devoted to concrete social and power structures, and
to the integration between political practices and discourses. Chapter 1 will focus
on the transformation of political framework in the countryside of central and
northern Italy in the period between 1080 and 1130. It will attempt to grasp the
precise ways in which the system was restructured—as it came to revolve around
territorial lordship—and in particular the role played by civil wars within this
process. The following chapter will instead be devoted to an analysis of the spe
cific role played by royal power in the transformation process. I will endeavour to
reconstruct not just the forms taken by royal power in this period, and the
changes they underwent, but also the kings/emperors’ political projects and their
practical consequences with respect to power balances within the regnum, and
especially in the countryside. Chapter 3 more specifically focuses on territorial
lordship and its functioning, through a structural analysis designed to pinpoint
the dynamics associated with the exercising of power, the economy, and changing
settlement patterns. Here I will be discussing in greater detail the chronology and
20 The traditional label ‘feudal revolution’ may be misleading, but is (for me) perfectly acceptable if
we ascribe to ‘feudal’ the meaning of ‘parcellization of sovereignty’ (as proposed by Perry Anderson),
and to ‘revolution’ that of deep and structural change (as in the cases of ‘Industrial’ or ‘Neolithic’
revolutions). See Anderson, Passages from antiquity, pp. 147–53; and West, Reframing the Feudal
Revolution, pp. 261–2.
Introduction xxi
stages of ‘seigneurial transformation’ (or feudal revolution). Chapter 4, the natural

extension of this analysis, will be devoted to how the spread of the seigneurial model
influenced the very structure of village society, and to the way in which the latter’s
internal boundaries were redefined and restructured, along with the relations
between its members. The last chapter in this part will instead entail a change of
perspective, by shifting the focus from territorial lordship to other forms of polit
ical organization of the rural space: urban communities—or at least their influ
ence on the surrounding countryside—and autonomous rural communities
(which were far less numerous). The dominatus loci came to interact in various
ways with these two power models, which must therefore be examined, if we are
to grasp the complexity and diversity of the rural scenario around 1100, by correctly
contextualizing the experience of territorial lordship. This (only apparent) digression
will bring the first part of the volume to a close.
In the second part I will instead be addressing the problem of the overall
restructuring of rural political culture. I will set out to determine how and to what
extent the structural changes analysed in the previous part influenced the way in
which the various actors involved interpreted political and social reality, and how
they sought to develop conceptual resources allowing them to effectively act upon
such reality. I will conduct my enquiry by focusing on four different issues. The
first obviously concerns the sources available to us; it is a matter of grasping the
overall documentary transformation connected to the redefinition of the very
fabric of political languages: a crucial theme which involves a question of the
utmost importance for our enquiry, namely that of the representativeness of the
surviving sources and of how they relate to the actual balances of power.
The second issue has to do with the need for a configurational approach to the
various discourses of power—that is, an approach that takes interplays and
mutual relations into account. This is not to say that it is possible to adopt an all-
encompassing approach, one extending to all discourses circulating in the period
under consideration. Rather, I will focus on those discourses more directly per
taining to the topic of this book—namely, ones related to socio-political setup—
and on those best represented in the available sources. The third point has to do
with the relation between individual political actors (kings, princes, lords, and
local communities) and between individual languages. Here I will attempt to
identify the existence of any specific and recurrent connections. Finally, the
fourth issue concerns the interplay between actions and languages. The latter
must be interpreted as sources of meaning that help construct representations of
power relations, and which are constantly set in tension and remodelled by given
actions, through an ongoing relation.
Each chapter in this second part of the book will be devoted to a specific polit
ical language. The aim is not to examine all the various kinds of discourse attested
in our sources, but only those that seem most relevant and best documented in
the texts from our period. As already mentioned, I will endeavour to provide a
xxii Introduction
configurational interpretation, which is to say one focusing on the relations

between individual languages within a system that can only fully be grasped if it is
considered as a whole. I will set out from that language which traditionally had
been most closely associated with the exercising of local power, namely the royal
mandate, to explore in what way its crisis affected this period. The following
chapters will be devoted to the four main languages discernible in the sources
from this era: fidelity, pact, custom, and violence.
In the conclusions I will then draw a balance of the research conducted, but
also consider the specific model of transformation that emerges in relation to
central and northern Italy, by comparison to other regions (and sub-regions), and
what perspectives this model can offer in the study of the long-term transforma
tion of social structures in rural Europe. The issue of the localization and formal
ization of power practices is a crucial one that, as Bisson’s and West’s research has
shown, is far from having been settled and can only be understood by adopting a
comparative perspective.
As regards the chronological framework, I will focus on the years 1080–1130, a
period of decisive importance for fully grasping the process of transformation
that constitutes my research focus. These chronological limits I have set—and
which in any case are not too rigid—deserve a short explanation, given their
intrinsic arbitrariness. The year 1080 marks the beginning of the great war
between the pro-imperial party and the pro-Gregorian one: a conflict which, as
we shall see, shaped the process of transformation of socio-political balances. The
end year is even more arbitrary: I have chosen (circa) 1130 because the 1120s, in
my view, constitute an important stage, insofar as the written sources from this
period provide a glimpse of the outcomes of the processes of localization of power
that characterize the previous decades. It seems as though by this time lordship
(and, more generally, new forms of local power) had become fully entrenched,
while society had developed suitable means of documentation to chart the new
socio-political context and effectively act upon it.
A final remark on the sources and chronology is in order. To avoid adopting a
flawed perspective, I will do my best not to go beyond the 1130 limit I have set
myself—if I ever do, I will make sure to provide adequate reasons. The choice to
avoid systematically applying the method of regression is due to the risks this
operation entails: particularly insidious risks for an approach, such as the one
adopted here, that takes special account of the diachronic aspect of historical pro
cesses. As a result, certain spheres will remain rather hazy, as in the case of the
internal restructuring of village society or, as far as discourses are concerned, the
political use of religious language. On the other hand, I will avoid arbitrarily
back-projecting later situations and contexts; instead, I will endeavour to grasp
the specific features of the historical period I have chosen to focus on through a
systematic and comprehensive analysis.
Introduction xxiii
As far as the geographical focus of my enquiry is concerned, this will be the

kingdom of Italy, which roughly coincides with present-day central and northern
Italy. I will also include Lazio, which did not belong to the regnum, but was appar
ently affected by similar processes and dynamics. Besides, the territory investi
gated presents social patterns and frameworks of power that often vary
considerably; yet, although the starting point is often different, for the period
under scrutiny a marked convergence can be observed. Such a broad context
makes it possible to fully appreciate the potentialities of the written sources, at
least as far as social and political dynamics go. This different scale adopted com
pared to conventional regional or sub-regional studies enables us to better grasp
recurring patterns and exceptions, typical developments, and divergences.21 The
Italian research conducted over the last few decades has tended to focus on geo
graphically restricted areas, investigated from a long-term diachronic perspec
tive. By contrast, I will carry out an operation of the opposite sort, by broadening
the geographical scale as far as possible, while limiting the chronological frame
work. Still, wherever possible, I will take regional differences into account, even
though a degree of schematization and simplification is inevitable, given the
breath of the enquiry. I trust that such limitations will at least partly be counter
balanced by the possibility which this overall view provides of more clearly dis
cerning the underlying political and social dynamics that characterize the
countryside of central and northern Italy in these crucial decades. As always, the
final verdict on such choices will be up to the reader.
21 On the concept of scale and its methodological implication for historical research, see Revel
(ed.), Jeux d’echelles.
PART 1
N EW F R A MEWOR K S
OF LO C A L P OW E R
1
Civil Wars
Collapse and Rebuilding of Political Structures
In this first chapter I will be focusing on the transformation of traditional political

structures in the countryside. I will set out to ascertain whether and to what
extent the period around 1100 corresponds to a general redefinition of the geog
raphy of power, which constitutes the context for the processes of transformation
of social, economic, and political balances in the countryside. From this perspec
tive, the key break must no doubt be identified with the civil war that broke out
after 1080 between the emperor and his allies and the party supporting the
reformist papacy, which found a military leader in Matilda of Canossa. The situ
ation was later exacerbated by countless local conflicts, with devastating effects
on the old order.1
However, in order to fully grasp the processes of transformation that so clearly
manifested themselves in the last two decades of the eleventh century and in the
early decades of the following century, we must shift our gaze at least one gener
ation back, to the years just after the death of emperor Henry III in 1056. This
stage offers the first evident signs of certain tendencies that were to manifest
themselves fully after 1080. While the civil wars of the 1080s and 1090s mark a
real break, the processes characterizing this period represent not a complete nov
elty, but rather the maturation and radicalizing of certain tendencies that had
long emerged within the kingdom.
1.1 The structure of the kingdom around

the mid-eleventh century
In the 1050s the political scenario in central and northern Italy was extremely
varied, yet not radically different from the late Carolingian one, whose imprint
was still visible. There existed many centres of power, largely of public origin:
marches, more or less extensive counties, domains governed by monks, and episco
pal lordships. The last of these were often (but not always) associated with urban
centres through the concession of public rights, while also including significant
1 Wickham, Sleepwalking, pp. 9–11.
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198825746.001.0001
4 The Seigneurial Transformation
portions of the surrounding countryside.2 They were frequently extensive political

domains, at times regional or sub-regional ones, within which public authorities
continued to play a vital role, despite the changes underway. The situation was
complex and varied. As we shall see shortly, its stability was undermined by strong
tensions. In particular, these polities were internally weakened by the benefices
reform of 1037, which had deprived major lords of the possibility to freely dis
pose of the goods granted to them in benefice by their clients (and which by then
had become hereditary).3 This led to the stabilizing and consolidation of the
landed property in the hands of the middle aristocracy, enabling these social
groups to become locally rooted. This also translated into a new prominence of
aristocratic clients, who became increasingly independent of their patrons and
ambitious in their action. The processes of consolidation and empowerment pur
sued by such an increasing number of social actors inevitably led to greater com
petition at the local level, as well as—at least from the late 1050s onwards—to its
visible radicalizing. We witness a tendency among minor centres of power to
pursue autonomy, even through the use of force, eliciting an armed response from
public officials and important lords. But at the same time, conflicts between major
social actors increasingly tended to be resolved through violence. Almost every
where we find a sharp rise in conflicts, including armed conflicts, and we can see
considerable troubles for the holders of public rights, along with an increasing
use of force by political actors. In 1065 the ducal missi (envoys) held a placitum
(judicial assembly) in Teramo to solve a local conflict; the aristocrats summoned
showed up at the assembly with a large armed retinue and then, after drawing
their swords, left before the verdict was announced: a completely unprecedented
act that eloquently betrayed their intentions.4
Compared to the past, therefore, violence and warfare were no longer primar
ily associated with high politics, as it became increasingly linked with local pro
cesses. Certainly, the regnum had hardly been free of conflicts in previous times;
however, these conformed to different rules and patterns. Relatively short phases
of (often very harsh) warfare alternated with longer periods of reorganization
and pacification. Public institutions acted as a counterbalance to prevent the
unchecked spread of violence. When, at cyclical intervals, the central power
entered into a state of turmoil, for a variety of reasons, the conflicts became more
violent and destructive. But however disruptive, these were just passing phases.
Dynamics of this sort are visible both in the years at the turn of the eleventh cen
tury, with the crisis engendered by Arduino of Ivrea’s attempt to seize the throne,
2 Some regional overviews: Sergi, I confini del potere (Piedmont); Puglia, Potere marchionale, and
Cortese, Signori, castelli (both on Tuscany); Feller, Les Abruzzes médiévales (Abruzzo).
3 On these processes Cammarosano, Storia dell’Italia medievale, pp. 384–9.
4 Manaresi, I Placiti, III, n. 417 (a. 1065), pp. 275–8; a detailed analysis of this text is in Feller, Les
Abruzzes médiévales, pp. 700–3. It must be stressed that this text has no parallels in oldest placita, in
which the resistance of actors to the court was expressed by absence, but never by open defiance.
Civil Wars 5
and in the 1030s, when the problem emerged of the hereditariness of benefices for
minor vassals.5
This model, consisting in short crises interspersed with long stages of political
recomposition, changed in the late 1050s, as socio-political turmoil became a
chronic phenomenon. We witness a gradual militarization of conflicts and of
society, which goes hand in hand with an increasingly manifest inability on the
part of traditional structures to fulfil their duties. As we shall see in greater detail
in the following pages, this transformation is visible in the sources, from a range
of points of view: in the pacts between communities and lords, in the agreements
between domini, in the refutationes (acts of restitution) at the end of conflicts, in
chronicles, and in letters. The convergence of such different sources, and in particu
lar a comparison between these sources and the typologically similar ones from
only a few decades earlier, where these aspects are almost entirely lacking or only
play a marginal role, reveal an evident change in social practices connected with
violence and war. What we are dealing with is not simply a change in the docu
mentary evidence—as has been suggested in the case of eleventh-century France,
based on sound arguments—but rather a genuine transformation of the way of
managing local conflict which is reflected in the written sources, notwithstanding
the specific forms these take.6
Let’s take a closer look at these tendencies: one good example is provided by
the Arduinic march of Turin, which included much of present-day Piedmont,
from the 1060s onwards. In the face of Asti’s growing efforts to gain autonomy,
the ruler of the march, Adelaide, led a violent military expedition against the city,
which culminated in the (at least partial) destruction of the urban centre and the
restoration of its fully subordinate status.7 Likewise, in the Susa Valley—one of
the areas where the presence of the Arduinic family was most felt, even from a
patrimonial point of view—the Adelaide’s response to the attempt made by the
powerful abbey of San Michele della Chiusa to extend its local grasp, well beyond
the traditional framework of public power, consisted in the launching of at least
two armed expeditions which ended in violent open battles.8
If we look beyond the march of Turin, in the 1060s we can find the first evident
traces of conflicts between cities over the control of a rural area. The clearest
example certainly comes from the short yet bitter war between Pavia and Milan,
which ended with the bloody battle of Campomorto (literally ‘Deadfield’).9 Also
dating from the same period are the first military encounters in the long conflict
between Genoa and Pisa, which had previously undertaken joint naval expeditions
5 On Arduino, see Brunhofer, Arduin von Ivrea.

6 On the ‘documentary transformation’ in France, see Barthélemy, ‘From Charters to Notices’.
7 Bordone, Città e territorio, pp. 331–6.
8 Guglielmo of the Chiusa, Vita Benedicti, p. 204; see Sergi, Potere e territorio, pp. 105–6.
9 Arnolfo of Milan, Liber gestorum, pp. 108–9.
beyond the boundaries of the kingdom.10 However, the increasing use of violence
and arms in the countryside is also noticeable at much lower political levels. For
instance, just after 1065 the abbot of Subiaco would appear to have engaged in a ser
ies of wars against his rebellious vassals in the mountainous area near Tivoli.11 Only
a few years before a violent conflict had broken out between the counts of Assisi and
the abbey of Farfa over the control of some curtes (estates) in central Umbria.12
Many more examples could be adduced. But what matters here is the structural
element, namely the increase of conflict in the rural context and the growing
militarization of the latter. Besides, this trend was already quite clear at the time.
Some valuable insights as to how people in the eleventh century perceived the
processes underway is offered by a letter which the reformist monk Pier Damiani
addressed to the bishop of Fermo Ulcandino in 1062. The author stresses how one
of the new (and shameful) tendencies of recent years is precisely the increasing
use of arms in conflicts, even on the part of churchmen. The abbot stigmatizes
this behaviour by suggesting to the prelate of Fermo a course of action inspired by
the New Testament ideal of ‘showing the other cheek’.13 Pier Damiani argues that
for leading social actors the use of arms has become an automatic response to any
(real or alleged) injustice. No mention is made of public tribunals, which impli
citly reveals their state of crisis and their loss of significance as a means to solve
local conflicts.
The letter is a highly interesting text from at least two perspectives: on the one
hand, because it shows that people at the time perceived the militarization of con
flicts as something new; on the other hand, because of the rift between the solutions
proposed by a moralist like Pier Damiani and the course of action actually adopted
by churchmen (and of course lay actors too) in those years. While we do not know
whether or how Ulcandino answered Pier Damiani’s letter, we do know how he
(and his immediate successors) acted within the turbulent context of the Marche in
that period. The wealth of documents preserved by the bishopric of Fermo in the
Liber iurium shows that the local prelates were busy building castles and destroying
ones controlled by rival noblemen and churches, drawing up strictly military pacts,
and establishing increasingly robust networks of military clients.14 The concrete
attitude adopted by Ulcandino and his successors, therefore, could hardly have
been more remote from the utopian and pacifist one proposed by Pier Damiani. By
this period force had come to be perceived as the only means to solve conflicts; and
it was on force that both lay and religious leaders relied.
10 Annales Pisani, p. 239 (s.a. 1066). 11 Chronicon sublacense, esp. pp. 12–8.
12 Il Regesto di Farfa, IV, nn. 900–1 (a. 1059), pp. 294–5.
13 Pier Damiani, Die Briefe, vol. II, n. 87 (a. 1062), pp. 508–9. On the letters of Pier Damiani, see in
general D’Acunto, I laici nella chiesa; on this specific letter, see Brancoli Busdraghi, ‘Aspetti giuridici
della faida’, pp. 159–73.
14 Liber iurium, passim. We miss a monographic study on the bishopric of Fermo; a first approach
to the issue in Fiore, Signori e sudditi.
Civil Wars 7
In the 1060s and 1070s, then, the situation was one of instability and violence
at the local level. The royal authorities themselves were aware of this and in 1077,
just after their temporary reconciliation with the papacy, attempted to re-establish
peace within the regnum. That year Henry IV proclaimed a pax italica.15 The con
tent of this decree is highly revealing: an attempt was made to limit confiscations,
theft and extortion (in all likelihood of the sort inflicted on peasants and minor
landowners) and to prevent military operations against castles (arsons and armed
assaults). From the perspective of the imperial authorities, social unrest and vio
lence against the poor went hand in hand with an increasing degree of conflict
within the ruling class. This was an emergency situation, and it was necessary to
solve it in order to restore the traditional modes of administration of power
ensured by the monarchy.
1.2 The civil wars and the breakdown of political order
Henry’s resolution did not have any appreciable consequences, not least because
of the new problems in the relation between the papacy and the empire, and the
outbreak of the revolt in Germany. These issues soon absorbed all the imperial
authorities’ attention. The Italian situation reached a point of no return only a few
years later, in 1080, with the outbreak of armed conflicts in the context of the
open war between the emperor and the pro-Gregorian party led by Matilda of
Canossa. The main theatre of war was the eastern Po Valley and Latium, but a
situation of endemic warfare emerged throughout central and northern Italy.16
The growing militarization already visible in the previous two decades reached its
apex. Indeed, one of the reasons why the conflict proved so violent and wide
spread was that it broke out in areas that were already militarized. The new con
text of war allowed this military element to find its full expression. Loyalty to one
party (often a wavering loyalty) served as an ideological smokescreen to justify
operations that had a far more local significance. Dynasties of counts and mar
graves, bishops and soon urban communities also started fighting one another to
establish, extend or defend the areas they controlled. The dearth of narrative
sources only allows us to reconstruct this turbulent interplay of forces in a very
partial and fragmentary way. The evidence which has been transmitted—often by
sheer chance—represents only the tip of an iceberg that escapes direct observation.
While it would be a dull task to list all these conflicts, not least given the dearth of
evidence, some examples can help illustrate the interplay of different levels of
conflict across the various theatres of war, as well as the highly militarized context
in which rural socio-political balances underwent substantial transformations.
15 Constitutiones, I, n. 68 (a. 1077), p. 117.

16 On the civil war, see Hay, The Military Leadership.
In central and southern Piedmont, and in western Liguria, the situation

came to a head with the collapse of the march of Turin in 1091, after the death of
its ruler Adelaide. For decades a conflict over her inheritance raged on between
margrave Bonifacio Del Vasto, count Thomas of Savoy, and (for a short period)
Adelaide’s daughter, Agnese, who was supported by the French adventurer
Bouchard of Montresor. It is worth stressing, within this context, that Agnese’s
husband, Fredrick of Montbeliard, who had also died in 1091, was remembered
by people at the time as the chief regional champion of the reformist party.17 The
bishop and urban community of Asti, the prelate of Turin and several dynasties of
lay noblemen also took active part in the conflict.18 In the subalpine area, how
ever, the collapse of the March was not the only cause of tension, as is shown by
the situation in the north of the region. In the Novara area the counts of Biandrate,
who supported the imperial party, pursued a policy openly opposing the ambi
tions of the cives of Novara and (at least at first) their bishops. The reformist prel
ate Alberto was assassinated by the counts in 1083 and was replaced—with a clear
break—by a bishop loyal to the empire, Anselmo, whom the Biandrate family
probably imposed by force.19 Nevertheless, this did not mark the end of the con
flict between the cives of Novara and the counts: enmity flared up again in the
following years, leading to the destruction of the urban centre by the imperial
army in 1110, almost certainly with the support of the Biandrate, who thereby
established themselves for a few decades as the dominant power in the area.20
The Veneto was marked by a number of conflicts, the most prominent of which
was the magna guerra (great war) between the half-brothers who were the heirs of
margrave Aldalberto Atto of the Obertenghi family (d. 1097), the Guelphs, and
the Este, over this inheritance. This prolonged and fluctuating conflict became
even more complicated when, after a period of hostility, the dukes of Carinthia
and the patriarch of Aquileia chose to support the Guelphs, who at the time were
allied with the empire.21 About that time, a little further to the south, in Romagna,
one of the chief representatives of the pro-Henry party, archbishop (and imperial
pope) Guilberto of Ravenna was engaged in a hard armed conflict with Matilda of
Canossa over control of the Po Delta region.22 Finally, in Tuscany, Matilda’s depos
ition from margravial office triggered a complex series of armed conflicts, with
the involvement of families of counts (the Guidi, Alberti and Cadolingi), as well
17 Bernold of Konstanz, Chronicon, p. 495.

18 Pecchio, ‘Sviluppi signorili’; Cerrato, ‘Concorrenze religiose e signorili’, pp. 5–38; Provero, Dai
marchesi del Vasto, pp. 57–74; on the conflicts in Liguria between the counts of Ventimiglia and
Bonifacio, see I Libri iurium di Genova, I,1, n. 44 (a. 1140), pp. 71–2.
19 The data about the bishops of Novara are provided by the coeval diptychs of the cathedral and of
San Gaudenzio; see Abbatepaolo, ‘I dittici consolari’, pp. 284–5, 378–80.
20 On the Biandrate, see Andenna, ‘I conti di Biandrate e le città’. On the destruction of Novara, see
Ekkeard, Chronicon, p. 244.
21 Castagnetti, ‘Guelfi ed Estensi’; Bernold of Konstanz, Chronicon, p. 465.
22 Bernold of Konstanz, Chronicon, p. 533; see Hay, The Military Leadership, pp. 59–197.
Civil Wars 9
as bishops and urban communities, in a game of unstable local alliances, and more
or less precarious allegiance to one of the two opposing parties.23
It is not enough to merely note the spread of armed conflicts throughout the
kingdom (as well as in Latium) and their markedly local nature. It is also necessary
to consider the ways in which these countless local conflicts were waged, con
stantly redefining the geography of power. While historians have rightly stressed
the mild nature of warfare in the central medieval period, this most certainly
does not apply to Italy around 1100. What the documentary and narrative
sources describe are not low-intensity conflicts, merely involving raids and arsons,
with a few sporadic and almost chance killings. Rather, they describe bloody wars
(on a scale that varies depending on the context), with many open clashes between
knights and armed assaults on castles in which not just countless anonymous
milites died, but also many high-ranking noblemen.24 In this case a few telling
examples are enough to give an idea of the trend: I have already mentioned the
case of the bishop of Novara; under very similar circumstances, two Aleramic
margraves—brothers of Bonifacio Del Vasto—lost their lives.25 Count Crescenzio
died in battle in Latium and two leaders of the enemy army, described as barones,
were beheaded in reprisal by the allies of the deceased after the seizing of their
castles.26 Finally, the imperial margrave of Tuscany Rabodo perished while defend
ing the castle of Montecascioli against the Florentine army.27
Such incidents were not confined to tumultuous moments of warfare.
Querimoniae (pleas) from this period often inform us of military operations and
ambushes explicitly designed to do away with rivals—an element that is quite
absent from earlier texts.28 The violent death of enemies, then, was not just an
accident; rather, it was an actively pursued aim, at any rate within the context of
harsher local conflicts, where it could prove decisive. Besides, in a prolonged and
violent conflict with the powerful Gualcherii family (which alternated with more
peaceful periods of coexistence), after yet another breach of the pacts that had
been drawn up, the abbey of Farfa organized a brutal punitive expedition, which
culminated in the wiping out of almost the whole aristocratic clan, finally bring
ing an end to the guerra that had been raging for decades.29 Similarly, the reprisal
against the two lords responsible for the death of count Crescenzio in battle
23 Cortese, ‘Poteri locali’, pp. 59–69.

24 Killings of several milites in open field battles during local conflicts are recorded in: Il regesto del
codice Pelavicino, n. 50 (a. 1124), pp. 72–8 (Tuscany); Il Regesto di Farfa, V, n. 1213 (aa. 1099–1119 c.),
pp. 204–5 (Marche); n. 1275 (a. 1098), pp. 249–50 (Latium); Anonimo Cumano, De bello, pp. 413–56
(Lombardy).
25 Register Gregors VII., VII, 9 (a. 1079), pp. 470–1.
26 Annales Ceccanenses, p. 282 (s.a. 1123). 27 Gross, Lothar III, p. 37.
28 Il Registrum Magnum, n. 24 (aa. 1073–5 c.), pp. 40–1; Il Regesto di Farfa, IV, n. 883 (aa. 1049–53),
pp. 279–80. See also Codex diplomaticus Amiatinus, II, n. 309 (a. 1084), pp. 261–3, in which the counts
Aldobrandeschi ordered the killing of the abbot of Monte Amiata. Such episodes are completely
absent in older placita and pleas.
29 Fiore, Signori e sudditi, pp. 224–9.
reflects a conscious desire to annihilate the enemy, which was not even dampened
by his surrender. While these are no doubt extreme cases, they show just how far
the conflicts between lords at the time could go.
This sharp rise in violence should not be taken to mean that the use of force
was unregulated. Competition, while evidently militarized by now, had its rules:
as may clearly be inferred from querimoniae and similar texts, certain actions
were deemed lawful, while others were not. Still, the constant and deliberate vio
lation of this code of conduct represents a clear indicator of the extreme tension
underlying the social and political framework, as the aristocracy struggled to
limit the violent drives and self-destructive behaviour within its own ranks. I will
be examining this problem in greater detail in the second part of the volume, in
the chapter on violence.30 Suffice it to say here that it is evident how the capacity
to mobilize armed troops, establish military alliances with neighbours, and subju
gate opponents by brute force became a key means to ensure the success of local
actors. The political game became militarized and, in parallel to this, the attitude
to violence changed, with the collapse of what until a few decades before had been
established interdictions and limitations in warfare.
The major war between the two parties essentially came to an end in 1111, with
the agreements between Henry V and Matilda of Canossa. However, this did not
translate into a significant let up in the military action, which remained substan
tial in all (or nearly all) regional contexts. The solving of the ideological conflict
among the upper echelons of the empire showed the true nature of the many con
flicts underway: they were struggles for local hegemony, for control over certain
territories and their resources. Precisely for this reason, the notion of ‘civil wars’
adopted in the recent historiography to describe the whole range of military con
flicts that broke out from the 1080s onwards (and probably already a few years
before then) seems far more useful than the old label ‘struggle for investitures’.
The connection between the collapse of public structures, the ideological crisis of
central power, and the fragmentation of the territory into rival polities with vari
able degrees of formalization and endemic military conflicts are features also
common to the ‘failing states’ of today, such as Afghanistan, Somalia, and Libya.31
We must consider these contexts too (with all due differences) to understand the
situation of central and northern Italy at the turn of the 1100s.
One difference in particular immediately stands out and must be highlighted.
We are used to associating prolonged civil warfare with the breakdown of systems
of production and trade networks; but in fact it is quite evident that in central and
northern Italy in those years the state of endemic conflict did not at all lead to
economic collapse. Rather, as in the eleventh century, the general context was
30 See section 10.3.

31 The scholarship about ‘failing states’ is, for obvious reasons, steadily rising; see Rotberg (ed.),
State Failure.
Civil Wars 11
marked by economic growth. Development probably slowed down somewhat, at

any rate in those contexts most affected by war, but we find no traces of any real
inversion or even stagnation. In the countryside, which more than any other
place accounted for the production of wealth, the damage—while significant at a
local level—was nonetheless circumscribed.32 The destruction of crops and pil
laging could have devastating effects at a local level, yet fit within a general frame
work capable of easily absorbing them; even the great famine that struck Italy
around 1085, almost certainly causing more victims than the coeval military con
flicts, would not appear to have had serious repercussions.33 The constant refer
ences to commercial transactions in times of war, as in the case of the agreements
between Venice and Verona, clearly show that the flow of goods did not come to a
halt even in the most heated and turbulent moments.34 Similarly, the recovery of
urban centres that had been destroyed in conflicts, such as Asti, Arezzo or Novara,
shows that the context in which such episodes occurred was one of economic
growth.35 The wounds inflicted by war healed more or less swiftly, depending on
the area—but heal they did. Certainly, the destruction of a city, such as Novara or
Como, could mark a standstill in its development; yet only in exceptional cases,
such as that of Fiesole, did it amount to a mortal blow.36 In a general context
marked by demographic growth and economic activity, the potential for recovery
remained high. As regards those centres whose destruction marked an irreversible
decline, such as Fiesole and, to a lesser extent Lodi, this occurred by the explicit
political will of the victors (respectively, Florence and Milan) to prevent the local
citizens from rebuilding their city.37 Besides, the structural collapse of Fiesole went
hand in hand with the boom of Florence; the more temporary crises experienced
by Como and Novara, by the boom of the major rural centres of Biandrate and
Isola Comacina, and naturally of Milan.38 The same principle applies—with some
nuances—to the countryside, where the numerous deconstructions of castra were
accompanied by new foundations, as well as by the broadening of existing ones
via major investments, as we shall see in greater detail later on.39
The case of the Como area, the theatre for the decade-long war between Milan
(and its allies) and Como, clearly shows that even in a prolonged and very intense
32 A detailed description of local warfare in Chronicon sublacense, pp. 12–8.

33 Bernold of Konstanz, Chronicon, p. 453, with a clear rhetorical amplification states ‘Quam
famem tam inaudita mortalitas subsecuta est, ut nec tercia pars hominum remaneret, sed deficiente
colono, maxima pars terrae in solitudine redacta est’.
34 Castagnetti, Mercanti, società e politica, pp. 143–7.
35 In 1071 Adelaide of Turin destroyed Asti; on this Arnolfo of Milan, Liber gestorum, p. 108; on the
second destruction (1091) of the city, see Bordone, Città e territorio, pp. 344–7. In 1110 an imperial
army destroyed (partially) Novara e Arezzo; Ekkeard, Chronicon, p. 244.
36 On the total destruction of Fiesole in 1125, after three years of war, see Davidsohn, Geschichte, I,
pp. 392–8; see also Faini, Firenze nell’età romanica, pp. 244–5.
37 On the total destruction of Lodi by the army of Milan, in 1111, after four years of (hard) warfare,
see Landolfo Seniore, Historia Mediolanensis, p. 30.
38 The specific case of Isola Comacina will be discussed in section 5.2. 39 See section 3.3.
context of warfare the demographic and productive fabric was no doubt subjected
to considerable stress, yet never reached a point of collapse.40 In this respect, the
resilience of Como and of rural centres allied or in conflict with it is exemplary.
The destructive effect of the war is evident from the sharp drop in documentary
evidence pertaining to the land market in the Isola Comacina and neighbouring
communities compared to previous decades. Yet the immediately subsequent
period witnessed an evident recovery: already by the end of the 1130s the volume
of transactions (and the prices of land and houses) would appear to have returned
to pre-war levels.41 Even in that area of the kingdom of Italy that for a decade
came as close to a ‘total war’ as the means available in the early twelfth century
allowed, the damage was repaired within fifteen years. Considering the fact that
more intense military conflicts, such as the war between Milan and Lodi, were
usually of shorter duration, it is easy to estimate that the process of recovery must
have been much swifter as well. Even central and southern Piedmont, the theatre
of the long war over the inheritance of the margarine of Turin Adelaide, would
not appear to have suffered any real setback in terms of economic development,
as is shown by the progressive conversion into farmland of the extensive forested
areas extending across much of the present-day province of Cuneo, one of the
areas most directly affected by the conflict.42
1.3 From fragmentation to recomposition
With the beginning of the ‘civil war’ stage, those tendencies already visible from
the 1060s onwards became more widespread or acute, bringing to light one of
the structural causes of the growing unrest, namely the tension within major
domains. Great lords found it harder and harder to effectively control their varied
groups of vassals, clients and officials, who by now aspired to forms of local power
and were reluctant to accept the limitations imposed upon them by their lords.
Besides, public officials, bishops and leading abbots proved even more incapable
of controlling lords within the territories they governed. We witness these small
centres of power acquiring an increasing degree of autonomy, with the progressive
disappearance of traditional public jurisdictional rights, such as the administra
tion of justice, military prerogatives, hospitality rights, or the protection of small
freeholders.43 The mounting difficulty of keeping one’s network of clients together
40 On the ten-years war in the area of Como, the best source (by far) is Anomimo Cumano, De bello.
We still miss a monographic study on this important text; but see Grillo, ‘Una fonte per lo studio’.
41 For example, the archive of the monastery of Santa Maria di Lenno, has a documentary gap for
the period between 1117 and 1128: Le carte dei monasteri di S. Maria dell’Acquafredda di Lenno, n. 24
(a. 1117) and n. 25 (a. 1128). Since 1130s the number of documents returns to good levels.
42 Comba, Metamorfosi di un paesaggio rurale, pp. 48–61.
43 In the years around 1100, the Gisalbertini counts lost their traditional comital rights in many
villages now ruled by lesser lords in the countryside around Bergamo, in Lombardy; see Menant,
Campagnes lombardes, pp. 417–18.
Civil Wars 13
and the latter’s pursuit of autonomy represent a defining feature of major domains
in this period. The unwillingness of aristocratic clients to accept the growing
power of the abbey of Casauria was thus perceived at the time as the reason
behind the success of the Norman invasion of southern Abruzzo (formerly part of
the kingdom of Italy) in the mid-1070s.44 After consolidating their power and
prerogatives at a local level, a few decades later the same lords organized an
(at least temporarily) successful rebellion, this time siding with Casauria against
the Normans, probably to safeguard their own autonomy against increasing
encroachment from the Norman government.
The ways in which this desire for autonomy and greater local power was
expressed obviously varied depending on the local context: from open revolt
against the leading lord (as in the cases of Farfa and of the episcopal lordships of
Fermo and Asti) to the exploitation of the crisis of the old districts as a means to
acquire full autonomy (as in Piedmont and Tuscany), to the request for help from
outside actors in an attempt to undermine the old order (as with the Normans in
Latium and Abruzzo). It is in such terms that we should read the promise made
by the newly appointed abbot of Farfa to his monks not to grant castles in ward
ship to powerful men (eminentis laicis), but only to monks or laymen of humble
extraction (humillimis et maxime monachis). Evidently, it was felt that the latter
could more easily be controlled by the central authorities and were less likely to
pursue any real degree of autonomy.45 Besides, in the area governed by the
bishop of Asti, the custodes castri (wardens of castle) of Priocca and Monticello—
belonging to the family of the domini (lords) of Govone (who were in turn vas
sals of the bishop)—attempted in the early twelfth century to turn the wardship
entrusted to him into a genuine form of lordship.46 Likewise, in the former
march of Turin, many castle wardens accountable to the margraves took advan
tage of the economic crisis to establish themselves as fully independent domini
loci (territorial lords).47
We shall be examining these local processes in greater detail in the following
chapter. What I wish to draw attention to here is the outcome usually reached by
these conflicts: the breakdown of the existing political order to the benefit of
smaller centres, which were often themselves fragmented and not geographically
compact. In this case too, the situation in Piedmont clearly reflects these develop
ments: the dynastic crisis of the Arduinic family translated into a war of succes
sion between different regional powers (both internal and external to the former
march), ultimately leading to the breakdown of traditional power-system and the
44 Feller, Les Abruzzes médiévales, pp. 726–7 and 746–9.

45 Il Regesto di Farfa, V, n. 1122 (a. 1090 c.), p. 123.
46 Il libro verde della chiesa di Asti, n. 110 (a. 1117), pp. 247–9; the text is discussed in Bordone,
Città e territorio, p. 372.
47 Sergi, Potere e territorio, pp. 120–31.
restructuring of the political order in the region.48 The new polities that emerged
out of the crisis were not just much smaller than the former march, but also struc
tured in a far weaker way. Even the new march controlled by the de facto victor in
the war over Adelaide’s inheritance, Bonifacio del Vasto, was both smaller than the
old march of Turin and far less compact. Numerous families of wardens of castles
belonging to the margrave took advantage of the crisis to gain full ownership of
them. Bonifacio—and later his heirs—could only acknowledge the process and
attempt to correct it, whenever possible, by establishing bonds of fealty with the
new local lords.49 The new polity, therefore, extended from the Langhe hills to the
southern alpine valleys, from the Saluzzo plane to the Savona coastline, yet in a
discontinuous, patchwork manner. Closely controlled areas were interspersed
with others where the new lordship had to deal with more powerful and better-
equipped local actors, or where it exercised no control at all—as in vast swathes of
what is now the province of Cuneo. In the wake of Bonifacio’s death, this united
polity disintegrated, despite an initial attempt at joint rule made by the many sons
of the margrave. Within a few years the limits of this solution became evident and
the territory came to be partitioned, with jurisdictional rights being shared among
half a dozen heirs, who created a series of smaller lordships.50 A structural prob
lem, namely the need to manage castles, estates and jurisdictional rights scattered
across a vast and far from compact territory in a highly conflictual context,
became intertwined with a dynastic and hereditary problem. This is an important
topic which has yet to be fully explored. We shall be returning to it shortly.51
A similar case, in many ways, is that of the march of Tuscany, which had trad
itionally been a compact and well-structured polity, and which probably consti
tuted the main nucleus of power in the entire kingdom. In the 1080s the deposition
of Matilda led to a complete breakdown of the old public structures. The outcome
was the emergence of a series of independent polities in conflict with one another.52
These were incipient territorial principalities, such as those of the Guidi, Alberti,
and Aldobrandeschi counts, and of the bishops of Volterra and Arezzo, but also
polities centred on aggressive early urban communities such as Pisa, Lucca, and
(a little later) Florence and Siena. In addition to these we find a variety of minor
political entities, which had more modest ambitions yet were nonetheless very
active at the local level, as well as a swarm of local lordship variously connected to
larger polities, and which often controlled only one or two fortified centres.53
48 Sergi (ed.), Storia di Torino, I, pp. 449–81; Provero, ‘Aristocrazia d’ufficio’; Pecchio, ‘Sviluppi
signorili’.
49 Provero, Dai marchesi del Vasto, pp. 65–74.
50 Provero, Dai marchesi del Vasto, pp. 77–108. 51 On this see section 1.4.
52 An ample overview of the complex political situation in Tuscany in the decades after 1081 in
Davidsohn, Geschichte, I, pp. 207–446.
53 On the disruptive effects of these processes on local systems, see Bianchi, Collavini, ‘Risorse e
competizione’.
Civil Wars 15
I will be specifically analysing the transformation of the local political order

and power management, which is closely related to this process of fragmentation,
in Chapter 2. What I wish to stress here is that the civil war translated into
a breakdown of existing territorial frameworks. Hence, the ability to govern
extensive areas was lost; the new authorities generally had a more limited space of
action compared to previous ones. While these developments are particularly
evident in the case of the marches of Turin and Tuscany, which have been studied
in detail, similar processes must have occurred—albeit on a far smaller scale—in
many of the large and medium-scale domains across central and northern Italy.
These polities (governed by bishops, abbots or counts) underwent substantial
processes of internal breakdown and fragmentation, which were of course accel
erated by the fluidity of the political situation and by the military conflicts.54 After
Matilda’s death, the large block of Po Valley counties in the hands of the Canossa
family, which had already been weakened, collapsed and was replaced by smaller
lordships. The network of Matilda’s vassals proved more enduring, particularly
thanks to Henry V’s support, but ultimately it also disintegrated owing to rivalries
and conflicts of interest within the group.55 The vast domain of the archbishops of
Ravenna, which included Romagna and the northern Marche, suffered consider
able losses in the civil wars.56 In central Italy the attempts made by many dynas
ties of counts (those of Assisi, Foligno, Todi, Nocera and Camerino, among many
others) to establish from the late 1050s extensive lordships, chiefly according to the
boundaries of the old districts, clashed with the increasing drive for independence
on the part of a range of alternative centres of power. Already by the early decades
of the twelfth century, these families of counts were thus left with much smaller
domains, centred on a limited number of often non-adjacent castles.57
Nevertheless, it must not be assumed that this trend towards the breakdown
and fragmentation of political structure was universal. Significantly, it seems as
though certain aristocratic dynasties did not passively endure the crisis but rather,
with some difficulty, were able to exploit it in order to redefine and extend their
power. These families made the most of their military role and capacity to estab
lish themselves as leaders of their network of vassals, to redistribute any lands and
castles seized by forced, and even—as we shall see later on—to experiment with
new and more profitable forms of lordship. By effectively involving their clients in
these innovations, these lords were able to counter the drive towards autonomy of
the lesser aristocracy. Thus the Aldobrandeschi did not only occupy some castles
belonging to the abbey of Monte Amiata by force of arms, altering the form taken
by local power and making its administration more heavy-handed; they also
54 A good example is that of the Gisalbertini counts of Bergamo, discussed in Menant, ‘Les
Giselbertines’.
55 For a recent overview on Matilda of Canossa, see Matilde di Canossa e il suo tempo.
56 Pallotti, Castelli e poteri signorili, pp. 35–132. 57 Fiore, Signori e sudditi, pp. 78–90.
recruited into their ranks some former monastic servi, whom they allowed to
concretely benefit from the new order, and made economic agreements with
members of the elites of the villages they had taken over.58 However, in these
cases as well most of the territories controlled by individual dynasties were not
compact wholes, but rather the sum of more or less extensive areas governed by
them, interspersed with territories under the control of other political actors.59
It is nonetheless important to stress that this period witnessed not just pro
cesses of fragmentation, but also processes of the opposite sort, involving both
urban proto-communes (which I will be discussing later on, in section 5.1) and
lay and ecclesiastical lords. In all likelihood, the breakdown of political structures
reached its peak in the 1080s and 1090s. The immediately following period was
marked by a tendency towards a territorial recomposition, which varied in terms
of its intensity and scale, and of the actors involved, depending on the regional
and sub-regional context. The best-investigated cases pertaining to lords are those
of the Aldobrandeschi, Del Vasto and Guidi families, but many more political
centres were able to take advantage of the crisis to consolidate or extend their
control or to maintain their extensive domains, if only on a more limited scale
(as in the case of the archbishops of Ravenna), giving rise to structures of a more
or less princely sort.60 Almost invariably, it is difficult to observe these processes
because of the considerable gaps in the documentary evidence (and the lack of
any dynastic chronicles). What can be perceived are mostly their outcomes around
1130 or, in certain cases, a few decades later. In this respect, it might be useful to
provide an overview of these incipient principalities, in order to assess their actual
impact on the political scenario. I will group them together by region, focusing
first on Piedmont and Liguria, then on Lombardy and Emilia, followed by the
North-East and finally central Italy.
The western subalpine area is probably the one for which most evidence is to
be found in this respect.61 The aforementioned domain of the Del Vasto family
extended from its original heartland, coinciding with the counties of Savona and
(partly) of Albenga, to much of what is now the province of Cuneo, which was
conquered at the turn of the 1100s in the great war over the Arduinic inheritance.
This was probably the largest territorial principality in Italy at the time and its lord,
Bonifacio, who had reached the height of his power, was a well-known figure
throughout Europe, capable of planning dynastic unions with royal households
58 Codex Diplomaticus Amiatinus, II, n. 309 (ante a. 1084), pp. 261–3; see Collavini, Honorabilis
domus, pp. 133–7.
59 This is clear in the well-known cases of the margraves of Monferrato, and the Guidi counts, on
which see respectively Banfo, ‘Da Aleramo a Guglielmo’; and Canaccini (ed.), La lunga storia di una
stirpe.
60 On the Biandrate, Virgili, ‘I possessi dei Biandrate’; on the Este, Castagnetti, ‘Guelfi ed Estensi’.
61 A good overview in Sergi, ‘La geografia del potere’.
Civil Wars 17
such as those of France and of Sicily.62 I will be focusing on the formation of this
major centre of power later on (section 2.4). However, it was not unparalleled in
the subalpine area. A smaller yet nonetheless extensive domain was that of the
Biandrate family, which between the late 1070s and the first decade of the follow
ing century underwent considerable growth: from its heartland—Valsesia and
Ossola—it expanded not just into the Novara area but also into those of Vercelli
and (to a lesser extent) Ivrea. Staunch allies of the Salian dynasty, in 1083 the
Biandrate lords defeated in battle and killed the reformist bishop of Novara, and
then imposed a series of pro-Imperial bishops. In the immediately following years
they also gained direct control over the episcopal see of Vercelli, which between
the 1090s and early decades of the twelfth century was filled by at least two
members of this kinship group—obviously with a pro-Imperial orientation.63
Control of these two sees clearly enabled the Biandrate counts to gain new bene
fices, particularly in the plane between Vercelli and Novara. In this area the found
ing (or re-founding) in 1093 of the great castle of Biandrate—which soon became
the eponymous centre for this dynasty—clearly illustrates the new local power
balance.64 The Biandrate family made its presence much less felt in the Ivrea area,
which however was controlled from the late eleventh century onwards by the
Canavese counts, cousins and allies of the Biandrate. The early decades of the
twelfth century also witnessed the expansion and consolidation of another Aleramic
branch, that of the margraves of Monferrato, who were active in the sub-region
between Vercelli and Acqui, probably also thanks to the support of Henry V, to
whom the Monferrato lords were very close.65 By the use of force, the latter were
able to increasingly assert their presence south of the Po River, in what is now
the lower Monferrato area, progressively gaining the upper hand over the other
centres of power. By the late eleventh century the margraves controlled approxi
mately one fourth of the settlements in the area; by the middle of the following
century practically the whole area had fallen under their control.66 What also
played into this process of political reorganization were dynastic events: the
extinction of a minor Aleramic branch, that of the Sezzadio, active in the Acqui
area, was followed by the incorporation of their patrimony into the domain of the
Monferrato margraves, not least through the support of the emperor.67 Finally, to
62 On the Del Vasto family, see Provero, Dai marchesi del Vasto; on the tie with the Norman king of
Sicily, see pp. 78–80; on the planned marriage with a daughter of Bonifacio with the king of France (failed
for the strong perplexities of French bishops about the lawfulness of birth of the girl), see p. 87. On the
notoriety of Bonifacio on a European scale, see The Ecclesiastical History of Orderic, VI, pp. 366 and 432.
63 Andenna, ‘I conti di Biandrate e le città’.
64 With the exception of the foundation of the castle of Biandrate, the expansion of the family in
northern Piedmont is still not well studied; the research has focused on other topics, such as their role
as crusaders, or their relationship with Milan; see Andenna, ‘I conti di Biandrate e le loro clientele’. On
the benefices from the bishops of Vercelli, see Barbero, ‘Vassalli vescovili e aristocrazia’, pp. 220–33.
65 Sergi, ‘La geografia del potere’, pp. 29–31.
66 Banfo, ‘Compresenze e sovrapposizioni di poteri’.
67 On this branch and its extinction, see Merlone, ‘La discendenza aleramica’.
these principalities we should add that of the Umbertini, counts of Savoy and
Maurienne. While most of their vast domains lay beyond the Alps, beyond the
Aosta Valley (which in theory was not actually part of the kingdom of Italy), after
the collapse of the march of Turin they also came to control the Susa Valley. From
here they exerted military and political pressure on the plain around Turin, to the
point that in 1130 they briefly gained control of the city itself.68
If from Piedmont we shift our attention southwards, to western Liguria, we
find—alongside the vast domain of the Del Vasto lords—another important
centre of power, that of the counts of Ventimiglia.69 Until 1140 the latter had an
apparently firm hold over the whole area of the old county (including the city,
which constituted the centre of their power and housed a fortified palace where
they regularly sojourned), in addition to several centres in the diocese of Albenga,
possibly seized from the Del Vasto lords in the war over Adelaide’s inheritance.70
At the centre of the region Genoa came to assert its power early on; the area fur
ther to the east, around Sestri Levante, was instead—at least until the end of our
period—under the control of the Malaspina margraves, who at the time were
arguably the most powerful dynasty within the Obertenghi kinship group.71 The
counts of Lavagna, active in this area, just like the lords of Vezzano, who con
trolled much of what is now the province of La Spezia, acknowledged the super
iority of the margraves to whom they were bound by bonds of fealty.72 However,
the heartland of the Malaspina dynasty, where the estates directly controlled by
them were located, was further to the east, in the Lunigiana area, and extended
even beyond the Apennines, to the Taro, Trebbia and Staffora valleys.73 The
attempts made by the Malaspina lords to consolidate and expand their power over
the plane to the south of Tortona and Piacenza were cut short by the political
development of local urban communities, while in the Lunigiana area the compet
ing presence of the bishop of Luni prevented the margraves from fully asserting
their power. So although the Malaspina lords controlled one of the most extensive
and solid centres of power in this period, they were surrounded by particularly
powerful and dynamic opponents, who hampered any further development.
Another dynasty within the Obertenghi kinship group, the Pelavicino, controlled
a slightly less imposing domain, concentrated in the plane between Piacenza,
Parma and Cremona, where these margraves governed a few dozen castles—many

69 Ascheri, ‘I conti di Ventimiglia’; e Venturini (ed.), Le Comté de Vintimille.
70 Clues about these acquisitions, in I libri iurium di Genova, I,1, n. 44 (a. 1140), pp. 71–2.
71 On the Obertenghi and the origins of their family names, see Nobili, Gli Obertenghi e altri saggi,
pp. 179–327.
72 Petti Balbi, ‘I conti di Lavagna’, esp. p. 98.
73 We still miss a study about the rising of Malaspina; we must use Biccherai, ‘Malaspina, Alberto’;
and also Burla, Malaspina di Lunigiana, pp. 16–20.
Civil Wars 19
of them directly.74 In this case too, the location of the domains proved rather
unfavourable for the pursuit of the Pelavicino’s political plans. However, it must
be stressed that at least up until 1130 the Pelavicino not only preserved their inde
pendence, but even expanded their domains, so much so that in the 1110s they
did not hesitate to enter into conflict with the imperial authorities themselves
over control of the important rural centre of Borgo San Donnino.75 Extending
further to the east, between the Apennines and the Po, from Modena to Mantua
and Bologna, was the area most densely filled with estates formerly belonging to
Matilda of Canossa. After her death these lands passed into the hands of Henry
V for a short time.76 By contrast, no real principalities existed in the rest of
Lombardy, with the partial exception of the polity established by a branch of the
Gisalbertini counts, centred on the great castle of Crema; by the turn of the 1100s,
this polity was able to stand up to a politically precocious and aggressive city such
as Cremona. To a lesser degree, we must remember the extensive lordships in the
Alpine valleys controlled by the bishops of Bergamo and Brescia.77
East of Matilda’s lands there extended the great episcopal principality of
Ravenna. While weakened compared to its stage of maximum expansion, which
it had probably reached around 1070, in the 1120s this polity remained one of the
most important centres of power in the whole kingdom.78 Approximately between
1080 and 1110, the archbishops lost control over broad swathes of what are now
the provinces of Imola and especially Faenza and Ferrara, to the benefit of local
aristocratic or urban powers. Nevertheless, despite these losses, the area polit
ically controlled by the archbishops remained a vast one, which extended for
several dozen kilometres from the city, particularly towards the south. Cervia
and the whole territory of Cesena were firmly in the hands of the archbishops
of Ravenna, who had a dense network of vicecomites (viscounts) in the area;
not only that, but a number of major castles along the northern coastline of the
Marche, such as Montalboddo, Montecerro and Castelbaldo, were either wholly
or partly controlled by officials appointed by the archbishops.79 Moreover, the
prelates of Ravenna did not entirely lose their hold over the rural aristocracy, but
were capable of forcibly reasserting their superiority over certain rebel lords, such
as the counts of Imola, who were subjugated after a harsh military conflict in the
late eleventh century. In the areas closer to Ravenna, episcopal control over the
increasingly numerous holders of dominatus loci remained quite firm, notwith
standing certain difficulties.
74 We miss also a monographic study on the Pelavicino for this period; but see Collavini and
Varanini, ‘Pallavicino, Oberto I’.
75 Soliani, ‘Antichi signori’. 76 On this, see section 2.3.
77 See respectively Menant, ‘Les Gisalbertines’; De Angelis, ‘Esordi e caratteri’; Menant, Campagnes
lombardes, pp. 402–85.
78 Pallotti, Castelli e poteri, pp. 35–132; on the earlier period, see Fasoli, ‘Il dominio territoriale’.
79 Fiore, Signori e sudditi, pp. 137–9, 256.
Operating on a smaller, yet nonetheless significant scale, was a centre of princely

power in the hands of another branch of the Obertenghi dynasty: the Este.80 Their
domains, which were far more compact, were located between the Scodosia (south
of Padua) and the Polesine area near Rovigo, i.e. a little to the north of the bishops
of Ravenna’s domains. However, the capacity for political action of this major sei
gneurial centres was undermined by the serious conflict that broke out within the
Este household in the late 1090s between the son of Adalberto Azzo II (d. 1097)
and his first wife—Guelph, based in Germany—and his half-brothers, the Este.
With the support of powerful transalpine allies and of the patriarchs of Aquileia,
the former attempted to gain control of his father’s Italian estates, giving rise to a
long, uncertain and bloody war, which waged on for decades, with some peaceful
intervals. While this situation of conflict did not bring about the collapse of the
Este domain, it prevented it from becoming the centre of broader processes of
political regrouping on the regional level, at any rate in the period we are
investigating.
As regards the rest of the Veneto, it is difficult to speak of genuine principal
ities. Bishops such as those of Padua and Treviso, or comital families such as the
counts of Treviso and those of San Bonifacio in Verona, controlled significant yet
much smaller landed patrimonies.81 Further to the east lay a far more prominent
polity, the principality of the patriarchs of Aquileia, which in 1077—in compli
ance with the emperor’s will—incorporated the extensive county of Friuli.82 The
vast principality that emerged from this fusion included present-day Friuli and
Istria, and hence constituted one of the largest centres of power in the whole reg-
num. Compared to the other domains analysed so far, this polity was marked by a
considerable degree of compactness, but also—and especially—by a high degree
of continuity with Carolingian institutional and social structures. The defining
features of the Friuli area include continuity in the mode of exercise of public
power, the limited development of territorial lordship, the presence of an aristoc
racy based on large landed patrimonies (with estates often scattered across a wide
area), the survival of the mansus (the traditional peasant landholding), the imped
ance of communities of freemen, and the lack of significant forms of independ
ent political action on the part of urban communities.83 In this area too, in our
period, certain leading aristocratic families and churches developed territorial
forms of power. In the eastern part of the principality, for instance, the family of
transalpine origin that later came to be known as the counts of Gorizia were able
to establish a territorial domain of their own around the eponymous centre. This
was further extended over the course of the twelfth century, not least through the
80 On the Este, see Castagnetti, ‘Guelfi ed Estensi’.

81 For a general overview, see Castagnetti, ‘L’età precomunale’, pp. 28–81.
82 Cammarosano, ‘Patriarcato, Impero’.
83 For a rich overview, see Cammarosano (ed.), Il patriarcato di Aquileia; on the peculiarity of
socio-political structures in rural Friuli, see Cammarosano, ‘Strutture di insediamento’.
Civil Wars 21
family’s close relations with the patriarch, whom they supported.84 However, the
seigneurie never became a widespread phenomenon in Friuli, and most public
forms of power remained in the hands of the patriarch, who exercised it locally
through a close-knit web of gastalds and ministeriales.
Let’s now shift our gaze to central Italy, which presents a rather varied scenario,
at least from this perspective. The area most characterized by the presence of
territorial principalities is no doubt Tuscany, where the collapse of the march in
1081 paved the way for different projects of territorial recomposition by leading
political actors in the region. Among these in the north were the Cadolingi, counts
of Pistoia, whose power extended to the Arno Valley, between Florence and
Fucecchio, and the Elsa Valley, as well as the mountainous area on the border
with Bologna.85 This dynasty, however, become extinct when the count Uguccione
died, in 1113, without leaving any heirs. This led to a violent conflict between
different regional actors. It was the Guidi who profited the most from the collapse
of Cadolingian power. Although the Guidi owned significant estates in Tuscany,
up until this moment their heartland had lain beyond the Apennines, around
the castle of Modigliana, not far from Faenza.86 Through a strong alliance with
Matilda of Canossa, the Guidi were soon able to establish a vast principality, which
constituted a real match for the rising power of Florence up until the mid-twelfth
century. At a lower level we find the political project of the Alberti, who like the
Guidi were able to expand their presence in Tuscany starting from a power base
chiefly located north of the Apennines, in the Bologna area.87 These families of
counts, however, were not the only ones to pursue ambitious plans of territorial
reorganization. The bishops of Arezzo (at least up until 1130) and especially those
of Volterra were able to establish themselves as hegemonic powers within their
dioceses.88 Finally, in southern Tuscany, an area essentially devoid of real urban
centres, another lay dynasty rose to prominence, that of the Aldobrandeschi.
Starting from the traditional exercising of comital prerogatives, they succeeded in
expanding and consolidating their power by taking extremely aggressive action
against minor political actors, as witnessed by the well-known querimonia sub
mitted by the monks of the monastery of Monte Amiata in 1083.89
Outside Tuscany, we find a far more fragmented scenario. In northern Umbria
the only noteworthy attempt to establish a principality was carried out by the family
known as Marchiones, whose estates extended from the eastern Arezzo area to
the countryside around Gubbio, but were mostly concentrated in the territory of
84 Stih, I conti di Gorizia, pp. 15–52; see also Da Ottone III a Massimiliano I.
85 Pescaglini Monti, ‘I conti Cadolingi’; on their land in the mountains south of Bologna, see
Zagnoni, ‘I conti Cadolingi’.
86 On the Guidi and their rising, see the articles collected in La lunga storia di una dinastia.
87 Ceccarelli, ‘La fondazione di Semifonte’, pp. 213–22.
88 Su Arezzo, Delumeau, Arezzo, pp. 281–306. On Volterra see Paganelli, ‘Infra nostrum
episcopatum’.
89 Collavini, Honorabilis domus, pp. 109–74.
Città di Castello and in the northern stretch of the Perugia area.90 After an initial
stage in which this vast patrimony was divided between two branches of the
dynasty, following a violent family feud in the late eleventh century, dynastic pol
icies led to the recomposition of the domain, with the establishment of a genuine
territorial principality.91 In the rest of the region, it seems likely that what also
contributed to the creation of major political centres was the limited compactness
of local comital dynasties, which remained fragmented through the splitting of
patrimonies. While there existed a number of domains in the region, such as those
of the Monadi counts of Foligno and of the Rapizoni counts of Todi, none of these
was able to reach sufficient critical mass to give rise to more ambitious territorial
projects.92 Much the same can be said about the central and northern Marche,
even though the 1110s witnessed the rise of the Guarnerii margraves, genuine
Amtsmarkgrafen appointed by emperor who brought under their direct control
many castles between Senigallia and southern Fermo area, thereby becoming a
point of reference for local seigneurial elites.93 Immediately to the south laid two
bishoprics, those of Fermo and of Ascoli, which established themselves as hege
monic powers—despite some opposition—within their dioceses, giving rise to
rather robust principalities, very similar to the one established in Tuscany by the
bishops of Volterra.
As regards Latium, the situation is marked by an even greater degree of fragmen
tation. The dramatic crisis of pontifical power from the 1080s led to a complete
collapse of traditional public structure and to the proliferation of local forms of
power. The dearth of sources only provides a partial glimpse of the dynamics of
recomposition. However, it is clear that even the major lordship established around
Tusculum by the Tuscolani—the old ruling family in Rome—which almost cer
tainly constituted the most significant political centre in the region outside Rome
itself, was no match for leading principalities such as those of the Guidi, Malaspina
or Del Vasto.94
After this brief overview, it is worth pausing to consider the nature of territorial
principalities in the age under investigation. I have adopted this label to describe
large political centres whose rulers more or less directly controlled at least between
twenty and thirty castles or villages. In other words, I have adopted an essentially
quantitative criterion. In this regard, it is worth recalling that, generally speaking,
the use of this label in the historiography is reserved for political entities from the
second half of the twelfth century onwards, which display a more complex struc
ture and higher degree of maturity. Even the more extensive political centres to be
found before 1130 would appear to have been far less organized than later ones.
90 Tiberini, ‘I marchesi di Colle’. 91 For a more detailed analysis, see section 1.4.
92 Fiore, Signori e sudditi.
93 Fiore, Signori e sudditi, pp. 49–50, 113–16; Fiore, ‘Changing strategies’.
94 Wickham, Medieval Rome, pp. 42–52; and Wickham, ‘The origins of the signoria’.
Civil Wars 23
Still, it is undeniable that already by the early decades of the twelfth century
we catch a glimpse—if only an occasional one, given the greater patchiness of the
sources of certain elements that are regarded as defining features of genuine terri
torial principalities: the subordination of lesser aristocracy via bonds of fealty or
other symbolic forms of acknowledgement of political superiority (such as the
albergaria, hospitality right); the preservation of prerogatives related to military
affairs, taxation, and high justice in all the areas acknowledging their hegemony;
the establishment of networks of temporary officials for the management of those
castles under the direct control of the prince; and, finally, the control and redistri
bution of resources on a wide scale.
As regards the process of the subordination of lesser aristocracy through bonds
of fidelity, the case of Piedmont is particularly clear and noteworthy. After the
collapse of the march of Turin, the counts of Savoy and the Del Vasto seized areas
that were essentially foreign to them, and in which territorial lordships—often in
the hands of the old custodes of castles appointed by the margraves of Turin—
were spreading. Faced with this situation, the course of action adopted was often
a pragmatic one, based on the acknowledgement of the new authorities in
exchange for the fidelitas (fidelity) of local lords, according to a process of recip
rocal legitimation.95 On his part, in establishing a territorial domain, the bishop
of Fermo repeatedly adopted practices analogous to those associated with the so-
called ‘oblate fief ’ to subordinate lesser aristocracy.96 The acknowledgement of a
prince’s hegemony was not merely a formal gesture: it implied the acknowledgement
of concrete prerogatives over the areas controlled by local lords. For instance, in
1110 the counts of Ventimiglia, as ‘princes’, were appointed judges in the bitter
conflict between the men of San Romolo and the canons of the chapter of
Genoa, the holders of the local districtus (right of command).97 In the 1120s the
superior power of the Del Vasto and Pelavicino families compared to that
wielded by the minor lords active in the territories they controlled (or lay claim to)
partly occurred through the annual albergaria of seizable armed groups or, alter
natively, through the imposition of a tax in kind.98 As late as 1146 the Guidi, who
95 Provero, Dai marchesi del Vasto, pp. 125–64; and Sergi, Potere e territorio, pp. 120–31.
96 See for example Liber iurium, n. 65 (a. 1108), pp. 136–8; another reference in n. 83 (a. 1145), pp.
178–9. Other ‘medium’ lords (ruling 5–10 castles) made the same; see Le carte dell’archivio vescovile di
Ivrea, n. 3 (a. 1094), pp. 13–4; Le carte dell’archivio di S. Pietro di Perugia, I, n. 15 (a. 1130), pp. 68–70.
97 Il registro della curia arcivescovile di Genova, p. 442 (a. 1110); the count acted as judges in San
Romolo also fourteen yeas later; see Liber privilegiorum ecclesiae ianunesis, n. 9 (a. 1124), pp. 24–5.
98 At Serralunga d’Alba the monks of Fruttuaria were required to provide board and lodging for the
margraves’ military retinues once a year or, if they failed to do so, to pay a levy of fifteen modia of
wheat: see Sanna, Conduzione fondiaria, p. 151. On the albergariae imposed by the Pelavicino family
on minor territorial lords in the Piacenza area, see the evidence published in Documenti degli archivi
di Pavia, n. 54 (a. 1184), pp. 150–1; and n. 55 (a. 1184), pp. 161; in the 1110s even a well-established
authority with princely ambitions such as counts of the Canavese in Piedmont could impose (or seek
to impose) albergariae on minor lords in the area: see the 1114 document transcribed in Una cronaca
inedita, pp. 83–4. For a later example from the Marche, see Liber iurium, n. 51 (a. 1146), pp. 103–5.
had foregone their prerogatives over the residents of Moggiona, subject to the
abbey of Camaldoli, in 1098, nonetheless continued to exact an annual tribute of
forty solidi from them: a levy connected to the acknowledgement of the Guidi’s
political superiority.99
Equally significant is the evidence pertaining to the establishment of genuine
networks of princely officials. A document drafted in Fermo in the early decades
of the twelfth century shows that the fifteen-odd castles directly controlled by the
bishop of Fermo, which had not been granted in benefice to any local aristocrats,
were each governed by a viscount or a gastald. The latter, moreover, were expected
to make a series of periodical payments to their lord, so as to confirm the dele
gated nature of the power they exercised.100 Likewise, two documents drafted in
Piedmont in 1131 and 1137 clearly show that the rights enjoyed by the counts of
Savoy in the lower Susa Valley were effectively exercised through a network of
officials that included viscounts, castellans, gastalds, praepositi (stewards) and
clusarii (probably men in charge of tolls), but also simple custodes pratorum (war
dens of meadows).101 Along much the same lines, the texts from Farfa show that
already by the last decade of the eleventh century the great lords were not just
perfectly aware of the fact that it was better for them to maintain direct control
over their castles rather than grant them in benefice, but also that it was far more
expedient to entrust men of humble rank with guardianship duties than high-
ranking individuals, as the former were easier for the lord to control.102
We also have some interesting evidence concerning the control and redistribu
tion of economic resources. Around 1130, to cater for the great celebrations for
the consecration of their family monastery of Rosarno, near Florence, the Guidi
counts ordered wheat from as far as Modigliana, in Romagna, which was located
roughly 70km away. This major castle, probably the most important centre in the
Guidi’s domain at the time, was therefore a hub for the accumulation and redistri
bution of resources, including agricultural resources, on a very wide scale, within
99 Documenti per la storia dei conti Guidi, n. 99 (a. 1098), pp. 147–8; and n. 191 (a. 1146), pp.
258–9; see Collavini, ‘Le basi economiche’.
100 Liber iurium, n. 30 (a. 1178 c. but aa. 1112–27 c.), pp. 53–5. The editor has dated this text to
around 1178 (when Fermo was destroyed). However, a much earlier date is suggested by the fact that
the document—which was no doubt intended to be exhaustive—makes no mention of the officials in
charge of several castles (e.g. Montesanto) directly governed by the local bishops, as attested by
unbroken evidence from the late 1130s onwards. In my opinion, the deed was drafted some time
between 1112 and 1127. As regards the terminus post quem, this is set by the absence from the list of
the vicecomites of the major episcopal castle of Agello, which that year was given in emphyteutic lease
to the (imperial) margraves, the Guarnerii. Between the 1080s and 1112, Agello was governed by epis
copal viscounts: see Liber iurium, n. 43 (a. 1086), pp. 78–80. The term ante quem is instead based on
the absence from the list of the viscount or gastald of the episcopal castle of Montesanto, erected in
1128, and later brought under the direct control of the bishops of Fermo via his officials: see Liber
iurium, n. 108 (a. 1128), pp. 231–3.
101 Cartario della abazia di S. Solutore, n. 29 (a. 1131), p. 52; Documenti inediti e sparsi sulla storia
di Torino, n. 11 (a. 1137), p. 10; a discussion of these texts in Sergi, Potere e territorio, pp. 126–7.
Civil Wars 25
the area under the political control of this dynasty of counts. This clearly also
shows the capacity of the princely authorities to control economic resources.103
Indeed, it might be hypothesized that the almost complete disappearance of silos
for the stocking of grain in Tuscany from the late eleventh century onwards—as
clearly attested by the archaeological record—and the increasingly frequent refer
ences in the written sources to wooden ‘arks’ (movable containers) is associated
with these processes of concentration of agricultural resources in major seigneur
ial centres, including both principalities and territorial lordships. The reason for
this is that the centres in question were easier to defend and were more directly
controlled by their lord.104 In this respect, it is interesting to note the presence of
new, large silos as late as the early twelfth century in the ‘capital’ of a principality,
Tusculum. These silos were located in the area most closely controlled by the lords:
an element, also attested elsewhere, which might be taken to suggest that these
structures were concentrated in the ‘central places’ of lords, precisely in view of
the centralized accumulation and redistribution of the resources produced within
the framework of major domains.105
These combined processes made principalities something different from and
more complex than a mere sum of individual seigneurial centres developed around
castles. The structure of the lords’ power was probably weaker than the one which
emerged later on; the mechanisms of accountability we first encounter around
year 1200 were still missing; and the modes of enlisting the minor aristocracy
were less cogent than those developed in later decades. Nonetheless, already by the
early twelfth century princes were experimenting with ways of rationally man
aging their estates from a political and economic standpoint.
As we have seen, only families from the lay high aristocracy, who already held
public rights, and bishops were able to establish genuine principalities. The moment
in which a crisis emerged and the old order broke down, those actors who were
already exercising seigneurial powers and controlling extensive and compact
stretches of the countryside obviously found themselves in an advantageous pos
ition to become leaders in the process of recomposition of the political structures.
However, it is worth noting that not all the great families of counts and margraves—
or all bishops, even—were able to exploit to the same degree the opportunities
provided by the crisis, which no doubt constituted a drastic moment for the selec
tion of political actors. Finally, monastic lordships represent an altogether differ
ent case, as they essentially proved incapable of establishing genuine principalities.
103 I più antichi documenti del monastero di S. Maria di Rosano, Depositiones in lite (a. 1203), pp.
242–86, esp. p. 267.
104 On this see Collavini, ‘Le basi economiche e materiali’. On the disappearance of silos and the
increasing documentary references to ‘arks’, see Collavini, ‘Luoghi e contenitori’.
105 See Beolchini, Delogu, ‘La nobiltà romana altomedievale’, p. 160; Beolchini, Tusculum II, pp.
374–5. There is archaeological evidence, at the middle of twelfth century, of another great silo in a
princely ‘central place’, Poggibonsi, in central Tuscany, ruled by the Guidi; on this Francovich and
Valenti (eds.), Poggio imperiale, pp. 136–7.
Nevertheless, up until 1130 certain abbeys, particularly in central Italy, such as

Farfa, Subiaco, Ferentillo and San Dalmazzo di Pedona, succeeded in develop
ing ‘medium’ lordships (5–10 castles), or in the case of Farfa, two.106 For most
monasteries, which often owned considerable patrimonies, with extensive estates
in particular areas, the civil war stage marked a dramatic patrimonial crisis, which
played into the hands of lay aristocrats (often the concessionaires themselves) as
well as bishops. The Langhe region in southern Piedmont offers a good example
of this trend. In the early decades of the eleventh century, the monasteries of
Breme/Novalesa and Fruttuaria owned over fifteen castles and curtes (estates) in
the area;107 by the mid-twelfth century, the abbey of Breme owned merely two
settlements, Pollenzo and San Giorgio, whereas Fruttuaria only controlled the
castle of Serralunga, which actually fell under the jurisdiction of the Del Vasto
family. By this date, the lands of the monastery had fallen squarely into the hands
of local families—at least partly descending from monastic fideles—or of the
bishop of Alba.108
The great monasteries essentially failed in their attempt to convert their vast
patrimonies into ‘princely’ cores of seigneurial power, something which Fulda and
Saint Gall were instead able to achieve north of the Alps.109 One possible explan
ation for this failure is the loss of royal patronage in the turbulent period of civil
war. The monasteries had largely developed as the centres of rural political entities
through their symbiotic relationship with the public authorities. The collapse of
the latter brought about a drastic and difficult process of reorganization, which
is particularly evident in the rich sources pertaining to Farfa. The sources from
Farfa and the Subiaco Chronicon clearly show that most aristocratic beneficial
holders of monastic castra, especially those located far from the heart of monastic
domains, took advantage of the political crisis to sever any links with the abbots,
exploiting their local power to establish themselves as full owner.110 When this
106 On the territorial lordship of the abbey of Ferentillo, see Orazi, L’abbazia di Ferentillo; on the
lordship of the abbots of San Dalmazzo in the Gesso Valley, and in the low Vermenagna Valley, see
Marro, ‘Valdieri, Andonno’. The territorial lordship of Farfa was strucured, by 1100, in two different
territorial blocks; one centered on the abbey of Farfa, in Latium, and the other around Offida, in the
southern Marche; on the latter, see Laudadio, ‘Farfa e le autonomie locali’; we miss a monographic
study on the former, but we can use Stroll, The Medieval Abbey, pp. 157–231; and Wickham, ‘The origins
of the signoria’. On the lordship of Subiaco, see Toubert, Les structures du Latium, passim.
107 On the many possessions of Fruttuaria in this area (among which the curtes scilicet castella,
estates or castles, of Serralunga, Borgomale, Barbaresco, Colombero, and Montorsino) a good snap
shot in the imperial grant of 1014, Diplomata Henrici II, n. 302 (a. 1014), p. 381; for a detailed analysis
of Fruttuaria’s lands, see Sanna, Conduzione fondiaria, pp. 61–99; e Lucioni, Presenze fruttuariensi. On
the acquisition of the castles of Verduno and Roddi by the abbey of Breme/Novalesa, see La Cronaca
di Novalesa, pp. 290–2; on Pollenzo, pp. 290–3; the ownership of these castles, and of other lands
and rights (fishing rights, tolls, port dues on Tanaro River) were confirmed by Henry III in 1048, in a
diploma: Diplomata Henrici III, n. 214 (a. 1048), pp. 285–7.
108 For an overview of the political setup near Alba around year 1150, see Albesano, ‘La costruzione
politica’, pp. 90–100.
109 Franke, Studien zur Geschichte der Fuldaer Äbte; Robinson, Die Fürstabtei St. Gallen, pp. 6–25.
110 Chronicon sublacense, pp. 12–18; Chronicon farfense, II, pp. 205–34.
Civil Wars 27
occurred in areas close to seigneurial centres governed by monks, the latter

sometimes reacted by taking up arms in an effort to forcibly regain control of the
usurped estates. This was the case with the energetic abbot of Subiaco Giovanni,
who engaged in prolonged and exhausting wars against his rebellious fideles.
When the same process occurred in more peripheral areas, the monasteries—by
now deprived of the royal support they had traditionally enjoyed—simply lacked
any means to react and could do nothing but passively look on.
While the monasteries failed in their attempt to establish themselves as centres
of political recomposition, this was not the case with urban communities, which
in this period clearly started emerging as autonomous political actors. We will be
examining these complex dynamics in greater detail in Chapter 5, to which I will
refer for a more in-depth discussion. Here I only wish to note that up until the
1120s even urban communities—with some significant exceptions—had rather
limited success. Only a dozen or so large centres (such as Milan, Pavia, Pisa
and Genoa) were able to establish extensive domains early on—often overlapping
with the old comital districts—by imposing their hegemony over minor political
centres.111 Most urban communities instead only succeeded in controlling far
more limited areas, usually within a dozen kilometres from the urban walls (but
more often less than that), in some case also gaining control of a few isolated rural
centres located further away.112 Moreover, as late as the end of the 1120s many
cities, especially in central Italy, lacked any genuine political autonomy and were
variously governed by the bishops (Treviso, Volterra, Fermo) or, more rarely, by lay
lords (Ventimiglia, Verona, Palestrina). In other words, the situation was rather
different from the one which Frederick Barbarossa was to face only a few decades
later, in the mid-twelfth century.113 With the exception of present-day Lombardy,
the territories in which the nascent principalities exercised their hegemony were
markedly superior to those governed by urban communities; in some cases, such
as Tuscany, the situation was a balanced one. Indeed, while the process that was
eventually to lead urban communes to dominate the rural political landscape was
already well underway, at least in certain areas, its outcomes still seemed far from
inevitable or certain.
1.4 On the apparent irrationality of dynastic strategies:

political plans and family tensions
Before bringing this section on processes of political fragmentation and recom

position to a close, I wish to take a brief detour and examine a topic that was only
111 On Pisa, Ronzani, Chiesa e civitas; on Genoa, Bordone, ‘Le origini del comune’.
112 For a more detailed discussion, see section 5.1.
113 See section 5.1; for the situation at middle of twelfth century, see Otto and Rahewinus, Gesta
Friderici, II, 13, p. 116.
mentioned in the previous pages, namely the relation between family planning
strategies and political plans. This relation is of crucial importance to the success
or failure of the nascent princely projects involving many aristocratic families
in this period. Besides, it must be noted that similar considerations apply, if on a
smaller scale, to a much broader range of territorial lordships. As already noted,
the success of these political projects would appear to be closely connected to the
capacity of a kinship group to keep its patrimony undivided and to entrust it to a
single heir each generation. After all, the potential of a princely polity that could
rely on twenty castles or so was very different from that of three ‘medium’ lordships,
each controlling half a dozen castles. The former could aspire to become the cata
lyst for a process of territorial aggregation in a rather extensive area, while the
latter could not, given that they lacked the critical mass required.114
It is important to stress that these patrimonial outcomes were not always due
to mere biological chance, but resulted from conscious family planning choices.
As is well known, one of the features of the Italian aristocracy of the early and
high middle ages was the presence of succession rules based on (at least theoretic
ally) equal division among male heirs. Obviously, this implied a constant threat to
the management of family patrimonies, which at every new generation were likely
to be split. The high birthrate and low infant mortality rates compared to lower
classes often led to the presence of three or more adult male heirs at the time
of death of a lord: a situation that within a few generations could bring about a
considerable degree of fragmentation of a family’s patrimony. In the face of
these trends, from early on the Italian aristocracy adopted a number of solutions
designed to minimize the risk of patrimonial fragmentation and dispersion.
Over the last few decades these technique have been the object of more or less
specific reflections, from Cinzio Violante’s studies to the more recent contribu
tion by Sandro Carocci.115 As regards the period at the turn of the twelfth century,
this appears to be dominated by an at least partial attempt to limit the prolifer
ation of family branches, by promoting the reproduction of firstborns alone (or at
any rate of just one male heir), as attested by the cases of the Guidi, Aldobrandeschi,
Monferrato and Biandrate comital (or margravial) families.116 While the need to
limit patrimonial dispersion had already been felt in earlier years, it became even
stronger in a period in which large landed patrimonies were being converted into
polities, opening up new and turbulent fields of action. This strategy was required
in order to fully exploit the political potential offered by control over a large num
ber of castles and villages. Of course, it also posed certain risks, which are quite
evident in the case of the Cadolingi, one of the leading aristocratic dynasties in
Tuscany, in the early twelfth century. The family had four male brothers who had
114 On this topic, an important discussion in Collavini, ‘I signori rurali in Italia’.

115 Violante, ‘Alcune caratteristiche’; Carocci, ‘Genealogie nobiliari’.
116 Collavini, Honorabilis domus, pp. 81–8.
Civil Wars 29
reached adulthood; of these, three were unmarried and were evidently juniors,
while the fourth brother, Uguccione, would appear to have been married and was
clearly destined to become the leader of the dynasty. However, all the junior sons
died prematurely and the eldest brother’s marital union proved barren. From a
political standpoint, the outcome was disastrous, as it led—partly in accordance
with the count’s testamentary dispositions—to the dismemberment of the dynas
ty’s patrimony and to the outbreak of a violent war between aristocratic families
and the episcopal authorities over control of the Cadolingian inheritance.117
A variation of this strategy of patrimonial management that was adopted, albeit
infrequently, in order to minimize these risks was to allow some junior sons (but
not all) to start their own lineage. However, based on specific agreements within
the kinship group, the junior sons in question would only be assigned a very small
share of the family patrimony. This was the case, for instance, with the Arduinic
branch of the margraves of Romagnano, as well as with different branches within
the Aleramic kinship group.118
Another course of action, adopted only by a minority of families, was to pre
serve the existing patrimony, while dividing it into shares owned by the heirs,
who would manage it as a consortium. However, as illustrated by the example of
the Del Vasto family and, on a smaller scale, by that of the Gisalbertini of Bergamo
and Rapizoni of Todi (in Umbria), this solution presented considerable difficul
ties in terms of management, particularly as power became increasingly territor
ialized. Within a more or less short time, it was likely to translate into an actual
division of a family’s territory among its various branches.119 It is no coincidence
that, in the period under consideration, the descendent of some major margravial
dynasties that had many branches, such as the Obertenghi and Aleramici, instead
resorted to various agreements and transactions within their own kinship group
in order to rationalize their patrimony, by eliminating or limiting as far as pos
sible the more or less numerous estates that were owned in indiviso (undivided),
so as to clearly lay out which area belonged to which family.120
The tendency towards first-born inheritance—de facto, if not de iure—was
widespread yet not universal. Even families who tended to systematically adopt
such practice could make exceptions now and then, thereby splitting their patri
mony, as was for instance the case with the Aleramic lord Bonifacio Del Vasto or
117 Pescaglini Monti, ‘I conti Cadolingi’.

118 Tarpino, ‘I marchesi di Romagnano’; Provero, Dai marchesi del Vasto, pp. 77–85.
119 On the Gisalbertini, see Menant, ‘Les Giselbertines’; on the Rapizoni, see Fiore, ‘Strategie dinas
tiche’, in which I discuss this issue more in depth.
120 Nobili, ‘L’evoluzione delle dominazioni’; at the beginning of twelfth century Malaspina and
Pelavicino made several mutual exchanges of castles in the Po Valley and in the mountains south of
Parma and Piacenza, to compact and rationalize their territorial lordships; on these swaps, see
Documenti degli archivi di Pavia, n. 55 (a. 1184), pp. 161; for a reference to other swaps between differ
ent branch of the Obertenghi kin-group, see Il regesto del codice Pelavicino, n. 50 (a. 1124), pp. 72–8.
On Monferrato and Del Vasto, see Provero, Dai marchesi del Vasto, pp. 77–85.
with the Obertenghi margraves of Massa-Corsica in the 1130s.121 While first-born

inheritance was the predominant practice, the law called for an equal division of
the inheritance; hence, it was easy to contravene the rules adopted by a family and
split a patrimony among all those legally entitled to it. The irrationality of these
choices, always a prelude to the weakening of a dynasty’s power, is all too evident.
Even a single exception to the usual mode of regulation could have fatal conse
quences for a family’s political future, by significantly reducing its scope for action.
Having ascertained this much, we must now examine the at least apparent irration
ality of these exceptions, given that the consequences of such choices could hardly
be ignored by witnesses at the time, less still by those actually responsible for them.
I will therefore focus my attention on a couple of specific cases that will allow us to
more concretely investigate the limits of these organizational strategies, and in
particular the emergence of marked tensions between individual aspirations and
family choices.122 I trust that this operation will help us to better contextualize and
understand the inconsistencies that emerge from an analysis of the behaviour of
aristocratic dynasties. By closely examining these dynamics it will also be possible
to grasp one of the reasons for the relative rarity of territorial principalities in the
Italian context, at any rate considering the potential associated with large landed
patrimonies in the first half of the eleventh century.123
The dramatic irreconcilability between individual aspirations and choices
motivated by family interests clearly emerges in the case of Rainerio, a member of
the family of Marchiones descending from the margrave of Tuscany Rainerio (I).
The latter controlled a vast complex of estates between eastern Tuscany and
north-western Umbria, where in the last decades of the eleventh century the fam
ily started acquiring explicitly seigneurial powers.124 From the late tenth century
onwards the Marchiones adopted a very strict family policy, avoiding any form of
patrimonial fragmentation, at any rate up until the death of margrave Ugo in the
late 1050s. Ugo’s brothers (Gerardo and Sassone), for instance, were almost cer
tainly forced to emigrate to pontifical Latium, where they established themselves
around 1040, foregoing their rights over the family inheritance.125 The margrave
died leaving three male sons, who in all likelihood had just reached adulthood:
Rainerio, Enrico, and Ugo. The last of these died shortly afterwards, probably
before marrying and certainly before siring any children. In 1067 Rainerio (II)
would appear to have recently wed one comitissa Guilla, as suggested by a letter
121 On the Del Vasto, see below; on the division in three parts of the patrimony of the margraves of
Massa-Corsica, after a long period of undivided management, see Nobili, ‘Le signorie territoriali’.
122 On this issue the reference is Bizzocchi, In famiglia.
123 On untapped political potential of many lordships (with a focus on central Italy), see Collavini,
‘I signori rurali in Italia’.
124 On this family the best work is Tiberini, ‘Origini e radicamento’. I will however propose a differ
ent reconstruction of the events about the sons of Ugo, not effectively explained by Tiberini. Where
not otherwise specified I will however refer to this article.
125 Wickham, Medieval Rome, pp. 216–18.
Civil Wars 31
this woman received from Pier Damiani;126 shortly afterwards it seems as though
a son was born to the couple who bore the same name as his father and who by
1090 was a married adult. Probably in the same year Rainerio’s brother Enrico
married; in 1078 his sons were still minors, while by 1084 the eldest had reached
adulthood and married.127 We do not know for sure which of the margrave’s sons
was destined to become the leader of the dynasty. However, judging from the use
of the family names Rainerio and Ugo, it is plausible that the eldest son was one of
these two. Indeed, it is quite possible that the eldest son was Ugo and that only his
untimely death cut his leadership of the dynasty short. Significantly, both the
brothers who outlived Ugo married and remained in the area where the family
was rooted: an action that went directly against the long-standing traditions of
this dynasty. The two brothers, moreover, chose to split the patrimony rather than
jointly manage it. The creation of two new families, therefore, went hand in hand
with a division of the inheritance. However, this process was fraught with ten
sions: it is likely that the elder brother (probably Rainerio) felt somewhat cheated
of his right to family leadership by his brother’s choice. Not only that, but his
occurred in a context in which there were no members of the previous generation
of the family who could act as intermediaries, since they were all either dead (the
father, the mother, and the paternal aunt) or far away (the paternal uncles).
Such tensions had a dramatic outcome: Rainerio killed his brother Enrico with
his own hands.128 The exact circumstances of this murder are unknown, but it
must have occurred in 1074 or a few years before. The fact that Rainerio not
merely instigated the murder but carried it out in person is unambiguously stated
in the available sources.129 What we do not know is whether the murder was
planned or merely an impulsive act. Certainly, Rainerio’s later actions clearly
reveal the connection between the murder and patrimonial relations within the
family. As punishment for the margrave’s crime, a heavy penance was imposed on
him by the Church, which included abstention from sexual intercourse. However,
after an initial and short-lived stage in which Rainerio would seem to have pas
sively accepted his punishment, perhaps simply in an attempt to calm things down
after the misdeed, the margrave, who had become a widower, chose to infringe
his obligations and marry a new wife.130 The prospects of securing a future for his
lineage, now that he was a widower with only one male son, must have seemed
126 Pier Damiani, Die Briefe, I, n. 143 (a. 1066), pp. 522–4. This letter is imbued with the hatred of
Roman pro-reform party towards the Marchiones; see D’Acunto, I laici nella chiesa, pp. 332–7.
127 This division, occurred when the two brothers were alive, is mentioned in Documenti per la
storia di Arezzo, I, n. 230 (a. 1079), p. 321.
128 Register Gregors VII., II, n. 48 (a. 1075), pp. 188. This text (written in January) mentions the
murder and the penitence inflicted to Rainerio, and also his decision to take a new wife; it’s plausible
that the murder took place at least six months before. The werra with the sister-in-law is not men
tioned in this text, therefore it began later.
129 Register Gregors VII., V, n. 14a (a. 1078), p. 371 (manum suum).
130 Register Gregors VII, II, n. 48 (a. 1075), p. 188.
too slim to him. That of Rainerio was a genuine challenge, but his subsequent
actions show even more clearly what family and patrimonial tensions lay behind
the murder. Rainerio embarked on a genuine war against his sister-in-law, the
guardian of his nephews, who were still minors at the time. First he attempted to
seize her castles and estates. Then he attempted to use his position as the only
adult male in the family to gain control over his father’s patrimony as a whole,
ousting the other heirs, who were still minors. The attempt was not entirely suc
cessful and Rainerio had to agree to sharing the patrimony with his sister-in-law
and nephews.131
What is also interesting is the reaction to this unquestionably problematic
event within the margrave’s social milieu. Rainerio’s actions earned him the enmity
of Gregory VII and the bishops loyal to him, who already showed a certain mis
trust towards the kinship group as a whole. By contrast, the Imperial party was
quite willing to accept the margrave within its ranks. A few years after the murder,
Rainerio, who had consolidated his position at the local level, was appointed
duke of Spoleto by the emperor. He proved himself to be a worthy collaborator of
Henry IV and he is mentioned among other witnesses in imperial charters.
Rainerio also supported the sovereign in his military enterprises, although he was
prevented from reaping the benefits of this leading political role from his untimely
death for natural causes in 1085.132 The fact that Rainerio had murdered his
brother with his own hands and had sought to disinherit the latter’s sons while
they were still in their infancy did not lead to his marginalization with respect to
his aristocratic group, which evidently was willing to tolerate—or even justify—
such behaviour. However, the cold hand of fate scotched Rainerio’s dynastic plans:
his second wedding, if it was ever celebrated at all, proved barren, while his only
male son, who bore the same name as his father, died at the turn of the twelfth
century leaving no direct heirs. This enabled the reunification of the family patri
mony at the hands of margrave Ugo (one of Enrico’s two sons) and the establish
ment of a genuine territorial principality in northern Umbria, which was to
survive until the early thirteenth century.133
Whereas Rainerio’s case is one of conflict between brothers, that of Bonifacio
Del Vasto concerns the dynamics between parents and their offspring. Bonifacio
belonged to one of the main branches of the great Aleramic dynasty of margraves,
active in the area between western Liguria and southern Piedmont since the tenth
century. He was one of the five sons of Tete (or Ottone, dead in 1063 c.) to have
reached adulthood—possibly the second-born. In all likelihood, the eldest was
131 Register Gregors VII, V, n. 14a (a. 1078), p. 371.

132 On his political activity and his relationship with Henry IV, see Fiore, Signori e sudditi, pp. 48–9.
On his death, Bernold of Konstanz, Chronicon, pp. 453–4, which contains also a harsh opinion on him
by a supporter of Roman pro-reform party; on the hostility of this group towards the family, see also
Pier Damiani, Die Briefe, n. 143 (a. 1066), pp. 522–4.
133 On this first phase of the history of the family, see Tiberini, ‘I marchesi di Colle’.
Civil Wars 33
Anselm, the only son who would appear to have been married by the late 1070s,
and who had sired one son and one or more daughters. Evidently, he was destined
to become the head of the family, according to dynamics that had already become
well-established in the previous generations.134 However, both Anselmo and
Manfredo died within a short time from one another (or even on the same occa
sion perhaps), while engaging in armed conflict.135 Bonifacio, therefore, found
himself suddenly propelled from the role of junior son to head of the family. The
first action he took is highly revealing: he married the widow of his dead brother,
despite prohibition from the Church.136 He thereby asserted himself as the new
leader of the kinship group and confirmed the bonds of allegiance with the bride’s
family, which were clearly of crucial importance in this period of armed conflict
with other polities. The immediately following years witnessed the consolidation
of Bonifacio’s role, who became one of the key players on the regional political
stage. Even the marriage with his sister-in-law proved fruitful, despite the problems
it caused with the ecclesiastical authorities. Of the children born from this marital
union, however, only one male, named after his father (the future Bonifacio of
Incisa) and one female, reached adulthood. Bonifacio’s nephews, the sons of his
deceased brother, were removed from the subalpine area, so as to avoid any com
petition in the future, through prestigious marriages within the Norman court in
Palermo.137
Meanwhile, following the death of Bonifacio’s aunt Adelaide of Turin (1091), a
military conflict broke out in Piedmont over her inheritance. The margrave was
one of the main claimants, on account of his relation to Adelaide, the material
resources at his disposal, and his political ties. He plunged headlong into the fray.
In the same years, Bonifacio’s wedding came to an end; the margrave either divorced
his wife (as Piedmontese scholars have argued on the basis of rather late sources),
possibly yielding to ecclesiastical pressure, or was made a widower. What we
know for sure is that he immediately chose to remarry, in this case with Agnes,
the daughter of the count of Vermandois, one of the leading representatives of the
northern French aristocracy.138 The choice to remarry was possibly also motiv
ated by the margrave’s awareness that he did not have enough male heirs to secure
the future of his lineage (as his own family history suggested). The marriage
proved a very prolific one and produced a large brood of males. The first-born,
Manfredo, had reached adulthood by the early 1120s. Shortly after 1100 Bonifacio
(later to be known as Bonifacio of Incisa), the first-born son from the margrave’s
first marriage and a young man at the time, joined his father in military oper
ations in central and southern Piedmont. It was within this context of warfare
134 Provero, Dai marchesi del Vasto, pp. 81–7.

135 Register Gregors VII., VII, n. 9 (a. 1079), pp. 470–1.
136 Register Gregors VII., VII, n. 9 (a. 1079), pp. 470–1.
137 Goffredo Malaterra, De rebus gestis Rogerii, p. 93; see also Bresc, ‘Gli Aleramici in Sicilia’.
138 Provero, Dai marchesi del Vasto, p. 87.
that he hatched his plan for betrayal. As Bonifacio Del Vasto himself recalls in the
testament he drew up in 1125, the young man betrayed his father and handed
him over to his ‘mortal enemies’, along with some important castles with which
he had been entrusted.139 The margrave was only set free after prolonged negoti
ations and finally succeeded in establishing himself as the dominant lord across
much of southern Piedmont.
The reasons for this betrayal are not explicitly stated, but the content of the
testament and the later events allow us to formulate a well-founded hypothesis.
The 1125 testamentary disposition called for the equal division of Bonifacio’s patri
mony among his numerous male sons; Bonifacio of Incisa alone was excluded,
precisely on account of his past betrayal.140 It was only thanks to his mother’s
estates that his descendants were able to establish an independent centre of power
around Incisa, after making peace with their cousins.141 Moreover, it seems as
though in the following years all of the other sons of Bonifacio Del Vasto were
married and had children: they became the forebears of some of the leading aris
tocratic households in the area, such as the margraves of Saluzzo and the Del
Carretto family. In other words, the exclusion of the treacherous son did not lead
to the choice of privileged heir from among the sons from Bonifacio’s second
marriage, who would reunite his father’s patrimony, as had usually been the case
with the Aleramici. Rather, the choice was made to equally divide the inheritance.
Possibly this decision by the margrave was also influenced by his own experience
of being a junior son: Bonifacio may have wished to spare his sons the same fate.
Of course, we do not know whether this egalitarian attitude to his sons was already
manifest at the time of Bonifacio of Incisa’s betrayal. However, precisely in view of
the latter’s choice, it must have been quite clear by then that someone other than
him was intended to become the leader of the family. Certainly, Bonifacio del
Vasto’s second wife—the daughter of one of the most prominent noble families
from across the Alps—must have been unwilling to accept the prospect that her
stepson would become the head of the family, thereby forcing her own sons to
play a secondary role and depriving them of the possibility of establishing lin
eages of their own. If this hypothesis is correct, it is possible to view Bonifacio of
Incisa’s betrayal as a radical, if ultimately counter-productive, act of protest by
someone who felt he had been cheated of his rights over his father’s inheritance,
to the benefit of his half-brothers; someone who refused to be merely ‘one’ of the
heirs as opposed to ‘the sole’ heir. Be that as it may, it is significant that even in a
situation of this sort Bonifacio of Incisa avoided the stain of parricide by merely
handing over his father to the enemy.
139 The betrayal is narrated in the testament of Bonifacio del Vasto, written in 1125; it’s edited in
Manuel De San Quintino, Osservazioni critiche, p. 99.
140 Manuel De San Quintino, Osservazioni critiche, p. 99.
141 On the origins of the margraves of Incisa, see Albenga, Il Marchesato d’Incisa, pp. 4–22.
Civil Wars 35
The whole episode also shows, for once, the complex tangle of relations, feelings
of affection and personal events that might lie behind a father’s choice to trans
gress established family traditions and to effectively divide his inheritance: a
choice that was destined to have weighty consequences for the political future of
Piedmont and western Liguria. Whereas in the following decades a united princi
pality might have constituted the centre for a wide-scale process of political
aggregation—notwithstanding the difficulties connected to its government—the
polities that emerged from its partition, such as those in the hands of the Saluzzo
and Del Carretto families, had far more limited political horizons. Another branch
of the Aleramic kinship group, the Monferrato family, strictly kept to the prin
ciple of first-born inheritance. Because of this, although around 1100 it enjoyed
far more limited political power compared to Bonifacio, within a few decades it
was able to establish a more successful principality than the heirs of the margrave
Del Vasto.142
We must not take these cases as exemplary ones, although other more or less
similar cases are to be found.143 Rather, the value of these cases lies in the fact that
provide a glimpse of certain difficulties associated with the adoption of ‘rational’
family policies, which is to say ones designed to ensure the undivided transmis
sion of a patrimony. These policies required a considerable degree of discipline
among the members of a family, who had to be willing to sacrifice their own per
sonal aspirations for their dynasty’s sake. Junior sons were expected to choose
celibacy or have barren marriages, and hence to forgo any progeny. Fathers were
expected to favour one son over the others. The cases of Bonifacio and Rainerio
effectively illustrate the marked tensions that such practices engendered in the
mutual relations between family members. The price to pay in terms of personal
aspirations, ties of affection and relations within a family were evidently perceived
by those involved as being too high, at least sometimes; this led to deeply dys
functional choices, at any rate from a dynastic perspective. A man’s aspiration to
be something more than a junior son and to start a lineage of his own; the broken
expectations of those who felt they were destined to become the leaders of their
family; the affection of a father who did not wish to favour one son over the others,
with the risk of triggering a war between his heirs: these (and others still) were
the reasons behind many—if not all—of those acts of patrimonial fragmentation
which strike us as irrational and deeply dysfunctional from a political perspec
tive. Moreover, all these tensions were strengthened by the fact that in principle
142 Banfo, ‘Da Aleramo a Guglielmo’.

143 These issues are discussed in depth in Fiore, ‘Strategie dinastiche’; I would mention here only
the armed conflict between the margrave Oberto Pelavicino and his son Dalfino (almost certainly a
junior son). The son injured Oberto, and in another occasion tried to take him prisoner, allying with
the bishop of Parma, responsible of the killing in battle of his own brother Tancredi; all these events
are remembered (with bitterness) by Oberto in his treaty of alliance with Piacenza; see Il Registrum
Magnum, n. 150 (a. 1145), pp. 310–13.
(yet not in practice) the law supported the equal division of inheritances: for this
reason, the option of first-born inheritance required a strong sense of discipline
on the part of all the actors involved. However, these choices, which can be
regarded as motivated more by affection and personal aspiration than by lucid
political-patrimonial considerations, had very significant consequences. They led
to the fragmentation of different centres of power that could have become the
kernels of future territorial principalities, thereby paving the way for the dominant
role which urban communes were to play in the process of political recomposition
in the late twelfth century.
In this chapter I have chosen to adopt a ‘bottom-down’ approach to the problem
of the political redefinition of the political context in the Italian countryside of
the years under consideration, by focusing on the nature of the projects pursued
by aristocratic actors and on their transformation. What has emerged is a context
marked by profound changes, by a high degree of instability, and by fluid balances.
A period of maximum fragmentation, probably to be identified with that between
the mid-1080s and the mid-1090s, was followed by a series of attempts at territorial
recomposition carried out by a wide range of actors in a conflictual fashion and
with outcomes that varied from case to case. While many of the social actors
involved were traditional figures (margraves, counts, and b ishops), the framework
in which they acted was a radically new one. With some exceptions, their political
plans were generally independent of the old balances and rested on new, more
dynamic and fluid, foundations. Before narrowing down the focus of our analysis
and observing the concrete repercussions of the crisis on local power balances
and the actual modes in which power was exercised, it is necessary to address a
problem that has at least partly been overlooked in the recent historiography:
the specific role played by the empire with respect to the political crisis, and in
particular the short- and long-term consequences of the policies promoted by the
last Salian rulers in Italy.
2
Imperial Power
Crisis and Transformation
Before we set out to examine strictly local dynamics, I believe it is important to

analyse in greater detail the role of imperial power within the context of political
crisis and fragmentation. In the previous pages I repeatedly referred to the actions
of Henry IV and his son, Henry V, yet without ever attempting to outline their
political action within the kingdom of Italy.1 The present chapter is designed to
fill this gap. Imperial policies, like the responses to them on the part of local forces,
constitute a genuine litmus test to more clearly identify the transformations
affecting political balances in Italy. It is not always easy to grasp the aspirations
and plans of the kings/emperors, who were constantly facing political challenges,
emergencies, and revolts. Nonetheless, it is possible to identify certain lines of
conduct—marked by a significant degree of discontinuity compared to the past—
which show that the emperors were not merely interested in restoring the lost order,
but were seeking innovative solutions to deal with the new political balances in
the kingdom. Royal power should not be seen simply as a victim of the political
crisis that broke out in the late eleventh century, by adopting an interpretation
distorted by a teleological perspective; rather, it is necessary to assign this power a
leading role on the Italian political stage.
This troubled stage was perceived by the imperial authorities not just as a
threat to themselves and to their traditional supremacy, but also as an opportun
ity to break free from the bonds of the old political system, so as to attain new and
direct access to the kingdom of Italy and its resources. In pursuing this interpretative
perspective, I will focus on the concrete resources and on the political infra
structure of the last Salian rulers in Italy, in an effort to fill a gap in the recent
historiography on these topics. I will instead leave aside the problems connected
to symbolic communication and to the relationship with the papacy, two topics
which have polarized research in recent decades.2 In this regard, it must be noted
1 Research has only recently rediscovered Henry V; see the important Lubich (ed.), Heinrich V. in
seiner Zeit. Regarding our topic, note the very important article in that volume by Goetz, ‘Zwischen
Reichszugehörigkeit und Eigenständigkeit’.
2 See for example, Weinfurter, ‘Reformidee und Königtum’; Althoff, Heinrich IV.; D’Acunto, L’età
dell’obbedienza; Cantarella, Pasquale II.
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198825746.001.0001
that, in relation to our period, the expression ‘royal infrastructure’ chiefly refers
to those centres under the direct control of the royal authorities. However, what
makes it particularly difficult to investigate the royal fisc, its size and its use are
the social practices connected to it.
A recent and important study by Simone Collavini and Paolo Tomei has shown
that those estates belonging to the fiscus (be it royal, margravial or comital) were
granted and transmitted on the basis of oral practices, by contrast to private
lands.3 A text (proclamatio) composed by the Tuscan monastery of San Michele
in Marturi (present-day Poggibonsi) in view of a dispute to be settled by the
margrave of Tuscany Bonifacio of Canossa, around the mid-eleventh century,
sheds light on this management system.4 Outlining the history of the monastery
and its patrimony in the decades around 1000, this document shows that the
institution, which had been founded by the margraves on public land, and the
fiscal complex of which it was a part, were managed by the margraves of Tuscany
and their local representatives not through written deeds, but exclusively through
oral dispositions and grants of precaria (temporary concessions) which were not
recorded in written documents. The monastic documents clearly show that the
properties in question circulated widely among the margraves’ supporters, who in
turn would transfer them to their clients as sub-concessions, always through oral
dispositions and precaria, with no strictly feudal connotation. The text further
notes that the use of writing for these forms of property transfer was strictly ruled
out, as it would have violated the fiscal nature of the property, which could always
be revoked by the public official, to prevent any patrimonialization attempt on the
concessionaires’ part.
The implications of this document are quite evident: we never have emphyteutic
leases, libella or feudal concessions pertaining to these properties, by contrast
to properties belonging to churches or lay aristocrats, but only the occasional
mention of them in texts of a different nature or in charters. Hence, we are never
able to gain a picture of these properties as they pass from the hands of the fiscus
into those of powerful individuals. From this perspective, those fiscal estates con
trolled by the king or public officials might be seen as genuine ‘black holes’ in our
documentary evidence. Therefore, we must make the most of the scant data avail
able in our sources. In this case too, to commence our investigation we must take
a little step back, to the reign of Henry III, in an effort to understand what the
features of royal power were in mid eleventh-century Italy, and how they were
perceived by the sovereigns themselves.
3 Collavini and Tomei, ‘Beni fiscali e “scritturazione” ’.

4 This important text is edited and discussed in Collavini, ‘I beni fiscali in Tuscia’.
Imperial Power 39
2.1 Henry III: realizing the limits of imperial power
Around 1050, royal authority in the Italian context still played a somewhat
contradictory role. On the one hand, it was still perceived as the ultimate source of
all legitimate power, and its superiority was accepted by all political actors within
the regnum. But from a practical standpoint, it had rather limited leeway and only
proved an effective force when the king (and his army) found themselves south of
the Alps.5 The emperor lacked a permanent structure and concrete basis for his
power in the peninsula that might allow him to effectively control the political
game in the kingdom of Italy during his absence. The monarchy still had substan
tial landed estates, yet all—or almost all—these properties were de facto con
trolled by Italian political actors, who acted as intermediaries between the central
authorities and local societies.
When in Germany, the emperor was forced to rely almost exclusively on Italian
political actors. However, at this stage it was essentially impossible for the king to
remove lay officials and replace them, even in the face of actual instances of dis
loyalty. Things were not much better with bishops and abbots, even though the king
preserved a certain degree of control over some episcopal cathedrals and royal
monasteries. This situation must have been perceived as problematic even by the
imperial leadership itself, given that in the reign of Henry III some attempts were
made to transform it and create new political balances. It is precisely in the light of
this that we must interpret certain tendencies, such as the establishment of more
direct relations with local societies, both urban and rural. Communities of freemen
had traditionally been regarded as the recipients of royal protection, and Henry III
sought to make the most of this connection, not least by using the (in all likelihood)
few curtes (estates) still under direct royal control as a means to increase imperial
power. Some good guidance with respect to these processes is provided by the sov
ereign’s action in Valcamonica, an Alpine valley in Lombardy, where he sought to
exploit the important royal curtis of Darfo to establish strong bonds with the free
communities in the area, and especially with the men of the Val di Scalve, by cutting
off the major power-holders active in the area, such as the bishop of Bergamo.6
Moreover, Henry issued charters directly to urban communities, avoiding the
traditional mediation of margraves and bishops, as is shown by the privileges he
issued Mantua and Ferrara in 1055.7 Moreover, he attempted to promote the role
of the king as the defender of freemen in the countryside, protecting them against
the mounting pressure from big rural landowners. By confirming the privileges
5 Tabacco, The Struggle for Power, pp. 164–76.

6 Diplomata Henrici III, n. 199 (a. 1047), pp. 255–7; on this grant, see Menant, Campagnes lom-
bardes, pp. 639–41.
7 Diplomata Henrici III, n. 351 (a. 1055), p. 478; n. 356 (a. 1055), p. 484.
and rights—established by local custom—of the homines of the Saccisica district,

a vast rural area not far from Padua, he forestalled, at least temporarily, the attempt
made by the prelate of Padua to impose a kind of seigneurial power over the local
communities.8
The emperor also made an earnest attempt to acquire direct control over the
march of Tuscany, the most powerful public structure in the kingdom, by taking
advantage of the dynastic problems of the Canossa family. However, the results of
this action were short-lived.9 Despite these visible and evident signs of discon
tinuity compared to the recent past, the project of consolidation of royal power
and its local bases never developed beyond the embryonic stage, not least because
of Henry III’s premature death, which—as already noted—gave rise to a phase of
increasing political instability.
2.2 Henry IV: a creative destruction
As we have seen in the previous chapter, at first Henry IV adopted a rather cautious
approach to the problems associated with ruling Italy.10 In the very first years of
his government, the emperor essentially followed in his father’s footsteps, as is
shown for instance by the privileges he granted the men of Lazise, in Veneto, or
the arimanni of Vigevano, in Lombardy.11 Even his proclamation of the pax italica
in 1077 must simply be interpreted as an attempt to promote the traditional role
of the ruler as the guarantor of public order.12 The deterioration of the situation
compared to the early 1050s probably made it difficult to envisage a more ambi
tious action plan. Besides, Henry himself was soon forced to acknowledge the
changes that had occurred in the Italian contest. While twenty-odd years earlier
his father had taken resolute action to protect the freedom of the arimanni of the
Saccisica district, the new emperor was forced to abandon them and to endorse
the seigneurial claims made by the bishop of Padua.13 However, the outbreak of
the civil wars of the 1080s, which led to a powerful and irreversible acceleration
of the breakdown of existing political balances, completely altered the framework
of reference, opening up new and hitherto unthinkable avenues for the emperor.
In the face of the mounting conflict, Henry chose to adopt a very aggressive
policy, by favouring—and in certain cases deliberately bringing about—the dis
appearance of many traditional public districts, such as the march of Tuscany and
that of Turin, or the county of Friuli. The aim was clearly to gain direct control of
8 Diplomata Henrici. III, n. 352 (a. 1055), pp. 479–80. These diplomas are discussed in Tabacco,
I liberi del re, esp. pp. 165–96; on the Saccisica see also Rippe, Padoue et son contado, pp. 161–77.
9 Goetz, Beatrix von Canossa, pp. 140–69. 10 Constitutiones, I, n. 68 (a. 1077) p. 117.
11 Diplomata Henrici IV, n. 170 (a. 1065), pp. 221–2 (Vigevano); n. 287 (a. 1077), pp. 375–6
(Lazise).
12 Constitutiones, I, n. 68 (a. 1077) p. 117. 13 Castagnetti, Arimanni in Romania.
Imperial Power 41
the fiscal properties previously controlled by public officials, while at the same
time establishing close bonds with the local political actors, even at more modest
levels, thereby bypassing the traditional aristocratic intermediaries. Thus, while
the guidelines did not change compared to the years of Henry III, the energetic
and systematic manner in which this course of action was pursued was very dif
ferent, thanks to the new political context.
One of the clearest illustrations of these processes is provided by the march of
Turin. Here Henry IV did not acknowledge the rights inherited by the daughter
of countess Adelaide, who had governed the march, acting in a completely opposite
way from his predecessors a few decades earlier.14 The emperor’s choice crucially
contributed to bringing about the collapse of the great public structure just after
Adelaide’s death in 1091, within a context of local civil wars between the various
claimants to the countess’ heredity. The sovereign himself intervened, despatch
ing his son Conrad with an army to gain control of the margravial fiscal estates,
but the plan failed after the prince rebelled, joining the pro-Gregorian party.15 In
Tuscany too Henry removed Matilda of Canossa from margravial office, thereby
favouring the affirmation of local authorities, with whom he attempted to estab
lish direct links, confirming himself as the new leader and point of reference. The
numerous imperial charters issued to urban and rural communities throughout
the kingdom in those years clearly reflect the emperor’s desire to enter into direct
contact with local societies and to create a network of relations uniting the centre
and the peripheries.16
Henry did not merely destroy those intermediate structures which he per
ceived as dangerous for the hegemonic plans of imperial power, but in some cases
attempted to revitalize them as a means of controlling the territory. In Umbria
and in the Marche the emperor restored the duchy of Spoleto and the march of
Fermo/Ancona, which after an initial phase of being governed separately were
united under the authority of a royal ministerialis of German origin. The new
duke/margrave was chiefly active in the Adriatic sector, but through the despatch
of missi he extended his control to the very heart of Umbria.17 In the Veneto the
emperor revived the traditional march of Verona, assigning the office of margrave
to Lutold, a member of the powerful transalpine family of the Eppensteiner, who
operated with great zeal in the area between 1077 and 1090.18 More generally, in
the same period Henry confiscated the castles and curtes of rebels throughout the
14 On the collapse of the march of Turin, see Provero, ‘Aristocrazia d’ufficio’; and Pecchio, ‘Sviluppi
signorili’.
15 Bernold of Konstanz, Chronicon, pp. 495–6. On Conrad, see Goetz, ‘Der Thronerbe als Rivale’.
16 See for example Diplomata Henrici IV., n. 170 (a. 1065), pp. 221–2; and n. 287 (a. 1077), pp. 375–6
(both for rural communities); n. 334 (a. 1081), pp. 437–9 (for the cives, citizens, of Lucca); n. 421
(a. 1091), pp. 563–4 (for the cives of Mantua).
17 Il Regesto di Farfa, vol. V, n. 1133 (a. 1094) p. 135; n. 1251 (a. 1094) pp. 231–2.
18 Klaar, Die Herrschaft der Eppensteiner, pp. 108–15.
Po Valley, in an attempt to establish a network of Reichsguten under the sovereign’s

direct control, forming the outline of a permanent royal infrastructure.
Henry’s ambitious plans, however, ran up against some military setbacks, which
soon limited his capacity for action to increasingly restricted areas. By the time
Henry IV was able to quit Italy for Germany in 1095, following his military defeat
at the hands of Matilda and her allies, his plan for a new and more direct system
of royal government had fallen through.19 The sovereign maintained a relative
hold over north-eastern Italy and (perhaps) the Marche, but the other regions of
the kingdom were no longer under his control. In the years 1097–1110 no charter
was issued to Italian recipients: an indicator of a crisis that was both material and
ideological. The empire’s prestige and capacity for action in the peninsula reached
an all-time low.20 Only under Henry V did royal power enter a more active stage,
according to lines of intervention not unlike the ones foreshadowed during his
father’s reign.
This issue will be the focus of the next section. But before examining Henry V’s
reign, I would like to reflect on the short- and long-term consequences of imperial
action within the context of the civil wars of the late eleventh century—a matter
that has largely been overlooked by researchers. In order to fully grasp these
consequences, it will be useful to briefly turn our attention to the divergent trajec
tories of two regions: Tuscany and Friuli. In these regions political structures
of Carolingian origin remained intact well into the 1070s. As already noted, in
Tuscany Henry IV removed Matilda from margravial office and actively promoted
the dissolution of the traditional system of power, which was seen as an instrument
of power for the house of Canossa, and hence as a direct threat to royal predom
inance.21 The sovereign, therefore, attempted to establish some direct connections
with rising local forces—urban communities, bishops, and comital dynasties—
without appointing a new margrave. As a result, within a couple of decades the
old public districts collapsed, along with traditional institutions.22
Henry IV also deposed the powerful count of Friuli, a supporter of the
Gregorian party, but in this case he merely entrusted his office, along with all the
rights attached to it, to the patriarchate of Aquileia (one of the few bishoprics still
effectively controlled by the monarchy), thereby favouring the preservation of the
old political structures.23 The upshot was a remarkable degree of continuity, from
a social as well as a political perspective. As late as the end of the thirteenth
century, the socio-political scenario in Friuli was in many ways closer to that of
Carolingian Italy than it was to that of the Italy of its day.24
19 Hay, The Military Leadership, pp. 59–197. 20 Busch, ‘Die Diplome der Salier’, esp. p. 293.
21 Ronzani, ‘L’affermazione dei Comuni’. 22 Cortese, Signori, castelli.
23 Cammarosano, ‘Patriarcato, Impero’.
24 For a general overview, see Cammarosano (ed.), Il Patriarcato di Aquileia; see also Zanin,
L’evoluzione dei poteri.
Imperial Power 43
The atypical case of Friuli shows that the tendency towards the fragmentation
and localization of power structures and dynamics was not inevitable. While the
preconditions in the two areas were not radically different, their highly divergent
outcomes appear to be connected to the different guidelines adopted by imperial
power at a local level. In other words, the traditional model of government in the
Italian countryside was not inevitably doomed to extinction, and a different kind
of development might have been possible.25 The redefinition of the socio-political
scenario in rural areas was the result not just of long-term processes, but also of
imperial policies and choices.
2.3 Henry V: the plan for a permanent royal infrastructure
In the years of Henry V’s reign the relative stabilization of the political framework,
following the end of the harshest stage of the civil wars, provides a clearer picture
of imperial policies compared to Henry IV’s period. It is evident that the king
was attempting to build an efficient and enduring system of government, capable
of mitigating the effects of its inevitable deficiencies through the construction of
a network of local political infrastructures and of officials in charge of their man
agement. This is especially true for the period between 1116 and 1125, a crucial
moment for the project of intensifying the royal presence in Italy. In 1116, after
the death of Matilda of Canossa, Henry descended into Italy in order to assert his
rights as the heir to the grand countess’ alodium: a patrimony consisting of hun
dreds of castles, villages and curtes scattered throughout the Po Valley.26 Gaining
control of these properties meant securing the kind of power base that the mon
archy was lacking and which would be able to lend concrete form to the ruler’s
hegemonic plans in Italy, at a time in which his capacity for rule was being sub
stantially challenged in Germany.27 For Henry, redefining his forms of control over
the regnum Italiae by turning it into one of the cornerstones of imperial power
also meant reaffirming his prestige and role as undisputed leader within the con
text of the empire.
Initially, at least, the plan was a resounding success. Many of the centres in
question, like Brescello and Nogara, were placed under the direct control of royal
officials, often of German origin, although many others continued to be held as
benefices by the many vassals of the Canossa family. Indeed, Henry V established
himself as the new senior of Matilda’s vassal clientele: we find members of this
extensive group physically present alongside the sovereign at assemblies, cere
monies and acts of donation, to provide both political and military support.
25 Fiore, ‘Il tempo dei cambiamenti’.

26 Golinelli, ‘L’Italia dopo la lotta’. See also Gross, Lothar III.
27 Goetz, ‘Zwischen Reichszugehörigkeit und Eigenständigkeit’.
Moreover, Henry protected and offered rich gifts to those religious institutions
traditionally connected to the Canossa family. Such acts were all designed to
reinforce the sovereign’s role as heir to the family in the eyes of local societies.28
However, the emperor’s intervention was not limited to the sphere of Matilda’s
properties. The latter were only a concrete starting point to expand and consoli
date royal power throughout Italy—particularly in rural areas, but also in urban
centres. It is possible to identify some subtle attempts to exercise forms of partial
control over the activities of proto-communal centres, through the appointment
(or confirmation) of urban missi regi as intermediaries between the community of
citizens (cives) and the king. Attestations are very limited—not least because of the
flimsy and fragmentary nature of the available sources—yet are nonetheless sig
nificant. The clearest example is Lucca, with its wealth of documents: here the mis-
sus regius was a leading urban nobleman, Flaiperto; the title gave him a high social
status (superior, for instance, to that of consuls in the same period), a leading role
in public ceremonials, and certain jurisdictional rights over the city, of an evident
public nature.29 In Ferrara too the missus played an important role, not just in
the city, but also in its environs, where he controlled curtes and toll stations.30
Moreover, the action of imperial officials in cities was probably connected to urban
palaces and fortresses, the existence of which is recalled or assumed in several
charters issued to urban communities.31 Thus just after 1116 a new imperial palace
was built in Mantua, in the suburb of San Giovanni, probably in relation to the
empire’s need to collect the albergaria in the city and its immediate hinterland.32
It must be stressed that imperial power was far from hostile to urban commu
nities and their political role, as long as this found a place within the framework
of imperial governance. A clear example of this collaboration is represented by
the charter issued to the populum Placentinum (people of Piacenza) in 1122. This
document recalls the military support which the city provided during the imper
ial attempt to regain the castles of Bargone and Borgo San Donnino, probably
28 See for example Diplomata Henrici V., n. 161 (a. 1116); e n. 177 (a. 1116); on these symbolic
actions and their meanings, see Goetz, ‘Zwischen Reichszugehörigkeit’, pp. 229–31.
29 Wickham, Courts and Conflicts, pp. 31–7.
30 ‘Appendice’, to Castagnetti, Il processo per Ostiglia, n. 1 (ante a. 1151), p. 339, testimony of
Alberto Cagarusca. Another missus was (almost certainly) active in Pavia; see Diplomata Henrici V.,
n. 322 (a. 1118–21/4 c.), and Goetz, ‘Zwischen Reichszugehörigkeit und Eigenständigkeit’, p. 231. It’s
also possible that Azo di Corrado of Modena, dead in 1119, and called rector urbis in his epitaph, held
the same office in Modena; see Rölker, Nobiltà e comune, pp. 130–1.
31 On the imperial castle of Bologna, destroyed by rebellious cives, see Simeoni, ‘Bologna e la
politica italiana’.
32 Its building was envisaged in the grant to the citizens of Mantua released by Henry V in 1116;
see Regesto mantovano, vol. I, n. 170 (a. 1116), p. 122. The palace was effectively built, as it’s apparent
from Lothar III’s grant of 1133; see n. 223 (a. 1133), p. 158 (only in 1133 the emperor gave up alber-
garia). There was another imperial palace (palatium domini imperatoris) in Milan, inside the walls,
near the church of Sant’Ambrogio; in the late 1130s it was still property of the emperor, but perhaps
already abandoned: see Ambrosini, ‘S. Ambrogio’, pp. 95–6. In the years of Henry V ‘Anselmus iudex
et missus domini imperatoris’ was active in Milan, where he participated in a consular judgement in
1117, transcripted and authenticated by him; see Gli atti del comune di Milano, n. 1 (a. 1117), pp. 3–5.
Imperial Power 45
against margrave Malaspina or the bishop of Parma.33 In addition to granting toll

rights over Fiorenzuola and exemption from any tolls imposed at Borgo, the
sovereign promised the city military help from his legati (envoys), who controlled
the two castles, and the possibility for the urban community to use them as a ref
uge in the event of war. While the effort to establish a direct link with urban
communities—also through the appointment of local officials (at any rate where
this was possible)—proved important within the context of royal policies, the
connection established with the marches was absolutely crucial. These represented
intermediate structures designed to control the web of Reichsguten and to medi
ate the relation between the sovereign and local political actors. Henry V promoted
the resurgence, as a royal infrastructure, of the march of Tuscany, which had been
without a margrave since Matilda’s deposition in 1081. In 1116 the king entrusted it
to his ministerialis Rabodo and set out to (at least partially) restore the traditional
system of power, by regaining old rural fiscal estates and imposing the authority
of the new Amtsmarkgraf on urban communities and lords in the region.34
Henry V further resumed an active imperial policy in those marches which
had already been re-established by his father, in the Veneto and in central Italy.
During the same years, the margrave/duke brought under his direct control a
number of major castles in Umbria and the Marche, including San Ginesio, San
Severino and Agello, by expropriating lay and ecclesiastical lords.35 In Umbria his
action was actually more limited: it was apparently confined to the Spoleto area,
even though the dearth of evidence makes it impossible to reach any definite ver
dict on the matter.36 Be that as it may, in these years the margrave effectively con
trolled much of the rural aristocracy, and was able to recruit a large army, which
he led into Latium to defend the imperial abbey of Farfa during an armed conflict
between rival claimants to the title of abbot.37
In the Veneto too, after a period of inactivity between 1090 and the early
twelfth century, the margrave regained a leading role on the local political stage. It
is almost certain that he created a network of royal castles, which was denser in
the Lake Garda area, later known as comitatus Gardensis. This large fiscal district
is only visible in our sources from Lothar III’s reign onwards. However, there is
strong evidence to suggest that such properties were incorporated into the royal
patrimony precisely in the final years of Salian rule.38 The margrave himself was
very active in the region, and this allowed the empire to preserve and consolidate
33 Il Registrum Magnum, I, n. 28 (a. 1122), pp. 46–7.

34 Ronzani, ‘L’affermazione dei Comuni’.
35 Liber iurium, n. 44 (a. 1112), pp. 80–3; Turchi, Camerinum Sacrum, n. 9 (a. 1117), pp. xxx–xxxvi;
Benigni, San Ginesio illustrata, n. 4 (a. 1117), p. vii.
36 Il Regesto di Farfa, V, n. 1133 (a. 1094) p. 135; n. 1251 (a. 1094), pp. 231–2.
37 Chronicon Farfense, II, pp. 302–7.
38 Castagnetti, Comitato di Garda, pp. 41–87. See also Diplomata Henrici IV, n. 287 (a. 1077), pp.
375–6, for an imperial grant to the men of Lazise, a castle on the shore of Garda Lake, later part of
comitatus Gardensis.
its relations with the major aristocratic families in the area, particularly those of
comital origin, as is shown by the presence of large numbers of members of the
local political elite at the large placitum held by the imperial margrave in Verona
in 1123.39
While the marches played a central role in Henry’s policy, we find no trace of
any reconstruction of a comitatus (county) as a public district either within the
marches or outside them (the expression comitatus Gardensis is only attested at a
later date). All we find are small districts, centred on some large castles, whose
officials are never described as comites (counts) in our sources. Frequently these
districts were more than just simple territorial lordships: some of the large royal
castles were genuine ‘central places’ capable of exercising political control over
extensive swathes of the countryside. A good illustration of these phenomena is
provided by Borgo San Donnino and Bargone—respectively located in the plane
between Parma and Piacenza, and in the Apennine region just to the south—as
well as by Ficarolo, near Ferrara, Nogara, in the Verona area, and San Martino di
Gavardo, not far from Brescia.40 While the empire significantly invested in the
marches and fiscal castles, it did not do so with existing counties, which from a
royal perspective were viewed as mere geographical expressions. The numerous
comites we find in our sources are always the scions of traditional Italian dynasties
of counts—whose properties and rights were often safeguarded by the monarchy—
and not actual royal officials.41
In this situation it is possible to grasp some significant parallels with Germany,
where in the same decades counties lost their public territorial dimension, becom
ing a label assigned to the patrimonial exercising of power over people and places
by counts. This also applies to the growing importance of fiscal estates, under the
direct control of the empire through ministeriales and other officials. Henry IV’s
‘reconstruction’ of the royal fisc, especially in Saxony but also in southern Germany,
constitutes one of the best known and best investigated aspects of his reign.42 By
contrast, the use of marches, so significant in Italy, finds no direct parallel in
imperial policies north of the Alps. It is worth focusing precisely on the political
significance of the marches one last time, in order to better understand the nature
of the royal political project in Italy in our period. In the late Salian period, at
39 Le carte del capitolo di Verona, I, n. 54 (a. 1123), pp. 103–5.

40 On the activity of imperial officers in Ficarolo and Nogara, see ‘Appendice’, to Castagnetti, Il
processo per Ostiglia, n. 1 (ante a. 1151), p. 339; on San Marino di Gavardo, see Annales Brixienses,
p. 812 (s.a. 1121): ‘arcem S. Martini de Gavardo quam tenebant Allemanni’; on Borgo San Donnino
(and Bargone), see Soliani, ‘Antichi signori’, and the text published in the appendix of that work as
n. 1 (early twelfth century), pp. 134–5.
41 Only exception known to me is the margravial missus Bernoldo acting for the imperial mar
graves of Fermo, in the Apennines in 1094; see Le carte di Fonte Avellana, I, n. 81 (a. 1094), pp. 189–90.
It must be stressed that the title of comes has not a territorial dimension; it could possibly be a per
sonal title of the missus (very probably a German, considering the name), not connected with his role
as imperial officer in Italy.
42 On this crucial issue Weinfurter, The Salian Century, pp. 134–41.
Imperial Power 47
least, the term ‘march’ would appear to have been used as a sort of label to identify
large territories (with a pre-existing public tradition) where there were enough
properties belonging to the royal fisc to support the empire’s hegemonic plans.
In this respect, the absence of Piedmont from the list of new imperial marches
is highly significant. This region included the territories belonging to two old
structures of this kind: the march of Turin, which only collapsed in 1091 by direct
royal intervention, and the march of Ivrea, which had already dissolved by the
early decades of the eleventh century.43 This might seem like a perfect political
scenario for the (re)creation of a margravial structure on the empire’s part.
However, the crown did not attempt to restore either of the two old districts. As
we have seen, Henry IV attempted to achieve direct control over cities, castles and
other fiscal properties immediately after Adelaide’s death through resolute mili
tary action, but this attempt ended in failure: the region broke up into a number
of competing local domains, which left little leeway for royal power. The local
network of Reichsguten remained a rather loose one, and it was not extensive
enough to support the project of a new imperial march. A weak fiscal base and
too many high-profile local rivals (starting with the margrave Bonifacio Del Vasto)
led the central authorities to keep a low profile in Piedmont, even in the reign of
Henry V, by contrast to the active policy adopted in the Veneto, in Tuscany, and
in Umbria.
This large-scale plan to lend new shape to the imperial presence in Italy met
with strong resistance at the local level. Many Italian political actors, such as nas
cent urban communes and some major lords, saw the increasingly numerous
royal castles as an obstacle to their personal territorial ambitions. Once it had (at
least partially) regained its prestige, imperial power could still prove attractive to
Italian political actors as a means to legitimize their emerging political plans. This
is shown by the numerous charters which the emperor issued during his sojourn
in Italy, not just to traditional political actors such as the families of old public
officers and churches, but also to new ones such as urban communities and the
rising families of the seigneurial aristocracy.44 However, once they were faced
with the concrete will of the empire to develop a new system of governance that
necessarily conflicted with their local interests, the various centres of power—be
they urban or rural, old or new—often reached the conclusion that they could do
without this new form of governance, at any rate in those areas where imperial
power made its presence more strongly felt.45
43 Sergi, I confini del potere.

44 On the receivers of Henry V’s diplomas, see Goetz, ‘Zwischen Reichszugehörigkeit und
Eigenständigkeit’.
45 My interpretation, therefore, at least partly diverges from that recently formulated by Wickham,
Sleepwalking, pp. 201–4, who argues that urban communities first became aware of their role as polit
ical actors in the years 1140–50, yet without ever discussing how Henry V’s measures may have con
tributed to the process of their political development.
For example, whereas in Piedmont imperial power was not perceived as a threat
by local political actors, given the weakness of the fiscal network in the region, the
situation was very different in western Emilia and in Tuscany. Around 1116, imme
diately after the departure of the imperial army, margrave Malaspina attacked the
imperial ministeriales who controlled the centres of Borgo San Donnino and
Bargone in the Parma area.46 Likewise, in 1119, the Florentines laid siege to the
castle of Montecascioli, which was defended by the margrave of Tuscany Rabodo,
and they ultimately succeeded in destroying it, killing the imperial high official in
the process.47 Besides, similar actions had already been carried out in the same
years by the inhabitants of Bologna and Brescia, as well as by the bishop of Parma.48
Already with the return of Henry V (and most of his army) to Germany in 1118, a
progressive weakening of the fiscal network occurred, as it was not solid enough
to withstand the attacks launched by local political actors. The death of the sover
eign in 1125 sealed the end of this project.
Here and there small districts remained in the hands of German officials, who
by this time acted as local lords and were not coordinated in any way. An exem
plary case is provided by the Guarnerii margraves, who forwent their hegemonic
role at a regional level, focusing instead on the management of a number of castles
in the central and southern Marche. A similar phenomenon is visible, on a smaller
scale, in the context of those German officials entrusted with controlling the
important castles of Borgo San Donnino and Bargone in western Emilia.49
The central authorities themselves had tried to change their approach, acknow
ledging the fact that in an increasingly fragmented, disjointed and conflictual
context, the key to success was not so much the coordination of local forces—
according to the model that had been in force until the mid-eleventh century—as
direct control over local jurisdictions, by then the only ones capable of lending
concrete form to their hegemonic ambitions. In this respect, it is significant that
Henry V did not even attempt to restore the regular holding of placita, which had
been one of the traditional linchpins of royal authority in the previous period.50
Even in his plan to revitalize marches and duchies as intermediate structures
between the central power and the local societies, the ruler was bound to rely on
the direct management of local castles and jurisdictions by the royal high officials
46 ‘Appendice’, to Soliani, ‘Antichi signori’, n. 1 (iniz. XII sec.), pp. 134–5.
47 Davidsohn, Geschichte, I, pp. 564–74.
48 Annales Brixienses, p. 812 (sub a. 1121); Simeoni, ‘Bologna e la politica italiana’; Schumann,
Istituzioni e società, pp. 242–9. We should also add to this list the destruction of the royal castle of
Ficarolo by the men of Ferrara in the early 1120s: see ‘Appendice’, to Castagnetti, Il processo per Ostiglia,
n. 1 (ante a. 1151), p. 334 (Ruberto de Gazo’s testimony), and p. 339 (Alberto Cagarusca’s testimony).
As more generally emerges from an analysis of the testimonies in question, after the destruction of the
castle, the men of Ferrara started exercising their power even over centres, such as Ostiglia, which had
hitherto been controlled by Imperial officials under the missus regius of Ficarolo/Ferrara.
49 On the Guarnerii margraves in the Marche, see Fiore, Signori e sudditi, pp. 113–6; on Borgo San
Donnino and Bargone, Soliani, ‘Antichi signori’.
50 Wickham, ‘Justice in the Kingdom of Italy’.
Imperial Power 49
in charge of those political structures. It is interesting to note that the policies

pursued by the last Salian emperors are very similar to those underlying the attempt
to restore royal power in Italy, first by Lothar III, and later with far more noticeable
and enduring effects by Frederick Barbarossa.51 However, this new attitude on the
part of the royal authorities inevitably gave rise to conflict with local political
actors, who sought to reinforce their own power precisely through the acquisition
and control of jurisdictional rights. Given that the latter would appear to have
acquired increasing importance, in order to better understand how the collapse
of traditional forms of power, the enduring crisis of legitimacy, and the long series
of civil wars transformed the actual ways in which power was exercised, it is
necessary to change our perspective and to adopt a vantage point closer to
concrete local dynamics. These topics will be the focus of the next two chapters.
51 I have discussed this topic in Fiore, ‘L’Impero come signore’.

3
Territorial Lordship
Rise and Spread of a Model of Power
In the following pages I will attempt to evaluate whether and to what extent
the decades around 1100 marked an actual break in terms of how power was
concretely exercised at the local level compared to the previous phase. I will
focus my attention on territorial lordship, which precisely in this period became
the basic building block for the organizing of rural space from a political perspective.
However, we should not forget that in the same period the newly established urban
communes were starting to extend their control over their environs: generally,
rather restricted yet steadily expanding areas. Finally, a secondary, albeit far from
irrelevant, role was played by autonomous rural communities, which were also
engaged in creating their domains. I will return to these two specific forms of
power later on, in the final chapter of Part I. Nevertheless, we should not overlook
their presence within the political framework of the Italian countryside in the
period under consideration. The latter ought not be reduced to the seigneurial
model, which, while predominant and distinctive of this period, was not the
exclusive political model.
3.1 Power in the countryside before 1050:

land and public rights
Before examining the decades around 1100, we must focus our attention on
the tenth century and the first half of the eleventh, in order to understand how
the rural world was typically administered at that stage, i.e. what the context
was for the subsequent changes. The socio-economic scenario was marked by the
central importance of land ownership and rent. Castles were an increasingly
prominent presence, yet were less numerous and imposing than in later periods.1
Besides, castles generally served as a means to protect large estates and were only
rarely associated with the exercising of more or less complete jurisdictional rights.
Landed patrimonies seldom took the form of compact blocks of land: most often,
they were interspersed with estates belonging to other owners. Peasant alodia
1 For a general overview, see Fiore, ‘Les châteaux et la compétition’.
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198825746.001.0001
Territorial Lordship 51
played a significant role, depending on the area: small and medium-sized properties
were a prominent feature of rural society in central and northern Italy. While in
most cases peasant alodia existed alongside extensive landed estates, we find a
relatively large number of rural communities in which large aristocratic properties
were essentially absent and local society were de facto controlled by local medium
landowners—sometimes labelled arimanni—directly connected to public power.
The latter constituted an important model of government for all rural social
actors. Over the course of the eleventh century the number of territorial lordships
steadily rose, thanks to the increasingly numerous concessions of jurisdictional
rights made to lay aristocrats or churches by the monarchy. Yet, extensive areas
still remained under the control of public officials or actors (such as bishops) who
were closely connected to public power.
In Abruzzo, for example, as late as 1060, despite the increasing spread of sei-
gniorial authorities, the local counts still controlled the whole Chieti area, where
they exercised their power in a fully traditional way.2 Within this context, the
exercising of ‘private’ lordship must have largely been modelled after the example
of public officers.3 Thus when organizing a seigniorial court of justice in 1057, the
abbey of Casauria modelled it after the comital placitum in terms of the language
and formal procedures adopted.4 Likewise, at Inzago, in Lombardy, in 1015 the
local men swore to the abbot of the Milanese monastery of Sant’Ambrogio to
se distringere (obey) and to receive justice from him tamquam ante comite (like
before the count): a formula that clearly reveals what the limits for the correct
exercising of jurisdictional rights were for the people concerned.5 As late as the
1040s, similar expressions show that the nascent territorial lordships in the hands
of the monastery of Farfa were modelled after the prerogatives formerly enjoyed
by the local counts.6
At least up until the late 1050s, therefore, public power constituted a model
for those exercising (or aspiring to exercise) territorial lordship. Even in those
local contexts where lords already fully controlled the districtus, the exercising of
local power was largely modelled after the (rather mild) form of government
exercised by public officials, which also involved property rights, comprising
census (rents) and services expected from the lords’ tenants. As we have seen,
these rights extended to the exercising of justice (and related revenues), military
prerogatives, and control over toll and trade rights, along with the exploitation of
fallow land. The case of the upper Roya Valley, in the county of Ventimiglia,
clearly shows that traditional forms of public power had a limited impact on local
2 Feller, Les Abruzzes médiévales, pp. 708–19.

3 On the imitatio comitis (imitation of the count) from the other lords, see Tabacco, The Struggle for
Power, pp. 191–6.
4 Feller, Les Abruzzes médiévales, pp. 702–7.
5 Gli atti privati milanesi, I, n. 74 (a. 1015), p. 175. 6 Wickham, ‘The origins of the signoria’.
society, as is illustrated by the so-called ‘charter of Tenda’—an important text

from around 1060 that lays out the power exercised by the local counts over some
communities of freemen.7
It is crucial, therefore, to emphasize the economic implications of the forms of
lordship that remained predominant until the mid-eleventh century, and which
translated into a relatively weak economic pressure on local subjects. The traditional
means to increase profits was to expand one’s landed property at the expense of
smaller landowners, so as to reduce the latter to mere tenants and force them to
pay rents on their lands. In the early decades of the eleventh century this process
frequently took the form of violent expropriations. One typical example is provided
by the querimonia (plea) submitted by the church of Reggio against the Della
Palude family around the year 1040.8 Besides, many other texts from this period
refer to a similar context of aggressiveness towards small allodiaries and periph-
eral properties belonging to major landowners (in particular, but not exclusively,
monastic institutions).9 There is nothing new here compared to the strategies
typically adopted to increase large aristocratic properties within the traditional
Carolingian system. However, from the second half of the eleventh century
onwards the tendency in question was increasingly combined with the levying
of new taxes (on the basis of property or jurisdictional rights, depending on the
local context). In a letter from the late 1060s, Pier Damiani reports a situation of
this sort with reference to the Marchiones family, active in eastern Tuscany and
north-western Umbria:10 these lords carried out confiscationes pauperum (seizures
from the poor), which went hand in hand with the imposition of new illationes
(levies) on the peasants under their control.
3.2 The new forms of local power
In the immediately following decades, this tendency underwent a brusque accel-

eration through the imposition of a whole range of new burdens, labour services
and taxes upon the rural population as a whole. An overall redefinition of the
7 Daviso, ‘La carta di Tenda’.

8 Casagrande, ‘Il ritrovamento del testo’, the text is edited at pp. 124–7.
9 See the text cited in the next note and, for example, Chronicon farfense, I, pp. 248–58 (encroach-
ments upon lands owned by the abbey of Farfa in central Italy in the 1050s); and Il Regesto di Farfa, IV
nn. 900–1 (a. 1059), pp. 294–5 (encroachments in the territory of Assisi); Papsturkunden, n. 625
(a. 1045), pp. 1172–5 (encroachments upon rural lands owned by the abbey of San Pietro of Perugia,
in Umbria). As regards the appropriation of the small landed properties, significant evidence is provided
by the actions performed in the Saccisica area by the bishop of Padua. The latter forcibly (violenter)
made local allodiaries transfer their landed properties over to him by means of specific documents
(cartae), turning them into leaseholders subject to heavy dues (iniuste servitutis oppressione). The
emperor eventually forced the prelate to return the properties to their lawful owners, along with the
documents extorted from them. See Diplomata Henrici III., n. 352 (a. 1055), p. 479.
10 Pier Damiani, Die Briefe, III, n. 143 (a. 1067), pp. 524–5.
existing forms of power occurred, as the territorial lordship model became firmly
established and widespread.11 This was a crucial transition, as it structurally changed
the very forms of seigneurial taxation. However, there is a risk of not fully appre-
ciating the nature of this process on account of the episodic nature of the available
sources, which shed light—in an entirely occasional way—on individual contexts,
without creating any real clusters of evidence that might allow us to grasp the
nature of the processes underway. For this reason, it is necessary to make the
most of those rare instances in which the documentary evidence allows us not
just to paint a detailed picture of the situation at a particular moment in time, but
to grasp the process of transformation, if only partially. In order to understand
in greater detail how and to what extent power was exercised at a local level at the
turn of the 1100s, it seems useful to briefly examine the three following cases:
Calusco in Lombardy,12 Casciavola in Tuscany,13 and Cliviano in Latium.14
A text from 1068—concerning the agreements between the lord of Calusco
and some peasants who were moving into the castle—speaks of a form of power
that was still weak and limited, and essentially based on the imposition of agricul-
tural rents and of some minor obligations connected to the usufruct of fortified
structures. While the specific dynamics in the process of transformation charac-
terizing the case in question are unknown to us, what is quite clear is the endpoint
of such process a few decades later. A document from 1130 paints a very detailed
picture of the seigneurial rights that had become crystallized in the local area. The
peasants were required to provide (probably monetary) contributions for the pur-
chase of new castles, along with corvées and raw materials for the building of new
structures within the castrum, and the upkeep of existing ones. They were further
expected to stand guard and pay certain taxes for the military protection that the
lords offered their subjects. The most notable among these taxes was the old pub-
lic fodrum, which by now was fully under the lords’ control. It must be stressed
that these new levies rested on a jurisdictional and territorial foundation: to
increase their revenue, the domini loci relied on their political power rather than
on the power deriving from their landed patrimonies. Through this mechanism,
within two generations the economic pressure exerted on subjects increased
tenfold, notwithstanding the fruitless resistance put up by peasants, who—with
11 This is presented as a turning point in the establishment of actual lordships in Lombardy, albeit
without any critical discussion of the matter, in Keller, Signori e vassalli, pp. 118–36, and Menant,
Campagnes lombardes, pp. 401–6. Wickham, ‘La signoria rurale’, sees the process as being closely
related to the collapse of the march of Tuscany.
12 Le pergamene degli archivi di Bergamo, n. 37 (a. 1068), pp. 68–9; and Atti del comune di Milano,
n. 3 (a. 1130), p. 6 (both on Calusco). On this, Menant, Campagnes lombardes, pp. 409–18.
13 Lettere originali del medioevo, I, n. 18 (aa. 1098–1106 c.), p. 156 (Casciavola); this important text
is discussed in Wickham, ‘La signoria rurale’; see section 10.1.
14 Il Regesto di Farfa, V, n. 1303 (aa. 1090–9 c.), p. 290. See Carocci, ‘La signoria rurale’, pp. 195–6.
the memory of a very different situation still alive in their minds—in 1130 made
an unsuccessful attempt to lessen the burdens imposed upon them.15
The case of Casciavola offers a different, yet complementary, perspective from
that of Calusco. The former village represents an exception, insofar as the attempt
to establish a territorial lordship failed, thanks to the intervention of the urban
commune of Pisa. However, a querimonia (plea) drafted around 1100 clearly illus-
trates the gradual process of transformation of aristocratic power, in which
violence played a central role.16 The inceptive lordship of the San Casciano aristo-
cratic group over the village was based precisely on the military protection they
offered the peasants. The lords asked each family to provide—in addition to sen-
try services—only two carts full of timber for each cella (storage area) occupied
in the castle. Later, the annual tribute in kind was replaced by a weightier one in
money (no less than sixteen denarii per family), but shortly afterwards the San
Casciano lords asked for three more carts of timber. When the fortifications of
the castle were destroyed during warfare, the peasants took advantage of the situ-
ation to assert their freedom from the increasing obligations, which were formally
bound to the walls of the castrum; but just when the men had decided they had
had enough with the mounting demands, the protection provided by the lords
showed itself in all of its perverse ambiguousness. To reject this protection was
to expose oneself to the possibility of violent reprisal at the hands of the rejected
protector. In the specific case in question, the rejection led to a long series of
assaults, arbitrary expropriations, and daily abuses directed against the inhabit-
ants of Casciavola, merely for the purpose of ensuring their complete submission
to the aristocratic group and acceptance of the new forms of surplus extraction.
This oppressive turn was stemmed, around 1070, by the peasants’ appeal to the
margravial tribunal, which forced the San Casciano to waive their alleged rights.
In the immediately following years, as public order broke down within the con-
text of the civil wars of the 1080s (evoked in the text through the rhetorical yet
highly effective formula ‘postea, cum omnis potestas perdidit virtutem et iustitia
mortua est et periit de nostra terra’), the lords returned to the fray, further broad-
ening their requests and attempting to impose themselves upon the community
with unprecedented brutality. The text mentions the forced seizure of movable
assets, food, and cattle, savage thrashings of the young peasants, and even beatings
inflicted on women during labour. Exceptionally, the escalation of violence here
was curbed by the intervention of the commune of Pisa. Nonetheless, it sheds a
disturbing light on what in many cases must have been the mode of transition
from the light forms of lordship attested as late as the 1070s and the far more
oppressive ones that became customary after year 1100.
15 For a similar case (Calcinate) in the same area, see Menant, Campagnes lombardes, p. 418.
16 Lettere originali del medioevo, I, n. 18 (aa. 1098–1106 c.), p. 156.
Economic pressure on peasant society also increased in those centres which

had been subject to territorial lordships for several decades. One interesting testi-
mony in this respect concerns Cliviano, in the Salto Valley, near Rieti. This village,
which had been governed by the abbey of Farfa for centuries, passed into the
hands of a lay aristocratic family in the eleventh century as part of an exchange. A
few years after the exchange, the inhabitants entrusted the local priest, Adamo,
to write a heartfelt letter to the abbot, asking him to take them back under his
lordship.17 The reason for this was precisely the rapacity of the new lords compared
to the old monastic domination: ‘eo quod seniores tollunt omnia et vos modicum
tenetis’ (‘because the lords take all, and you just a little’).18 Farfa was locally asso-
ciated with a form of power exercised in non-oppressive fashion, in contrast to
the (new) seniores. However, this change was not merely due to the change of
ownership, but was part of a more general process, as is shown precisely by the
coeval sources from Farfa, which reveal an increase even in the burdens weighing
upon the communities directly controlled by the monks.19 The text from Cliviano
also shows that—as in the case of Casciavola—the change was a (relatively) swift
one, clearly perceived by the subjects, as opposed to a gradual one occurring over
an extended period of time.
From this perspective, one element worth investigating is the actual degree of
the economic pressure exerted by territorial lordships on individual village com-
munities. The dearth of quantitative evidence for the period under consideration
prevents the kind of detailed analyses that is instead possible for much later con-
texts. Still, on the basis of certain sources we can at least endeavour to outline the
magnitude of the profit associated with jurisdictional rights. These figures should
not be underestimated. As we have just seen in relation to Casciavola, in the late
eleventh century the San Casciano family demanded at least sixteen denarii (in
addition to three cartloads of timber, and upkeep and sentry duties at the castrum)
for each hearth; and this, before the phase of systematic acts of violence and extor-
tion inflicted upon the local residents, when the pressure from the lords no doubt
increased substantially—although it is impossible to tell just how much.20
At Marzana, an important castle in the Valpantena area, in 1121 the jurisdic-
tional rights of the chapter of Verona were set at a flat rate of ten lirae per year
(equal to 2,400 denarii), but to these were added other undefined servitia. Moreover,
in those same years the inhabitants of the village were required to restore the walls
of the castle and rebuild its imposing tower, which had probably been destroyed
17 Il Regesto di Farfa, V, n. 1303 (aa. 1090–9 c.), p. 290. See Carocci, ‘La signoria rurale’, pp. 195–6.
18 Carocci, ‘La signoria rurale’, pp. 195–1.
19 Il Regesto di Farfa, V, n. 1154 (a. 1097 c.), p. 158 for the new and heavy corveés imposed by the
monks to the rural communities in Sabina, supposedly to be spent for the construction of the new
grand abbatial church, but actually used for works of fortification.
20 Lettere originali, I, n. 18 (aa. 1098–1106 c.), p. 156.
during warfare.21 Marzana was a rather large centre, inhabited by an elite of

wealthy arimanni as well as by mere vilani (tenants). If we hypothetically set its
population at 150 households and divide the ten lirae of jurisdictional revenue by
this figure, what we get is sixteen denarii per housing unit, just as at Casciavola.22
It must nonetheless be emphasized that in this case a rather significant amount of
the local surplus must have remained in the hands of the community, given that
the latter also committed itself to paying an additional ten lirae as fodrum in the
event that the emperor might visit Italy (a far from merely theoretical possibility
at the time).
Finally, according to the querimonia from Monte Amiata, shortly after 1080 the
Aldobrandeschi were asking a couple of small monastic villages (villulae) that had
passed under their control for roughly thirty lirae a year in total, which probably
included both jurisdictional and property rights. To these were added building
corveés for the local residents. Given that the two villages were hardly very signifi-
cant ones from a demographical standpoint, the level of taxation must have been
much higher than at Marzana, or at Casciavola at the early stage of its lordship,
although it cannot be calculated exactly for each hearth.23
One first element that emerges, then, is the marked variability of ‘jurisdictional’
levy, depending on the local context. However, in themselves these figures tell us
little and must be examined alongside land rents and the price of agricultural
land, as a term of comparison. At Zevio, in the Verona area, in 1121, the year of
the pact from Marzana, a massaricium (peasant holding) with arable land and a
house was rented to a peasant—by an owner other than the local lord—for the
annual rent of one solidus (i.e. 24 denarii) and one fourth of the cereal crop:24 a
figure that is not all that far from the one that must have applied to the individual
family units residing in Marzana (a sum to which land rent must have further
been added). In the decades around 1100, in central Italy, holdings with a
house and enough land to support a peasant family, with a total surface of 5–7
modia, were frequently estimated to be worth roughly twenty solidi (equal to
one libra or 240 denarii).25 This suggests that even a sum of sixteen denarii (plus
labour services) was far from petty: it must have considerably limited the possi-
bility of saving anything for wealthy farmers, and reduced it to a minimum in the

22 On the (often considerable) landed property owned by the local elite in the Marzana area, see Le
carte del capitolo di Verona, I, n. 129 (a. 1147), pp. 246–7; and esp. n. 135 (a. 1149), pp. 256–7. As
regards the estimate provided, if we were to posit a population of 120 or 200 households, we would
obviously get a different result, but the order of magnitude of the taxation would still be the same—
which is what really matters here.
23 Codex Diplomaticus Amiatinus, II, n. 309 (ante a. 1084), pp. 261–3.
25 See for example Le carte di Sassovivo, I, n. 129 (a. 1100), pp. 196–7; II, n. 118 (a. 1143), p. 143;
similar prices are attested also in the Po Valley; see Le carte del capitolo di Verona, I, n. 39 (a. 1117),
pp. 80–1 (a peasant farm in Vigasio (Veneto) is sold for 20 solidi).
case of poorer farmers, who were also weighed down with land rents. Even more
burdensome taxes could have a tragic impact on the economic condition of certain
strata of village society. The economic pressure which the lords exerted through
their jurisdictional rights was such as to intercept a significant portion of the agri-
cultural surplus produced by the lords’ subject—and which instead escaped rents.
Hence, it had a significant impact on the socio-economic balance of individual
villages, albeit to a degree that varied depending on the specific sub-regional and
local context.26
The decades around the year 1100, therefore, emerge as a crucial period in the
development of forms of power in the countryside. Numerous sources from this
period refer to these innovations in the mode of exercise of local power, which at
times are labelled malus usus or malae consuetudines.27 Another important indi-
cator of such change is the genuine boom in the number of letters of privilege and
written pacts designed to regulate the relations between lords and communities.28
I will analyse these documents and their production in greater detail in Part II of
the volume. Here I can anticipate that while up until the mid-eleventh century we
only find sporadic texts, in the subsequent years, up to 1080, we witness a gradual
increase in such documents, which becomes exponential over the four following
decades. It is evident that a strong need was felt to attempt to formally lay down in
writing practices and norms that were largely new, within the framework of a
general redefinition of local balances and modes of exercising power.
The inextricable intertwining, from as early as the first decades of the twelfth
century, of seigniorial rights of public and private origin—weighing upon the
whole peasant population, regardless of any relations associated with the owner-
ship of land—is a clear sign of the profound transformation of power balances, as
well as of the complex nature of seigneurie.29 It was a matter not merely of usurping
traditional public prerogatives (by imitating them), but of altering and extending
them, by combining them with the kind of burdens typical of relations based on
land ownership; and this, within the context of the widespread use of violence,
which greatly increased the lords’ possibility of exerting economic pressure. The
breakdown of public power created a void that was readily filled. It gave those
who had some clout at the local level the possibility to imitate those prerogatives
typical of those controlling the districtus. The lords did not merely appropriate
these traditional prerogatives, but introduced new forms of levy, for example to
26 For a discussion of this specific issue, see Chapter 4. On the difference between sub-regions, and
between the localities within these same sub-regions, see Wickham, ‘La signoria rurale’.
27 Fiore, ‘Bonus et malus usus’; on the awareness of the novelty represented by these new practices
of power, see Damiani, Die Briefe, III, n. 143 (a. 1067), pp. 524–5, with the cry against the new levies
imposed by the Marchiones on their peasants in eastern Tuscany and in northern Umbria.
28 Menant, ‘Les chartes de franchise’; Fiore, ‘Refiguring Local Power’.
29 As underlined by Sergi, ‘Storia agraria’.
the detriment of small local landowners, but also of the local community as a
whole.30 The light forms of protection exercised in relation to freemen and other
landowners’ subordinates by the lord of a castle could change and become more
rigid by imitation of the traditional prerogatives of legitimate districtus-holders,
while at the same time introducing new levies and burdens.31 At Cerea, in the
Verona area, the San Bonifacio counts, who already exercised traditional public
rights over the centre, took advantage of the situation to unlawfully increase
levies—despite the peasants’ remonstrations—by imposing heavier albergariae and
a new form of monetary taxation directed at the community as a whole.32 While
‘jurisdictional’ taxation could vary significantly depending on the local context, it
always allowed the domini loci to detain a significant portion of the surplus and,
on a more symbolic level, to impose on their subjects a form of power that was no
longer based on personal status and land ownership, but rather territorial.
3.3 Archaeology of power: castles in the light

of the written sources and material evidence
As our starting point we should take the fact that the process of creation or redef
inition of territorial lordship went hand in hand with a considerable (if variable)
increase in the economic pressure exercised on peasant society. We must there-
fore examine the underlying reasons for this transformation of economic and
power relations, and the general implications of this tendency for social balances
in the countryside. The turn towards lordship that is clearly detectable in Tuscany
in the decades around 1100 has recently—and persuasively—been interpreted
as an aristocratic reaction to the considerable economic limits of land rent.33
According to this view, within the context of the economic growth shaping the
countryside in the eleventh century, this rigid form of income proved ineffective
as a means to intercept the growing productive surplus, which instead benefited
peasant society as a whole. Growing aristocratic discontent led to a reaction that
took a concrete form precisely with the establishment of territorial lordship and
with the imposition of extra-economic, jurisdictional forms of taxation which
weighed upon not just tenant farmers, but the peasant community as a whole.
Evidence of the lords’ new capacity to impose levies may be found in the
material revolution undergone by Tuscan castles, with the emergence of more
30 A convenient guide is Menant, Campagnes lombardes, pp. 417–8, that notes the sells (clearly ex
post, to secure the actual situation) from the legitimate holders of comital rights over freemen and
arimanni to their (real) local lords, between 1090 and 1120. Other (quite) similar examples from
Emilia in Die Urkunden und Briefe der Markgrafin Mathilde, n. 101 (a. 1107), pp. 276–7; n. 132
(a. 1114), pp. 338–40.
31 Sergi, ‘Storia agraria’, uses the concept of di ‘risorsa-sudditi’ (asset-subjects).
32 Le carte del capitolo di Verona, I, n. 120 (a. 1145), pp. 223–8, the events described date from early
decades of the twelfth century.
33 Bianchi, Collavini, ‘Risorse e competizione’.
sturdy shapes, the spread of the use of stone, and the new prominence acquired
by distinctly seigniorial structures such as towers. Recent archaeological investi-
gations have highlighted the break between the simple fortified structures of the
eleventh century and the far more elaborate castles of the following century,
after a stage of transition which occurred precisely in the decades around 1100.34
This change is also associated with the spread of the use of stone and brick in
place of wood, which was still widely employed in the previous stage. Stone
came to be used for the building of towers, early palaces and annexes (in place
of pre-existing wooden constructions) in the area probably set aside as a place of
residence for the lords or, as in the case of larger dominions, their local represen
tatives. Besides, these structures go hand in hand with material finds (pottery,
animal remains) that show a significant consumption of valuable goods by the resi-
dents: something that marks their superiority compared to the mass of subjects.35
The complexity of these structures also depends on what role individual castles
played within the local political context: the structures in question take a simpler
form in the peripheries of great dominions (controlled by custodes castri), and
more imposing and striking ones in the places of residence of lords. This includes
not just the most powerful domini, but also minor lords, who in such a way
probably attempted to make up for the limited power they actually wielded.36
Competitive ostentation through the building of castles thus became an integral
part of the rural landscape and of the grammar of rural power.
In my view this thesis can be extended to central and northern Italy as a whole,
with the due regional distinctions and nuances, which must be made the object of
more specific enquiries. These will become possible with the future broadening of
the archaeological record, which at present lacks the wealth of details available in
the case of Tuscany. An important clue here is provided by the Latium country-
side. As early as the eleventh century, lords across much of the region enjoyed full
jurisdictional rights, which find documentary expression in the placitum et dis-
trictus formula.37 However, this early flourishing of lordships (in much the same
years and forms as certain sectors of the Po Valley) is not associated with any
substantial material evidence. Despite the emphasis on lords’ incastellamento
efforts—the focus of a fundamental work by Pierre Toubert—in the written
sources produced between the late tenth century and the first half of the eleventh,
the field evidence shows a far less evident break in terms of structures and forms
of settlement.38 While these efforts no doubt marked an important stage in the
34 On the situation in southern Tuscany, see Farinelli, I castelli nella Toscana, pp. 91–156.
35 Bianchi, ‘Archeologia della signoria’, for a very rich interpretive overview of Italian archaeo
logical scholarship.
36 Bianchi, ‘Costruire castelli’. On animal remains, see Valenti, Savadori, ‘Animal Bones’.
37 Wickham, ‘The origins of the signoria’.
38 Toubert, Les structures du Latium, pp. 303–68; and Hubert, ‘L’incastellamento’.
process of the centralization of settlement and in the lords’ acquisition of greater

socio-economic control, their outcome was far from remarkable.
The contrast between the written sources and the material evidence probably
reflects the rift between aristocratic plans and the results actually achieved.
Archaeological excavations have revealed only minor fortified structures, which sug-
gests that the lords’ capacity to siphon off rural surplus was not very great. Evidently,
jurisdiction was not yet a significant source of profit, and the income from the
renting of land showed all its limits. Things changed significantly towards the end
of the eleventh century (and even more so in the twelfth), when castles became
far more imposing.39 At the same time, the documentary sources bear witness to
far harsher and more incisive—not to mention brutal, in many cases—forms of
lordship connected to the exerting of far greater economic pressure on subjects.40
However, castles are not merely an indicator of the increase in seigneurial pres-
sure: for they appear to be connected to this process in a far closer and deeper
way. Within this context of considerable instability and fluidity, marked by intense
military activity, castles became the centre of jurisdictional districts with uncer-
tain, shifting boundaries. Whereas in the previous stage, at least until the mid-
eleventh century, the connection between control over castles and the exercising
of districtus was far from obvious, insofar as most castra were simply associated
with large landed estates, rather than jurisdictional rights, the situation radically
changed after 1080. A connection emerged between the ownership of a castle and
the exercising of jurisdictional rights of a distinctly territorial nature over the sur-
rounding area. The emphasis on the building of new fortified structures at this
stage in monastic chronicles and the direct link with the intensification of local
power are significant elements, because they show that the phenomena in question
were also evident to observers at the time. Referring to abbot Giovanni’s building
of massive new fortifications at Subiaco, the anonymous author of the monastic
Chronicon claims that it was precisely thanks to these new structures that the
monastery gained complete control over the village for the first time—and this,
despite the fact that the monastery had been enjoying jurisdictional rights over
Subiaco for roughly a century thanks to a papal concession.41 In other words, an
explicit connection was established between the material reinforcement of the
castle and the strengthening of local rule.
From this perspective, it is also worth recalling the symbolic as well as material
role of fortified structures, which increasingly started punctuating the Italian
countryside. In this period stone walls started spreading, along with stone
39 An important overview of archaeological data, in Molinari, ‘Siti rurali’.

40 Wickham, ‘The origins of the signoria’, pp. 487–8.
41 Chronicon sublacense, pp. 12–18. See Molinari, ‘Siti rurali’, on the enlargement of castle struc-
tures in Latium in the decades around 1100.
t owers.42 As regards the latter, the studies published in recent decades tend to
downplay their practical military function, at least to some extent, while stressing
their symbolic and iconic value.43 Often the tower (or towers) of a specific castrum
was (were) not situated in a particularly significant position for defending the
castle, and at the same time the interior space was too small to serve as a dwelling
place, if not for a brief time, in an emergency situation.44 In other words, towers
would be an evident marker of the presence of a lord and of his dominion over a
particular place and its surroundings, a means to evoke the power of their owner
and builder even in his physical absence. The inaccessibility and costliness of
towers would mark the difference between rulers and ruled, shaping people’s per-
ception of both physical and social space. Therefore, the choice of locating towers
(and the aristocratic dwellings annexed to them) in elevated and prominent posi-
tions would not so much serve a practical purpose, as reflect the logic of ostenta-
tion of seigniorial power and of its military nature. In various centres in Piedmont,
such as Ceva, Piasco, Prato Sesia and Santo Stefano Belbo, the castle, located on a
hilltop, was rather distant from the village, which was instead located on flat land,
and towers over it from a height of several dozen metres.45 The symbolic signifi-
cance of these architectural choices is quite evident. Clearly, this should not be
taken to suggest that from a practical standpoint the defensive role of the towers
and fortified areas attached to them was of little or no value; on the contrary, they
remained an important means of protection in the event of sieges and provided a
(useful) ultimate refuge in emergency situations.46 However, this was probably
not the chief concern of those building such costly structures. The fact that at this
stage fortifications tended to replace churches as the point of reference for local
power even in areas ruled by ecclesiastical institutions is highly revealing of the
kind of change underway in the representation and perception of local power.47
The military dimension of the power symbolized by towers and keeps is self-
evident. Besides, the development of the territorial lordship, and of the material
structures most closely connected to it, occurred within a climate of considerable
uncertainty, marked—as we have seen—by ongoing and usually armed conflicts.
The increased competition focused on castra, which had become pawns in the new
political game played out in the countryside, is also witnessed by the intensity of
the process of incastellamento in the decades at the turn of 1100. Maria Elena
42 It must be stressed that in the same period we can perceive an explosion of the number of towers
in cities, used as markers of socio-political status (and also as structures for urban warfare); for an
overview, see Settia, Erme torri, pp. 83–114.
43 For an important discussions of these general issues, see Creighton, Early European Castles,
pp. 61–5.
44 Molinari, ‘Siti rurali’, p. 139.
45 See the files about Ceva, Piasco and Santo Stefano Belbo in Viglino Davico (ed.), Atlante castel-
lano; and that about Prato Sesia in Sommo (ed.), Luoghi fortificati.
46 Good examples in the local wars described in Chronicon sublacense, pp. 12–18.
47 Molinari, ‘Siti rurali’, p. 137.
Cortese’s research on the Florence area has shown that this stage witnessed a
significant reduction in the number of castles compared to the previous period.
Much the same process is evident even in the central and southern Marche, as
revealed by the extensive survey carried out by Roberto Bernacchia.48 In particu-
lar, the data pertaining to the southern part of this region, which coincides with
the extensive diocesan territories of Ascoli and Fermo, allow us to gain more than
just a vague picture of this process.49 The area in question is particularly well docu-
mented, thanks to the sources from Farfa and the two episcopal churches, from as
early as the late tenth century.
The period up until 1060 witnessed the foundation of numerous castles in the
area, roughly 130, always associated with forms of land-based power, whereas we
find no explicit mention of jurisdictional prerogatives. One interesting piece of
evidence closely related to these foundations is the limited size of the estates that
are often centred around the castra. In the case of donations, sales, exchanges or
emphyteutic leases involving castles, the documents frequently specify the surface
of the patrimony that found its administrative centre in the fortified settlement: a
piece of evidence that also confirms the fact that these were essentially property
transactions. While some castles would appear to have been founded at the centre
of vast estates measuring several thousand modia, quite a few were built on
restricted plots of land of no more than 400 modia. This is the case with the castle
of Paterno, founded by an aristocratic family in the first half of the eleventh century
and donated to the bishop of Fermo and the abbot of San Bartolomeo in 1066: it
encompassed only 203 modia of landed property.50 The castle of Troia, donated
by a member of a comital family to the prelate of Fermo in 1036, only included
100 modia of land.51 Estates of such limited size, no matter how fertile and well
cultivated, could support a few dozen peasant families at most.
The period between 1060 and 1120 witnessed a profound redefinition of settle
ment patterns in the southern Marche. Around half of the centres founded in the
previous stage disappeared and while several new castles were established (albeit
fewer than the abandoned ones), several of these new settlements were transient:
they vanish from the documentary evidence after their first mention. This confirms
just how unstable the settlement grid was at this stage. In general, while many
new castles were founded, even more disappeared, creating a markedly negative
balance. This selection process proved particularly detrimental to settlements
which were associated with more limited estates, and hence inevitably more fragile
from a demographic perspective. One compelling example of this tendency is
constituted by the territory of the present-day municipality of Servigliano, near
Fermo. In the second half of the eleventh century the settlement pattern in the
48 Cortese, Signori, castelli, pp. 155–60; Bernacchia, Incastellamento e distretti, pp. 250–65.
49 About these data, see Bernacchia, Incastellamento e distretti, pp. 250–65.
50 Liber iurium, n. 95 (a. 1066), pp. 197–9. 51 Liber iurium, n. 106 (a. 1036), pp. 226–8.
area was rather fragmentary. Servigliano—which had probably already been

fortified—laid at the centre of an estate owned by the bishop of Fermo.52 The
centre had probably already absorbed the tiny castle of Troia, which had been
donated to the prelate by its founders in 1036 and is never mentioned again after
this date.53 However, the area also included another two castles, Santa Croce and
Montecupo, which were controlled by two groups of minor local aristocrats. In
1108 the two families promised the bishop of Fermo (probably following an armed
conflict with the latter) to demolish the two castles they had hitherto controlled
and to move, along with their subjects, into the episcopal castrum of Servigliano,
committing themselves to its reconstruction—an action probably required by the
arriving of newcomers.54
While warfare operations are only adumbrated in this text, the context of mili-
tary competition within which this process of ‘creative destruction’ occurred is
evident from coeval documents, where references to attempts to destroy existing
castles or prevent the construction of new ones become increasingly numerous.
Not all the old centres had the demographic and economic potential to enable
the construction and consolidation of territorial lordships and gave way to better
equipped neighbours, be they other lords, nascent urban communes or, more
rarely, independent castle communities. We should not forget that with the com-
plete collapse of public order after 1080, several centres inhabited by freemen,
such as Val di Scalve and Isola Comacina, acquired prerogatives, powers, and
policies not unlike those typical of territorial lordships.55 In other cases still, com-
munities within broader dominions attempted to take advantage (with varying
degrees of success) of the stage of warfare and upheaval to free themselves from
their lord and gain self-government, as in the case of Sambuca in the Pistoia area
and San Gimignano, near Volterra.56 We will examine these realities in detail later
on. For the moment, it is important to bear in mind that, within the complex
scenario of the countryside of this period, other political actors were at work
alongside the lords and urban proto-communes.57
Within this turbulent context, local actors acquired full awareness of the new
significance of castles, as is evident from their reaction to the new establishment
of a fortification by political actors already operating in a given area. To carry out
an action of this sort was to invite conflict: for it meant reaffirming one’s power,
even in military terms, while altering the existing balance. Thus the bishop of
Luni regarded the construction of a new castle by the Malaspina, in an area he lay
52 Servigliano was first mentioned in 1035 (as mons); see Liber iurium, n. 273 (a. 1035), pp. 500–2.
53 Liber iurium, n. 106 (a. 1036), pp. 226–8. 54 Liber iurium, n. 274 (a. 1108), pp. 502–4.
55 See respectively: Menant, Campagnes lombardes, p. 493; Grillo, ‘Una fonte per lo studio’; Fiore,
‘I rituali della violenza’.
56 Regesta Chartarum Pistoriensium. Vescovado, n. 13 (a. 1104), pp. 13–4 (on Sambuca); Davidsohn,
Geschichte, I, pp. 351–2 (on San Gimignano, around 1100).
57 See section 5.2.
claim to, as a serious threat to his own power and reacted militarily, by attacking
the building site to prevent the completion of the work.58 In the prelate’s words,
which were publicly uttered as soon as the news of the Malaspina’s building plans
reached him, the construction of the castle would have entailed ‘the destruction
of his comitatus’: it would have felt as though his ‘liver were being ripped out of
his body’. It is noteworthy that in this case (as in other similar ones) the military
attack, which culminated in a bloody open-field battle between the bishop’s milites
and those of the Malaspina, took place just as the building work was about to start.
The aim was not merely to disrupt the construction plans but also (and perhaps
especially) to do so in the most public and spectacular way possible, to counterbal-
ance the striking inauguration of the new building. The construction of a castle
was a public act that amounted to the symbolic affirmation of one’s control over
an area. It carried marked military implications, as is witnessed by the presence
of numerous milites alongside the builders. Likewise, the response to this claim
needed to be ostentatious and spectacular, in such a way as to reaffirm one’s rights
and deny those of one’s opponent as powerfully as possible, before society as a
whole. The castrum, then, stood as the physical and material projection of that
military power on which hegemony over a local area ultimately rested.
From this perspective, it is worth noting that in testimonies given in Tuscany
in the mid-twelfth centuries, the witnesses, when referring to the offensive military
operations (hostes) carried out by the bishop of Volterra, in which they had per-
sonally taken part, recall the building of certain castles alongside various armed
expeditions against their enemies.59 In the eyes of their contemporaries, offensive
military operations and the building of castles were one and the same thing. The
explicitly military aspect of these operations—a means to stake one’s claims asso-
ciated with the construction of fortifications—clearly emerges once more in the
actions of the abbot of Subiaco. In several cases, in the case of a vassal’s refusal to
return to the abbey a castle he held as a benefice, the abbot did not merely engage
in a series of offensive military operations, but erected a new castle a short distance
away from the one to which he lay claim, in such a way as to express as openly as
possible his desire to control the territory. Conversely in two such episodes, when
an agreement was struck with vassals after a phase of armed conflict, the new
fortifications built by the abbey of Subiaco were demolished.60
The more conflictual the context was, the more crucial the erection of fortified
structures proved from both a military and symbolic perspective. One interesting
case in this respect is that of Valsesia, in northern Piedmont.61 A clear rift may be
observed between the situation in the mouth of the valley, where several rival
58 Il regesto del codice Pelavicino, n. 50 (a. 1124), pp. 72–7. For an analogue episode, see Il Regesto di
Farfa, V, n. 1213 (aa. 1099–1119 c.), pp. 204–5.
59 Collavini, ‘Il principato vescovile di Volterra’. 60 Chronicon sublacense, pp. 12–8.
61 For the castles of this area, see Sommo (ed.), Luoghi fortificati, I, pp. 47–76.
authorities were operating (in particular the counts of Biandrate, the bishop of
Vercelli and that of Novara, and the margraves of Romagnano) and the valley
itself, which had been entirely in the hands of the counts of Biandrate at least
since the mid-eleventh century.62 By contrast, in the middle and upper valley no
castles or towers were ever built. The only exception is a stronghold near Varallo,
the most important centre in the valley (and probably already the local central
place at the time, as it was to be in the subsequent period). Attested from as early
as the mid-tenth century, in all likelihood it was originally constructed by the
public authorities and later fell under the control of the counts of Biandrate.63 The
building of fortifications and the massive investment of resources connected to it
were a distinguishing feature of the disputed areas, whereas this phenomenon did
not occur in the more safely secured area, if not in a wholly marginal way. The
family of counts only built a range of significant fortifications in the problematic
area, in such a way as to prevent their enemies from accessing the valley and to
symbolically mark the boundary of their territory, whereas they did not invest in
the stronghold of Varallo, which would not appear to have undergone any notable
restorations, despite traces of occupation.
The fragmentary situation and high degree of conflict characterizing the stage
of the final affirmation of territorial lordship nonetheless generally suggest the
development of a tight web of fortifications. One significant exception within this
framework is represented by the immediate environs of cities, where the nascent
communes engaged in a fierce struggle to prevent the building of castles or destroy
existing ones. The presence of castles, by now associated with the exercising of
jurisdictional rights, was perceived as a threat to urban jurisdiction and control—
including economic control—over the surroundings. The best-known example
of this is the Sei Miglia (Six Miles) areas around Lucca, which was almost devoid
of castra. However, similar phenomena may be observed in numerous other cases
as well.64
The founding, rebuilding or restoration of castles abundantly documented by
written as well as archaeological sources was very costly in material terms. Such
operations were made possible precisely by the new and fuller control over local
society exercised by the lords, but at the same time they also enabled this control
to be exercised in the difficult and conflictual context of the age. These building
projects required considerable investments, demonstrating the new hold over
local society exercised by the lords undertaking them. Only a far closer control
over local society could ensure the local extraction of the labour and materials
62 On the political situation of Valsesia, see Guglielmotti, ‘Unità e divisione’.

63 Sommo (ed.), Luoghi fortificati, I, pp. 47–76.
64 On the ‘Sei Miglia’, see Wickham, Communities and clientele; and Quirós Castillo, El incastella-
mento, pp. 137–54. For a general overview, see Cortese, ‘Incastellamento e città’.
required.65 From this perspective, a highly significant piece of evidence is the

disuse of mortar mills (mortar being a crucial material extensively employed for
the building of castles)—well-documented in the archaeological record for the
eleventh century—in favour of hand-mixing, which was far more costly in terms
of human resources, as some experimental archaeological surveys have shown.
What is more, this trend occurred in a context of increased building requirements.66
The element in question seems to bear witness to the fact that the lords’ capacity
to locally extract labour had significantly increased, making technological strategies
to save on human capital superfluous. Rather, it may be argued that the fact that
additional labour was made necessary was to some extent welcome to the lords,
insofar as it allowed them to powerfully reassert their increasingly tight control
over their subordinates’ bodies. Besides, the capacity to mobilize such significant
resources explains the new and increased capacity to extract surplus at a local
level, by now on a jurisdictional basis. This, in turn, further explains why the
imposition of complete and explicit territorial lordship in those communities
characterized to a more or less substantial degree by the presence of peasant alodia
did not translate into the dispossession of their owners. This element has some-
times been interpreted as betraying a certain weakness on the lords’ part. In the
tenth and early eleventh century the bulk of castle owners sought to expropriate,
in a more or less legal way, the landed properties of those residing in their area of
influence, so as to increase land rents. By contrast, the territorial lords of the late
eleventh and early twelfth century had no need to act in such a manner, as by
then they were capable of imposing levies upon the whole population residing in
the districts surrounding the castles (despite their fluid and not yet strictly defined
boundaries). The fact that the lords did not appropriate all lands, therefore, should
not be interpreted as a sign of weakness: indeed, perfectly comparable situations
may be observed both in areas subject to what are regarded as weak forms of lord-
ship, such as northern Tuscany, and ones subject to strong forms of lordship, such
as the central Po Valley.67
Material evidence also provides some significant clues as regards the ways in
which the increasing quota of productive surplus accumulated by the lords circu-
lated within village society. In this age stone houses started making their appear-
ance near castles, as in the case of those built adjacent to the castle of Manzano, in
Piedmont, in the early decades of the twelfth century.68 These were houses set
65 On the Aldobrandeschi’s imposition of heavy building corvées on their subjects in southern
Tuscany around the year 1080, see Codex Diplomaticus Amiatinus, II, n. 309 (ante a. 1084), pp. 261–3;
on the heavy building corvées which the abbot of Farfa imposed on the peasants in the villages directly
under the abbey’s control, see Il Regesto di Farfa, V, n. 1154 (a. 1097 c.), p. 158 (the peasants were
apparently required to work in shifts, so that at any one time twenty men would always be involved in
the building activity).
66 Bianchi, ‘Costruire castelli’.
67 Wickham, The Mountain and the City, pp. 307–43; Menant, Campagnes lombardes, pp. 421–3.
68 Micheletto, ‘L’insediamento rurale’.
aside not for the lords themselves but, in all likelihood, for the local military elites.
In other words, the knights sought to imitate, on a smaller scale, the structures
and materials adopted by their lords, thereby marking their distance from the rest
of the local population, which continued to live in wooden dwellings. The use of
stone (or brick) became a way to visually and concretely express the divisions
of local society, but also the transformations of the system of appropriation and
redistribution of local economic resources. If seigneurial coercion was crucial
for the appropriation of surplus, this was only possible—as we shall see later on—
through the redefinition of the balances of village society, and the militarization
of part of the local military elite, closely connected to the domini.69
Starting from the last decades of the eleventh century, the appropriation of
rural surplus entailed the exercising of dominatus loci, of control over the local
territory and its residents. There was no need for the lords to insist on controlling
landed properties in order to acquire the surplus; indeed, from the late eleventh
century onwards, at times we find properties previously held in concession being
donated as a reward to individual subordinates (often, but not exclusively, of mili-
tary extraction): a new phenomenon that allows us to clearly grasp the implica-
tions of the transformation underway.70 We will later be discussing the ways in
which village society was reshaped. Here we must instead deal with a particular
phenomenon that emerged precisely in the period under consideration, without
being confined to it, and which appears to be closely connected to the redefin
ition of local power balances: the construction of fortified boroughs in the coun-
tryside by major lords.
3.4 Seigneurial ‘central places’ and their role
Already by the first half of the eleventh century, the settlement pattern in the
Italian countryside must have been far from homogeneous: many small-sized
centres existed alongside far more significant settlements, such as Susa, Guastalla,
Monselice and Pontremoli. However, within the context of the more general pro-
cess of incastellamento (and decastellamento), the period after 1080 witnessed a
tendency towards the construction of new fortified boroughs in the countryside
or the restructuring and enlargement of pre-existing fortified settlements.71
Among the best-known examples in this respect we find Crema, Biandrate, and
Empoli, which are evidenced by more or less rich sources that enable us to clearly
appreciate the difference in scale compared to the more typical foundations of
69 I will discuss this issue in more depth in section 4.1.

70 See for example Le carte di Sassovivo, I, n. 159 (a. 1105), pp. 236–8; Documenti per la storia di
Arezzo, I, n. 289 (a. 1098), pp. 395–6; Codice diplomatico padovano, II, n. 5 (1104), pp. 4–5.
71 About this issue, see Cortese, ‘Signorie rurali e centri’.
castra. These examples can help understand a far broader phenomenon, of which
the documentary evidence often provides only a fleeting glimpse. In this context
too it is likely that progress in the archaeological research in coming years will
provide crucial data to enrich and broaden our records. However, not least in the
light of our current knowledge, to conflate these interventions with the more com-
mon, and less ambitious, examples of incastellamento would be to water down
their importance and miss the opportunity to investigate the specific features of
these projects within the context of the countryside of that age. I will therefore set
out from some better-known examples in order to more broadly reflect on the
possible dimensions of the phenomenon and on its specific significance.
That of Crema is no doubt the most famous example, precisely on account of
the particular success enjoyed by this new settlement—which in the immediately
following decades was to acquire markedly semi-urban features—and of the par-
ticular richness and density of the local documentary and narrative evidence.72
Crema was founded in the early 1080s upon the initiative of a distinguished
comital family, the Gisalbertini, who had long been the comites of the county of
Bergamo, a relatively peripheral area compared to the centre of their patrimony.
From the very beginning, Crema drew a considerable population, attracting within
a short time a very broad pool of immigrants (peasants, but also numerous families
of military extraction), mostly from outside the area ruled by the counts. Precisely
on account of its capacity to drawn new inhabitants, within a few years Crema
became a point of reference for an extensive area and hence a military rival for
urban centres such as Lodi and (especially) Cremona that sought to control the
surrounding territory. Moreover, the new castrum soon became a lynchpin for
much of the Gisalbertini clan, who moved there.
An altogether different case is that of Empoli, which was founded by the Guidi
in 1119 near the parish church of Sant’Andrea, in an area where their power ran
up against the growing ambitions of Florence. From the very beginning, the new
castle was of considerable size and housed a population that had hitherto been
dispersed across several settlements, within a broad territory. It established itself
as the political and economic hub for a vast section of the Guidi’s domain.73
The (re)founding of Biandrate, a dozen kilometres away from Novara, instead
occurred in 1093 upon the initiative of the main branch of the ancient family of
counts of the Novara area, a branch which was soon to take its name from the
castle. This historical event is known to us through a double letter of privilege
issued to the local milites and peasants by the counts, in order to promote the
development and settlement of the site. This investment is clearly connected to a
72 Menant, ‘Alle origini della società cremasca’; and Albini, ‘Crema dall’XI al XIII secolo’.
73 Documenti per la storia dei conti Guidi, nn. 162–3 (a. 1119), pp. 226–8; on these texts see Cortese,
‘Signorie rurali e centri’, p. 398. A similar (but slightly later) example is the (re)foundation of
Poggibonsi by the Guidi counts; an enterprise thanks to the rich archaeology; see Poggio imperiale,
pp. 126–44.
stage of marked expansion by this aristocratic family, who after a harsh armed
conflict with the bishop of Novara, culminating in the physical elimination of the
prelate, consolidated and extended its hold over the plain, quite a distance away
from their mountain strongholds of Ossola and Valsesia.74 Besides, the military
context for this initiative is evident from the very pacts drawn up with the local
milites, whose support was crucial for the Biandrate family’s plans.
The three cases just mentioned allow us to identify certain common features,
most notably the founding of a fortification in a military context marked by rivalry
with large alternative power centres, including urban ones. In the case of Biandrate
and Crema, another notable feature is the fact that these sites were conceived as
genuine cornerstones for a princely political project.75 Whereas Empoli was
intended to be one of the administrative centres within the extensive and uneven
area controlled by the Guidi (like Modigliana and Monte di Croce), the other two
castles were destined, within a very short time, to become genuine seigniorial
‘capitals’. Crema gradually lost this position, as within a few decades the dominant
role of the counts gave way to the authority of the local community. By contrast,
Biandrate preserved its original function for quite some time, so much so that in
the late twelfth century it was completely destroyed by the communes of Vercelli
and Novara as a way to symbolize the dismantlement of the comital principality.76
These three examples are far from isolated ones and can be used as guidelines
to understand a wide-scale process that is nonetheless impossible to fully grasp,
owing to the occasional nature of the written and archaeological sources. One
particularly significant case, in this respect, is that of Tusculum, in Latium, which
is documented by a major excavation campaign. What we have here is not merely
a gradual process of development, but extensive and ambitious interventions, which
coincide with a substantial enlargement of the space occupied by this settlement,
and which constitute the crucial premise for its transformation in an even more
markedly urban sense from the mid-twelfth century onwards.77 The centrality of
this settlement, even from an economic perspective, is further revealed by the
presence of large warehouses for the foodstuffs produced, in all likelihood, not
just in the immediate environs, but also in minor centres controlled by the same
family of lords—a feature that, as we have seen, Tusculum shares with other similar
sites.78 In this case the centre in question was also the ‘capital’ of an important
seigneurial family, the Tuscolani, and the building work coincided with their full
74 Andenna, ‘I conti di Biandrate e le loro clientele’; the double charter of franchise (for milites and
peasants) is edited in I Biscioni, I/2, nn. 279–80 (a. 1093), pp. 120–2.
75 See the archaeology about the later (but structurally similar) settlement of Poggibonsi (founded
in 1155): Poggio imperiale, pp. 126–44.
76 Degrandi, ‘Definizioni teoriche e prassi’, pp. 466–70.
77 Beolchini, Delogu, ‘La nobiltà romana altomedievale’; and Beolchini, Tusculum II.
78 See section 1.3.
affirmation as territorial lords, within the framework of the collapse of papal

power in the region.
Other similar cases probably include Prato, which around 1100 became the
main hub for the Alberti counts’ domain, and Massa (significantly called Massa
del markese), in Lunigiana. Following margrave Alberto’s intervention, in the
1080s Massa became the eponymous centre and political hub for one of the
branches of the kinship group of the Obertenghi, engaged in an ambitious project
in the coastal area between Liguria and Tuscany, as well as in Corsica.79 However,
as perfectly illustrated by the case of Empoli, the founding of a settlement ex novo
(or the re-founding of an existing settlement on a larger scale) cannot always be
interpreted as an attempt to establish a genuine capital. More often, it was simply
a matter of planning new economic and/or political centres for an area, by exploit-
ing the fluid territorial boundaries and context of increased productiveness. The
territories controlled by princes were large enough to support several centres of
this sort, many of which were actually situated in a marginal position. For example,
shortly before 1100 the margraves of Monferrato built a large, fortified burgum
novum at Trino, a peripheral area within their domain, where their political plans
conflicted with those of the bishop of Vercelli, whereas no similar interventions
are known to us at the heart of their territory, not least because of the dearth of
evidence.80 In addition, it is not unlikely that investments were made to found
new settlements or re-found pre-existing ones, in such a way as to lend them a
semi-urban character, within the extensive domain ruled by Bonifacio Del Vasto
(Cortemilia, Cairo, Loreto, Saluzzo and Ceva being the most likely candidates).81
The settlement of Loreto, which served as the margrave’s favourite residence in
the last years of his life but was then razed to the ground by the citizens of Asti
and abandoned, around the year 1200, might be made the object of valuable
archaeological surveys in the future that would shed new light on such a process.
In these same years, within the framework of the vast domain of the
Aldobrandeschi, Grosseto underwent substantial economic and demographic
development (culminating in its being raised to the status of civitas in 1138 with
the transfer of the see of the bishop of Roselle within its walls), not least thanks to
the production of salt—a major source of revenue at the time. By the 1130s this
centre in Maremma, protected by thick walls and furnished with a fortified keep,
was perceived by observers from across the Alps as a genuine civitas, like Turin or
Florence, rather than as a mere castrum.82 It is quite possible that the counts
79 Cortese, ‘Signorie rurali e centri’, p. 399 (Prato); and Nobili, ‘Le signorie territoriali’, pp. 304–6
(Massa).
80 Le carte dell’archivio capitolare di Vercelli, I, n. 64 (a. 1100), p. 78; see Panero, Villenove medievali,
pp. 20–1.
81 On these settlements Provero, Dai marchesi del Vasto, pp. 125–50.
82 Collavini, ‘Grosseto’. On Grosseto, considered as a civitas by German eyes, see Annalista Saxo,
Annales, p. 773. Even the great castle of Gamondio (in this case autonomous and not subject to any
lord), in southern Piedmont, is labelled by the same author as civitas (p. 771).
played an active role in the development of this centre. However, despite its
demographic and economic weight, Grosseto never became the ‘capital’ of the prin-
cipality, partly owing to the fraught relations between the local community and
the family of counts, who opted at that stage for an ‘itinerant’ form of rule, i.e. one
that did not entail the selection of a specific place as the seat of princely power.83
More powerful abbots also undertook initiatives of this sort, as is shown for
instance by the substantial building investments made by the abbey of Subiaco for
its eponymous castle and those made by the abbot of Farfa at Offida, which in the
immediately subsequent period was destined to become the main centre ruled by
Farfa in the southern Marche. At Offida, the material restoration of the settlement
went hand in hand with the issuing of franchises and privileges to the local com-
munity: an initiative clearly intended to further increase the population.84
By contrast, it is likely that the need for projects of this sort was not as keenly
felt by bishops, since their power was (also) urban in nature. Yet, it is worth not-
ing that in certain cases the bishop’s see was located within a walled settlement
adjacent to the city itself, as in the cases of Imola and Arezzo. However, where
the episcopal authorities develop extensive polities—as in Volterra, Ravenna, the
southern Marche, and the southern Piedmont—it is possible to find cases such as
those illustrated in these last pages. While the bishops did not need ‘capitals’, they
still needed administrative and economic centres in order to make the most of the
potential offered by their control over the countryside. One particularly significant
example is the bishop of Fermo’s founding of Civitanova, probably in the first half
of the 1070s. The very name chosen for the new settlement, located in the north-
ern sector of the diocese of Fermo, clearly reveals the ‘urban’ ambitions behind
the project. Moreover, we know that even homines depending on other lords
emigrated to the new centre (and this inevitably became a source of considerable
tension). Finally, on the occasion of the founding of the settlement, its inhabitants
were granted a generous charter of franchise, which ensured a significant degree
of self-government for the local community and its representatives, much as at
Offida and Biandrate.85 In the late 1080s and early 1090s, the bishop of Ravenna
also acted in a particularly incisive way with regard to the small fortified centre
(oppidulum) of Argenta, in the Po delta, an important trading area where consid-
erable reclamation work was carried out. A huge tower was built there that made
a strong impression at the time. It represented the most striking element in the
building project, evidently designed to establish Argenta as a toll station and
junction in the regional trade system. But it also served as a lynchpin for the
83 Collavini, ‘Grosseto’, pp. 127–33.

84 On Offida, see Il Regesto di Farfa, V, n. 1319b (a. 1099–1119 c.), p. 310.
85 The documenti is lost, but in the later decades it was used as model for other charters of fran-
chise granted by the bishop of Fermo; see Tomei, ‘Genesi e primi sviluppi’, pp. 139–42; and Fiore,
Signori e sudditi, pp. 250–1. On the conflict with the personal domini of some immigrants, see Liber
iurium, n. 84 (a. 1075), pp. 179–81.
r eclamation of the surrounding marshes, thanks to the network of canals branching

out from Argenta.86 The success of this new central place is also illustrated by the
two sojourns—including a rather extended one—that the archbishop made there
in 1093 and 1097, as well as by the later history of the settlement.87
From a general perspective, a distinguishing feature of the period in question
in contrast to the immediately preceding one is the building ex novo or re-founding
of large rural centres, where the population could be concentrated in what would
probably have been regarded as an urban setting in northern Europe. These ini
tiatives could even draw residents from outside the domain of those promoting
the centres, as is shown by the case of Crema and, on a more limited scale, that of
Civitanova.88 This result was also obtained through the concession of a consider-
able degree of self-government to the local communities, as in Biandrate, Offida,
and Civitanova, and more generally of a relative limitation (and regulation) of
seigniorial taxation, at least compared to the frequently ‘predatory’ modes of exac-
tion typical of the age. In addition to playing an economic and demographic role,
often connected to the reclamation, tilling and cultivation of land (as in Argenta,
Crema and, probably, Biandrate), these centres were of crucial political importance.
They were conceived as genuine linchpins for the control of the surrounding
territory and the coordination of the minor fortifications in the environs. From
this perspective, the ‘military’ component of the population was of fundamental
importance, as is shown in particular by the cases of Biandrate and Crema: con-
centrating in one large centre a considerable number of easily mobilized knights,
was crucial in order to exercise effective military control over the surrounding
area. Finally, in certain cases this political aspect is even more prominent, insofar
as the sites are conceived as the genuine ‘capitals’ of incipient principalities, as in
the cases of Prato, Tusculum and Biandrate. One element worth stressing is the
fact that such projects were exclusively implemented by major political actors with
an almost prince-like profile (distinguished families of margraves and counts,
bishops who were highly politically active at the local level, and major abbeys).
These were the only political actors possessing the material resources required to
undertake costly endeavours of this sort; but they were also the only actors to
control territories large enough to support such ambitious political and economic
projects, which otherwise would have almost certainly been destined to failure.
What seems to emerge quite clearly from the analysis carried out so far is the
fact that the decades at the turn of the year 1100 represent a decisive moment, in
which the processes of localization and redefinition of power that had been
unfolding for decades underwent a crucial acceleration within the context of the
86 Deusdedit, Libellus, p. 330; on the cruciality of the munitio (stronghold) of Argenta for the local
political projects of the archbishop, see also Bernold of Konstanz, Chronicon, p. 533. Perhaps the
monumental rebuilding of the local church dates from the same years: Vasina, ‘Le pievi’, p. 615.
87 Pallotti, Castelli e poteri signorili, pp. 41–6. 88 Liber iurium, n. 84 (a. 1075), pp. 179–81.
breakdown of public order previously described. The territorial lordship model

became widespread, establishing itself as the principle shaping most of the rural
territory. A close relationship emerged between the ownership of castles and the
exercising of jurisdictional prerogatives that was destined to characterize subse-
quent centuries as well. The economic pressure on peasant society increased
through the imposition of new burdens on a territorial and jurisdictional basis,
which were added on top of the more traditional burdens based on land owner-
ship. In other words, what we witness is not a mere localization of power practices
and structures, but their redefinition and reshaping; and this is attested not just
by changes in the documentary evidence, with the proliferation of texts con-
nected to the concrete modes in which jurisdiction was exercised (the kind of
texts essentially absent in the previous centuries), but also by the material and
archaeological evidence.
4
Inside the Lordship
Reshaping Local Societies
In the previous chapter we have seen how the widespread application of the model
of power of the territorial lordship in the countryside at the turn of the 1100s led
to a general increase in the duties imposed on peasant society in rural centres
ruled by lords, and to a new capacity for the accumulation of agricultural surplus
on the latter’s part. This process occurred through the imposition and formaliza-
tion of rights of command that were far broader than those en force in the previous
period. The forms of coercion and exaction that crystallized in this period would
appear to have been more pervasive and effective at the local level compared to
the prerogatives typically associated with landed lordship, or traditional ways of
exercising public power.
Confining ourselves to this observation, however, would be simplistic and
essentially misleading. To stop at the surface of this change affecting lordship is to
overlook the forms acquired by local societies, which is to say the concrete con-
texts in which human beings lived at the time—their day-to-day social, political,
and economic relations. Rather, we must investigate and identify the nature of the
transformations triggered by changes in lordship patterns within village societies.
In other words, it is necessary to analyse how these changes affected social and
economic relations and networks, reshaping local hierarchies and modes of social
mobility for groups and individuals.1 Territorial lordships must be seen not merely
as a means to exact material and symbolic resources, but also as a means to redis-
tribute these resources within local society. Precisely by virtue of these dynamics,
territorial lordships restructured and remodelled social space, to varying degrees,
depending on the context. This is a fundamental aspect to bear in mind if we
are to understand their capacity not only to affirm themselves but also to acquire
a stable form and impose themselves for an extended period of time as the main
political model for rural power balances. While the use of force and coercion no
doubt played a significant role in the process of reaffirmation of territorial lord-
ships in this troubled age, it is obvious that it was not the only element at play.
The process of internal rearrangement of subject communities, which is closely
connected to the redistributive aspect of the dominatus loci, proved crucial for
1 On these processes, in general, see Carocci, Lordships, pp. 325–490.
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198825746.001.0001
Inside the Lordship 75
building the kind of local consensus that every authority requires in order to
successfully perpetuate itself over time.2
As regards the specific issue of social balances within village societies in the
late eleventh and early twelfth century, over the last two decades Italian scholar-
ship has been deeply influenced by the model proposed by Chris Wickham in his
landmark study on the communities of the Lucca plain, which marked a real turn-
ing point in the study of local social and economic structures and networks.3
However, the model proposed by this British scholar can only partially be applied
to communities governed by territorial lordships. Indeed, this model is based on
empirical evidence from a specific area, the Sei Miglia (Six Miles) of Lucca, strongly
marked by proximity to the city (and by the political influence of its nascent urban
commune), even though the rural centres it encompassed—as in the case of
Moriano—were subject to lords. So while this model provides essential guidelines
for understanding the forms and structures of rural territories that are highly inte-
grated with urban contexts, it must be used with much greater caution when we
shift further away from the cities, into genuinely seigniorial areas, which remained
predominant in the Italian countryside up until at least the late twelfth century.4
In order to intuitively grasp the rift between the ‘Lucca Plain model’ and the
reality of seigneurial centres, we need only consider the fact that, according to the
former, the military aspect was weak in village elites, or even non-existent, whereas
the central role played by milites becomes immediately evident in any analysis of
documents pertaining to rural communities subject to actual domini. And it is pre-
cisely this element that I would like to take as my starting point in order to evaluate
the extent to which local power balances were redefined by changes in lordship
patterns, before moving on to an analysis of the lower strata of village society.
4.1 Village elites and their militarization
The process of the redefinition of social space triggered by the rise of territorial
lordships unfolded within the framework of the increasing local unrest I have
previously described. In turn, this inevitably influenced the crystallization of new
power balances in the decades around 1100. As we have seen, the spread and
generalization of the dominatus loci in the countryside was closely connected
to the substantial rise in military activity that occurred from the last decades of
the eleventh century. Within a context of endemic warfare, what acting on the
local political scene meant for the lords was primarily defending themselves
2 Collavini, ‘Signoria ed élites rurali’; see also Fiore, Signori e sudditi, pp. 248–63.
3 Wickham, Community and Clientele. On the influence of this book over Italian scholarship, see
Provero, ‘Dalla realtà locale’.
4 The author was well aware of this; see Wickham, Community and Clientele, pp. 209–26, on differ-
ences between local frameworks in Italy.
against their enemy, extending their influence to the detriment of their neighbours,
and affirming their power over subjects who were not always compliant. All these
actions required a considerable use of human resources for the purpose of war-
fare. The domini had the utmost need for well-trained reserve warriors that could
easily be mobilized to effectively meet these requirements. This was much more
the case now than in the past, when the level of local violence had been far more
limited, as had been the military dimension of power.5 The change in lordship
patterns entailed not only a militarization of local societies, but a transformation
of their inner hierarchies, which made it possible to maximize the number of
armed men in the domini’s service: a key element to understand the modes and
outcomes of this process.
One first vantage point that can enable us to grasp the degree of militarization
of the elite within village society at the turn of the 1100s is the semantic shift of
the expression boni homines. Traditionally it referred to local notables, both at a
strictly local level and at a supra-local one; it described a prominent role that was
publicly acknowledged, even by royal officials.6 This label was applied to those
individuals who, with a position of some prominence, attended the placita held
by public officials; but it was also applied to the estimatores (estimators) who took
part in the transfer of ecclesiastical institutions by assessing the actual value of the
properties involved. In other words, these people were the acknowledged guaran-
tors of local order, by virtue of their prominent position within village society. In
our period, in rural seigniorial centres in central Italy, the expression instead
became a perfect synonym for milites: it was used to describe a group of mounted
warriors closely connected to their lord, often by bonds of personal fealty, pre-
cisely by virtue of their military prowess.7 The available sources are numerous and
very explicit on this matter, so a couple of examples should suffice to illustrate this
close identification. In establishing a series of burdensome material obligations
related to the building of the new monastic church, in 1097 the abbot of Farfa
Berardo (II) only made an exception, among his subjects, for the ‘bonos homines
idest equitum personas’.8 In the same years, within the domains of the Marchiones,
in northern Umbria, the holders of seigniorial feora (fiefs) were collectively
described as boni homines.9 A rather vague characterization, based on their dis-
tinguished position in the local context and on ownership and relational dynam-
ics, gives way to one defined by bonds of vassalage. By the end of the eleventh
century, pre-eminence within village society and a military profile had come to be
perceived as two inextricably connected features. As we shall see in greater detail
5 Military characterization of elite is undetectable around Poggibonsi, in Tuscany, in the first three
decades of eleventh century; see Collavini, ‘I beni fiscali in Tuscia’.
6 Szabo, ‘Zur Geschichte des boni homines’.
7 This issue is discussed in Brancoli Busdraghi, ‘Masnada e “boni homines” ’.
9 Documenti per la storia di Arezzo, I, n. 289 (a. 1098), pp. 395–6; see Tiberini, ‘Origini e radicamento’,
pp. 510–12.
later on, in the years after 1080, in the pacts and charters of franchise regulating
the relations between a local community and its dominus loci, a clear distinction
emerged with regard to the former, between milites and peasants: a view of the
social context that is instead completely foreign to texts of this sort from the pre-
vious period.10
In this respect, one important structural element to be taken into account is
the fact that, generally speaking, the brutal coercion of subjects, as a crucial
means for lords to impose and consolidate their power, was easier to ensure if the
group exercising the violence was clearly distinct and separate from the mass of
the subject population. The more marked the social and status gap between
the two groups was—i.e. the higher the degree of segmentation of a village
community—the easier it was to control the local society. A tight-knit and com-
pact community, capable of autonomously expressing and managing its military
potential, was capable of successfully resisting seigneurial rule, especially it if car-
ried considerable demographic weight. There are plenty of examples of this for our
period: from the bellicose homines of the Val di Scalve, who succeeded in wresting
certain Alpine centres away from the bishop of Bergamo, to the communities of
rural centres in southern Piedmont such as Gamondio, Marengo and Novi,
who successfully affirmed themselves as independent political actors despite the
opposition from enemies of the calibre of the local Aleramic margraves.11
The turbulent decades around 1100, with their ever-shifting balances of
power, must have actually fostered processes of this sort, as we shall see in
greater detail in the next chapter. What is most noteworthy here is the fact that,
precisely by virtue of the existence of autonomous communities of this sort, lords
must have been well aware of these developments and must have sought to prevent
them. To do so, from the perspective of the domini loci, it was crucial to develop,
within village society, a specific class possessing military capacities (but also, more
generally, a capacity for social control) that would identify itself with the lord and
share his view of social and power relations. This group was to derive (material
and symbolic) profit from this proximity to the domini, so as to cut itself off from
the bulk of peasant society. As we shall see later on, when analysing the structural
role of violence in the reproduction of the lordship system, not just mounted com-
bat but also the often brutal use of force against subject peasants was an important
shared moment that brought together the lords and their milites—who were other-
wise separated owing to their different degrees of wealth and power—by estab-
lishing them on a different level from the rest of rural society.12
The material benefits accruing from membership of this group were of two
kinds: the concession of estates and other properties; and complete or partial
exemption from the kind of levies imposed on peasants. The tax benefits would
10 For a discussion of this issue, see section 4.2. 11 For an ample overview, see section 5.2.
12 See Chapter 10; on this issue a convenient guide is Collavini, ‘Sviluppo signorile’.
appear to be closely connected to the provision of mounted military service for

the dominus loci. The purchase and upkeep of a horse and of war equipment
was expensive, and taking part in military actions entailed considerable risks. In
return for this servitium, the lord would offer complete (or almost complete)
exemption from regular taxation. This link between military service and tax
benefits is clearly affirmed not just in several written pacts, but also in other texts,
such as records of the services owed to a dominus.13 The 1125 agreement between
the abbot of Nonantola and the ‘homines de Sancto Mariano qui milites diceban-
tur’ clearly specified that if the latter failed to upkeep their horses and fulfil their
military duties, they would be treated like all other men ruled by the abbot, who
were subject to corvée and to the payment of taxes ‘secundum usum nostrorum
operariorum hominum’.14 In any case, they were still required to pay the tithe.
Likewise, the estates granted in feudo militibus by the bishop of Pistoia were
exempt from the kind of levies imposed on the lands of mere peasants.15
As regards the concession of properties, this could occur both in a feudal way
and via other systems (emphyteusis, temporary grant, etc.). Even in the same
place an individual miles could receive lands from his lord in different forms.
In the first half of the twelfth century, in a castle belonging to the Este, various
members of the village elite had some mansi granted them in feudum and other
ones assigned to them according to different legal formulas (and which presumably
could more easily be revoked by the lord). Thus one Umbertus bastardus enjoyed
usufruct of seven mansi in total, of which only four were held de feudis.16 The
extension of the goods held in concession varied considerably from case to case,
even within the same location. The Nonantolan milites of San Mariano held
estates of the standard size of 100 perticae, each of twelve feet, yet this uniformity
would seem rather exceptional.17 In the aforementioned Este castle, the local
milites held in concession estates varying from five to eight mansi (households),
each of which was sublet to a family of farmers.18 A far more extensive and largely
uncultivated estate was given in emphyteusis by the bishop of Fermo to two of his
boni homines, Guarmusa and Corrado, in 1135: it covered a surface of no less
than 200 modia, inhabited by a dozen mainade hominum (households).19 Besides,
it is more than plausible that such an extensive landed patrimony included, in
13 Like the brevis about Pernina, in eastern Tuscany, drawn up in the early twelfth century, and
edited in Fabbri, Statuti e riforme, n. 2, pp. 344–6; the text is discussed in Carocci, ‘Le lexique du
prelevement’.
14 Tiraboschi, Storia dell’augusta badia di Nonantola, n. 236 (a. 1125), p. 236; on this, see Keller,
Signori e vassalli, pp. 74–5.
15 Regestum chartarum pistoriensium, Vescovado, n. 21 (a. 1132), pp. 22–35; these mechanisms are
discussed in general in Provero, Le parole dei sudditi, pp. 129–31.
16 Codice diplomatico padovano, II, n. 525 (a. 1150 c. but early twelfth century), pp. 382–3.
17 Tiraboschi, Storia dell’augusta badia di Nonantola, n. 236 (a. 1125), p. 236.
18 Codice diplomatico padovano, II, n. 525 (a. 1150 c. but early twelfth century), pp. 382–3.
19 Liber iurium, n. 295 (a. 1135), pp. 536–7.
addition to the farmsteads belonging to individual peasant families, also estates

belonging to the local lord and put to good use through the peasants’ corvées.
And again, around 1110 even a humble scutifer under the authority of a direct
vassal of the bishop of Padua held a feudal benefice that included a small curtis, in
which peasants under his authority offered their services.20 However, the clearest
indicator of the milites’ wealth is the number of peasant families. While some-
times—as we have seen—there were half a dozen of such families, in certain cases
the families were far more numerous. Thus in 1105 the brothers John and Albert,
residing at Poggio San Giuliano, were granted in emphyteusis by the bishop of
Fermo no less than twenty-one peasant caseate (households) with the attached
land, located in the territory of the important episcopal castle.21 In 1117 Petrus de
Sulico held per feudum no less than fifteen casae massariciae (houses of tenants)
within the major castle of Porto, in the southern Veneto.22 On the other hand, the
sources from Farfa pertaining to the decades around 1100 present the equites
residing in the castles of the monastery as being always ready to take advantage
of the tensions in the upper echelons of the abbey in order to wrest the local
peasant tenants (angariales) away from the monks and place them under their
own control, to the significant detriment of the congregation’s revenue.23 We
should not forget that lands and the rights over the men cultivating them were
not the only economic resource for this group, as is shown for example by the
concession of mills—which must have constituted another major source of rev
enue in the rural context of those years—and, to a lesser degree, of river ports.24
As already noted, the benefits that this social group derived from its relationship
with a lord was not limited to the acquisition of economic resources. The connec-
tion with the dominus also gave milites access to non-material and symbolic capital,
which enabled them to redefine their status within the village community.
From this perspective, one central element is represented by the exercising of
power over men, which brought them closer to the local lord while distancing them
from all other subjects. This is not a matter only of the power they exercised as
reserve soldiers or officials of the dominus, but also of their rights to exercise per-
sonal lordship over the peasants under their authority.25 The feudal, emphyteutic or
lease-based grants by which these individuals were rewarded also included the
20 Codice diplomatico padovano, II, n. 526 (a. 1150 c.), pp. 383–4; the witnesses collected in this text
describe events from the early twelfth century and, in this specific case, from the years of Paduan
bishop Peter (second decade of the century).
22 Codice diplomatico padovano, II, n. 88 (a. 1117), pp. 70–2.
23 Il Chronicon farfense, II, pp. 299–313.
24 Liber iurium, n. 224 (a. 1095), pp. 415–6 (mill); n. 292 (a. 1140), pp. 533–4 (mill); n. 87 (a. 1104),
pp. 185–6 (third part of a portus); Le carte di Sassovivo, I, n. 127 (a. 1100), pp. 194–5 (vasallus of a
church who has as grant a mill).
25 Carocci, Lorships, pp. 466–90, has stressed the importance of this point, with reference to
southern Italy.
services of the peasant families working in the lands granted to them: payments in
coinage or kind, and labour. As we have seen, the number of families attached to
each miles (through beneficia, grants, and/or allodia, full properties) could range
from just a few to over a dozen, which suggests significant economic variations. But
what matters here is the fact that, on the whole, the members of the group exercised
prerogatives of this sort.26 Moreover, they were exempt from the humiliating and
physically taxing corveés (in fields or fallow lands) that were instead imposed on
mere peasants. This is not to say that the milites were not required to provide other
services to the dominus, in addition to strictly military ones; however, all such ser-
vices affirmed their distinct status, as in the case of the hospitality they were
expected to show the lord or his envoys, their role as heralds, and the payment of
low and merely symbolic rents (such as a few eggs, or a flat bread). In other words,
the services in question were all intended to symbolically and publicly express the
milites’ dependence upon their lord, as well as to prevent an allodialization of the
estates held in benefice.27 Thus in Poggio San Giuliano, in the Marche, those indi-
viduals required to servire in hoste episcopo were also expected to pay an annual
census of two flat breads and a chicken, in addition to keeping a bed in their homes
to offer the members of the bishop’s entourage during his recurrent visits to the
castle.28 While the ultimate purpose of these two duties was to confirm the milites’
dependence on the dominus, they also highlighted the particular status of this
group within local society.
However, it was precisely the main duty imposed on the milites, which is to say
their participation in mounted military activities alongside their lords, that repre-
sented a decisive element from the point of view of the symbolic construction of
the group’s collective status. Within a political context in which armed clashes
between bands of knights and acts of violence targeting churches and peasants
were the means by which the dominatus loci was imposed, frequent military
expeditions involving the lord and his retinue constituted a foundational moment
for the construction of identity.29 These expeditions reinforced the bonds between
men, united by their desire for pillage and plunder, by physical risks, and by the
exercising of violence, while separating them from the rest of rural society. In
these contexts, the marked differences in status between free warriors and warrior-
serfs, between scutiferi (esquires) and milites, between domini loci and mere boni
homines became blurred, at least temporarily, in the face of the strong experience
they all shared, and which created a feeling of camaraderie. This feeling would
endure, albeit in muted form, even when the expedition was over and the warriors
26 In 1105 two brothers were granted twenty-one peasant households with their holdings by the
bishop of Fermo: Liber iurium, n. 276 (a. 1105), pp. 506–7.
27 A short overview on these processes in Fiore, Signori e sudditi, pp. 401–3.
28 Liber iurium, n. 31 (post a. 1138, but aa. 1125–35 c.), pp. 56–8. For the date of the document it
must be stressed that in the text are mentioned as active and adults the sons of men mentioned in n.
276 (a. 1105), pp. 506–7.
29 On the ‘affective’ relationship generated in such contexts, see Bisson, The Crisis, pp. 73–9.
returned home, where they would remain until further notice. Recurrent warfare,
with its most savage and brutal aspects, translated into the construction of a
dichotomy between ‘knights’ and peasants, between those exercising violence and
those enduring it. Farmers, who in theory could be wealthier than milites, were
excluded from this identity-building moment and from its repercussions in terms
of personal status.
Increasing warfare, therefore, emerges as a decisive factor in the transformation
of rural social contexts, leading to a significant redefinition of existing power
balances. The need for mounted warriors, with their costly equipment, led lords
to alter social balances in villages in such a way as to acquire the broadest possible
following of milites, which was necessary to ensure their own success on the local
political stage (and the supra-local one as well, in the case of great lords).
Extensive estates were redistributed and given in concession; and the beneficiar-
ies of this policy were not just members of the local elite, but new men as well.
Mechanisms of social mobility emerged that distanced the individuals swelling
the ranks of lords’ armed groups from the rest of the population. At Biandrate, an
important castle and the eponymous centre of a powerful dynasty of counts, as
early as 1091 the agreements between subjects and lords clearly reveal a marked
differentiation between the members of the group of milites and the mass of sub-
jects, who had a very different social identity.30 At a short distance, the two groups
struck two separate agreements with the counts, which clearly reveal the different
status and social weight of their members. Likewise, in the letters of privilege
issued at Guastalla in 1102 the key distinction drawn within local society is
between those keeping war horses and the agricolae (farmers), who were instead
required to make substantial payments and to provide significant labour services,
from which the milites were utterly exempt.31 This policy adopted by the lords,
and designed to restructure local society in such a way as to maximize its capacity
to provide contingents of knights, undoubtedly proved successful. A rural centre
of average size such as Antignano, in central Umbria, was able to furnish the
Monaldi counts of Foligno, its domini, with a contingent of no less than twenty
equites (riders).32 The number of knights sent to the aid of Milan in its war against
Como by seigneurial centres such as Guastalla and (especially) Crema was fully
comparable, at any rate in the eyes of the author of De bello comacino, to that of
the troops despatched by cities such as Parma and Alba.33
The lords, however, did not limit themselves to endorsing and reinforcing the
rather fluid hierarchies that already existed by promoting and consolidating the
30 Andenna, ‘Formazione, strutture e processi’, pp. 154–8.

31 Le carte cremonesi, II, n. 248 (a. 1102), pp. 64–6.
32 Archivio storico del comune di Todi, Fondo Trinci, n. 1 (a. 1100 c.).
33 Anonimo Cumano, De bello. On the great number of milites supplied by a great castle like
Modigliana, ruled by the Guidi, see Collavini, ‘Le basi economiche’, pp. 341–2; on this issue see the
letters about military services between the community of Modigliana and the counts published in
Wieruszowski, ‘A Twelfth-Century “Ars Dictaminis” ’, pp. 382–93, nn. 12–13.
role of local notables, and militarizing their profile. The redistribution they oper-
ated at least partly overturned established balances and redefined them. Through
their relationship with the local lord, individuals of servile rank (servi) could
acquire a leading role in their community, eclipsing families of freeholders and
even small or medium landowners. Sources from the last decades of the eleventh
century clearly show the importance of servi within the group of individuals most
closely connected to the local lord. Numerous agreements and pacts from this
period, by which a given lord committed himself not to infringe upon a neigh-
bour’s property (often a church), include for the first time the significant formula
‘nostri homines liberi aut servi’: for it was these men who were materially respon-
sible for the kind of abuses to which the lord promised to bring an end.34 When
around 1080 the Aldobrandeschi counts forcibly took control of some centres
previously under the authority of the abbey of Monte Amiata, they assigned mili-
tary responsibilities to some of the monastic servi residing there. It should be
noted that when governed by the abbey they had not been entrusted with any
such responsibility—in fact, they would appear to have played a rather limited
role. Individuals of this sort played a leading role in the later military operations
against the monks—in the course of which several of the abbey’s milites were
killed—and in the effort to consolidate the counts’ power over the new castles: an
action that no doubt added insult to injury in the eyes of the anonymous monk
who drafted the querimonia thanks to which these facts are known to us.35 The
affirmation of the Aldobrandeschi’s power therefore went hand in hand with the
definition, within the servile population of the centres conquered, of a smaller core
of individuals who could be raised in status by assigning them military responsi-
bilities and, more generally, by involving them in the exercising of local power.
The close connection established between the counts and these individuals was to
make the latter the staunches champions of the Aldobrandeschi’s rule: the milites
helped the counts foil monastic counter-offensives and earn the new lords local
consensus, probably by also providing a counterbalance to local groups tradition-
ally more closely connected to the Monte Amiata monastery.
Mounted armed service thus involved both free individuals and ones of hum-
bler social origins. The latter were selected precisely by virtue of their lowly social
status, which made them a crucial source of fidelity for their benefactors within
the context of a local society that was undergoing significant changes, and in which
established privileges and balances were being radically called into question.36
One example of social ascent on the part of individuals of humble origin is
34 There are many examples; for a convenient guide see Carte di Fonte Avellana, I, n. 66 (a. 1085),
p. 159. For an overview, see Brancoli Busdraghi, ‘ “Masnada” e “boni homines” ’.
35 Kurze, Codex Diplomaticus Amiatinus, II, n. 309 (ante a. 1084), pp. 261–3. On this important
text, see Collavini, Honorabilis domus, pp. 132–7.
36 On social differentiation among this social group, see the work about the scutiferi by Menant,
‘Gli scudieri’.
rovided by Gentile, the famulus (slave) of a family of counts from the Orte area.
p
In 1105 count Gentile di Ranieri manumitted him (along with his daughter and
children) through the traditional ceremony of the quadrivium; on the same occa-
sion, the count confirmed the alodium which Gentile already possessed in the
territory of the castle of Attigliano and granted him full ownership of three plots
of land he had previously held in fego (in fief).37 The deed we have, therefore, con
firms the process of social ascent experienced by this individual, who thanks to
his lord’s favour had already acquired some estates both as his own property and as
benefices, and grants to him his full freedom. Yet even without attaining freedom,
individuals of subordinate social rank could acquire considerable material and
social capital. This is the case with the famulus Albert, who in the first decade of
the twelfth century played an important role within the entourage of the
Cadolingian count Ugolinus. He held extensive estates in fief, some of which he
sub-leased to other warriors.38 Cases of social ascent of this sort must have been
relatively common at the time. Within a few decades—probably through matri-
monial ties as well—they generally led to increasing homogeneity in terms of sta-
tus within the lords’ military clientele. It is noteworthy that references to milites
and military vassals of servile rank become more and more rare after the early
decades of the twelfth century, with the exception of very few areas, such as the
northern Veneto, where they become even more numerous in the first half of the
thirteenth century. This is particularly (but not exclusively) the case in areas
traditionally controlled by the powerful Da Romano family.39 In most cases,
manumissions, marriages and—more generally—the tendency towards the
standardization of the composite world of the boni homines probably led to a pro
gressive merging of the two sectors of the military clientele, with the obliteration
of the servile status of an originally significant portion of its members.
These processes of social development and ascent, however, sometimes went
hand in hand with reverse trajectories for the members of local elites, who for
various reasons could prove incapable of finding a place in the new networks of
clients and power relations. The querimonia drafted shortly after 1100 by a wealthy
landowner residing in a castle in the Volterra area shows that he and the farmers
under his authority had become increasingly subject to acts of violence (wound-
ings and killings) attributed to members of the local elite. These acts culminated
with the expulsion of the entire group from the village and with the seizing of
their patrimony (houses, vineyards, and fields): an event no doubt to be viewed
within the context of the process of the establishment of the dominatus loci in
the village in question.40
37 Le carte di Sassovivo, I, n. 159 (a. 1105), pp. 236–8.

38 Brancoli Busdraghi, ‘ “Masnada” e “boni homines” ’, p. 308.
39 Scarmoncin, ‘Tra comune e signoria’.
40 Cavallini, ‘Vescovi di Volterra’, n. 129 (twelfth cent. but a. 1100 c.), pp. 81–2.
In envisaging village society and its internal hierarchies we should not draw
any fixed boundaries. There existed a considerable degree of social fluidity, which
nonetheless coexisted with a significant distinction between mere peasants—
however wealthy they may have been—and the milites who fought alongside their
lord, imposed censi and corveés for him, and exercised power on his behalf as
reserve soldiers and viscounts. This close relationship with the lord enabled milites
to reinforce their economic role at the local level, through the plunder from mili-
tary expeditions, the acquisition of full ownership over estates they had previously
held in benefice, and the granting of new lands. At an initial stage, it seems as
though the vast majority of estates were given in benefice, while alodia play only a
secondary role and in certain cases are even quite absent. In this respect, it is clear
that the lords sought to establish a close connection with the milites, but also to
continue influencing the members of their military clientele over time, so as to
prevent them from acquiring too much autonomy. A good example of this ten-
dency is provided by the will drawn up around 1100 by a miles in the service of
the counts of Foligno, the Monaldi. This individual, who in his will refers to his
involvement in military expeditions in the service of his lords and to the plunder
he earned, would only seem to have owned movable assents of various kinds
(horses, weapons, money, clothing, cattle, grain, etc.). He apparently did not own
any of his estates, which must have been granted to him in concession and hence
could not be disposed of in his will.41
However, over time the full acquisition of estates by milites became increas-
ingly common, despite local variations. The development of allodial landed patri-
monies must have proven easier in those areas where the local lord, while being
the main landowner, did not control most of the land. In these cases property
transactions must have taken a far more dynamic form, enabling milites—through
their (partial or complete) exemptions as well as the direct revenues from their
military services—to more easily acquire the kind of capital required to operate
on the market.42 As already noted, while some equites were appointed from the
servile strata of local society, others must have hailed from the ranks of local
notables, and hence are more likely to have already owned some estates. Thus in
the agreements struck at Biandrate in 1093, mention is made first of the allodial
land of the milites, which the counts promised to safeguard, and then of the land
granted in benefice.43 Sometimes the lords themselves turned their loyal men into
41 The text—copied in a coeval book preserved in the library of San Fortunato of Todi, in Umbria—
was published in Ceci, Todi nel medioevo, p. 49. at n. 2; it must be stressed that in the will the miles tells
that one of his three horses was a spoil of war, and was obtained during a military expedition near
Nocera, made alongside his lords.
42 On landmarket in seigneurial societies, see the important discussion in Carocci, ‘Poteri signorili
e mercato’.
43 Andenna, ‘I conti di Biandrate e le loro clientele’.
property owners by converting—either entirely or in part—the estates granted to

them into alodia, in return for particularly significant services they had rendered.44
Another notable aspect in the relation between lords and milites, and one dir
ectly connected to the dynamics of patrimonial development, is the direct service
provided by the latter as officials of the dominus. The exercising of such offices was
associated with the granting of additional land, which could be sublet, and with a
share in the payments collected from subjects (in particular fines).45 Furthermore,
it was precisely from within this social group that the lords appointed their most
prestigious officials, such as viscounts, who were entrusted with the administra-
tion of whole castles in the most important territorial lordships. As previously
noted, putting nobles belonging to families of domini loci as warden of castles was
considered risky on account of the possibility of appropriation of the appoint-
ment; hence, lords tended to prefer simple milites, who could more easily be
controlled and—should the circumstances require it—be removed.46 Besides, the
role of official offered those who were already members of the village elite further
opportunities in terms of social ascent, once again connected to services to the
dominus. It allowed them to directly share the power the lord exercised over his
subjects, thereby increasing the local prestige of those holding such offices. One
significant example of these tendencies is provided by Nerlo of Signorello, a vis-
count in the service of the Cadolingi, most probably in the castle of Montecascioli,
between the late eleventh and early twelfth century. Even though Nerlo did not
belong to any influential local family, the office he held for several years allowed
him to lay the foundations for the future prosperity of his family.47 In addition to
taking part in various transactions on behalf of the Cadolingi and the monasteries
under their control, Nerlo was able to significantly increase his personal landed
patrimony, in all likelihood through the revenues (and social relations) ensured
by his office. His descendants, the Nerli, while never becoming part of the
restricted group of lords of the castle, would appear to have owned—around the
mid-twelfth century—a large number of lands across a relatively extensive area,
44 Codice diplomatico Padovano, II, n. 5 (a. 1104), pp. 4–5; Le carte di Sassovivo, I, n. 159 (a. 1105),
pp. 236–8.
45 See Collavini, ‘Signoria ed élites rurali’ (focused on Tuscany); and Fiore, Signori e sudditi (on
Umbria and Marche). On this issue see also, more in general, Bisson, Tormented Voices; and Berkhofer
III, ‘Abbatial authority’.
46 Il Regesto di Farfa, V, n. 1122 (a. 1090 c.), p. 123; see section 1.3. As regards the possibility that
the ministri governing the villages controlled by the abbey of Monte Amiata around 1080 may have
belonged to this social class, one important clue is provided by the ransom that two of these ministri
were required to pay when captured by the Aldobrandeschi: respectively, 100 and 50 solidi, the price
of five mansi, and of two and a half mansi. Another example from the Po Valley is the custos guarding
the castle of Ostiglia on behalf of the abbey of San Zeno (whose fidelis he was) around 1100: his son
owned local lands with a few serfs (in all likelihood inherited from his father). See ‘Appendice’, to
Castagnetti, Il processo per Ostiglia, n. 1 (ante a. 1151), p. 367, witness Markesus of Verona.
47 On Nerlus and his descendants, see Cortese, Signori, castelli, pp. 195–7.
which enabled them to play a prominent role in the commune of Florence, the
city they emigrated to.
The participation of military vassals in their lords’ power is quite evident and is
not confined to the holding of offices or military activities. It becomes particu-
larly noticeable in moments of discontinuity or dynastic crisis within the upper
echelons of lordships.48 Thus in the Lucca area in the late eleventh century, when
the local lord was a still a minor, power was collectively exercised on his behalf by
the fideles and homines of Montemagno domus (house), who de facto filled his
place on the political level. This activity went far beyond ordinary administration,
and included military operations, negotiations, and agreements with other local
actors.49 Likewise, the sources from Farfa illustrate the crucial role played by the
military clientele of the abbey. In the late eleventh century and early decades of
the twelfth, the Farfa abbots would swear before their election to preserve the
bona consuetudo of the monastery, which concerned not just disciplinary matters
but also the management and use of its substantial material assets. This sacramen
tum was taken before a large group of monks, but also before some lay fideles
who represented the interests of the military clientele of the abbey. In the case of
Berardo (II), in 1090, the oath was taken before twelve monks and three equites
(knights). Immediately after his election, as a sign of approval from the latter,
Berard was escorted to the monastery by a magna caterva aequitum.50 In the
immediately subsequent years, it seems as though the Farfa milites came to play
an even more prominent role, favoured by the increasing conflict between the
various claimants to the title of abbot who sought their support. By 1120 or there-
about the military clientele of the monastery proposed the aristocratic Adenulfo as
a candidate, precisely because he was regarded as being more warlike and closer
to their own positions compared to the recently defunct abbot, a lover of pacem et
quietem. The equites’ will thus proved so staunch and decisive that within a short
time they were able to overcome the strong reservations harboured by the monks,
who were loath to accept as their superior an individual whose ancestors had
repeatedly clashed with the monastery.51
This close symbiotic relationship ought not overshadow the frequently con-
flictual turn that the relation between a lord and his milites could take, especially
in more extensive lordships, where the physical absence of the dominus and the
looser control he exercised could foster in village elites a tendency towards auton-
omy and an aspiration to independently exert power, as opposed to merely shar-
ing it with the local lord. In the complex period of warfare that emerged after
1080, several groups of milites sought to take advantage of such turmoil, and of
48 On these issues, see Brancoli Busdraghi, ‘Genesi e aspetti istituzionali’.

49 Die Urkunden und Briefe der Markgräfin Mathilde, n. A8 (a. 1099), pp. 484–7; the text is dis-
cussed in Brancoli Busdraghi, ‘Genesi e aspetti istituzionali’, pp. 15–7.
50 Il Regesto di Farfa, V, n. 1122 (aa. 1090–9 c.), p. 123.
51 Chronicon farfense, II, pp. 308–9.
the military conflicts which their domini loci were engaged in, to acquire full
autonomy—by breaking away from all forms of subordination—or at any rate to
unlawfully extend their prerogatives to the detriment of their lords. The examples
in this respect are numerous; here I shall only mention a few. In 1086, after an
open conflict, a dozen boni homines from the major castle of Agello acknowledged
the rule of the bishop of Fermo and committed themselves to no longer challenging
his power, either through violent actions or by legal means.52 Some fifteen years
later an unsuccessful revolt against the bishop of Pistoia was organized by the
military elite of Sambuca, in the mountain area between Tuscany and Emilia.53 To
these specific episodes we may add the recurrent and violent tensions between
the equites from the castles directly under the authority of the abbey of Farfa and
the monastic community, as described in pained terms in Gregorio of Catino’s
Chronicon (already previously mentioned).54
These unavoidable conflictual aspects aside, the local elite, which by this period
had become strongly militarized, generally appears to have been characterized by
a marked integration within the system of seigniorial power. Its members shared
the same system of values as the domini loci, a system based on the use of arms
and the exercising of power. These men were the main beneficiaries of the policy
of redistribution of material and symbolic resources implemented on a local scale
by the lords. A very different situation emerges in relation to the mass of the rural
population, the object of the next section.
4.2 Peasantries: a differential society
The emphasis placed so far on the rift line running between the group of milites
attached to a lord and the majority of his subjects should not lead us to conclude
that the latter constituted an indistinct mass, with essentially homogeneous
and levelled-down social and economic strata, either before or after the general
extension of the territorial lordship model in the Italian countryside.55 One of the
findings made by the research conducted in recent decades, with regard to the
medieval period as a whole, lies precisely in the profound reassessment of the
differences existing within individual village societies. Indeed, these differences
in economic and personal status were among the defining features of medieval
society and carried significant importance for its members.56
One first possible field in which this view can be put to the test is provided by
pacts and letters of privilege. Yet, by their very nature these texts tend to present

53 Regesta Chartarum Pistoriensium. Vescovado, n. 13 (a. 1104), pp. 13–4.
54 Chronicon farfense, II, pp. 299–313.
55 Collavini, ‘La condizione dei rustici/villani’.
56 Wickham, Community and clientele, esp. pp. 110–60.
an oversimplified picture of local society, offering an ideological rather than

pragmatic reading of it. In 1058, in an early pact between the monastery of
Nonantola and the local inhabitants, the latter were divided into three different
categories, maiores, mediocres and minores, corresponding to three socio-economic
levels.57 This was hardly an innovation: it was a traditional and well-established way
of envisaging the social body, rooted in Late Antiquity.58 However, it is important
to note that this tripartition, while being ideological in nature, had concrete
repercussions: the penalty imposed for the breaching of their agreements with the
abbot was a fine of three librae for maiores, of two for mediocres, and of twenty
solidi (i.e. one libra) for minores. These figures suggest that the differences in
wealth between the three groups were significant, yet not huge. By contrast, if we
move a few decades forward and consider the agreement between the monastery
of San Sisto and the men of Guastalla, what we find is the emergence of a bipartite
view of local society that is quite new compared to previous models: one based on
the opposition between milites (or curiales) and rustici (or agricolae).59 A similar
bipartition between ‘knights’ and peasants also emerges in the well-known pacts
drawn up in 1093 between the counts of Biandrate and the inhabitants of the
village, as well as in several other coeval texts.60 Within a few decades, by the turn
of the 1100s, the ideal model of representation of local society had changed and
become simplified: it was no longer based so much on people’s level of wealth,
but rather on their social role, the discriminating factor being the capacity for
mounted combat. As we have seen in the previous section, the process of militar
ization redefined the very way of interpreting the local social structure in the
countryside. Whereas for the monks of Nonantola in 1058 subjects fell into three
traditional categories based on their wealth, a few decades later, in 1125, in
another Nonantola document already mentioned, the opposition is between mili
tes and operarii homines (workers).61 Certainly, we should not straightforwardly
assume that a simplification of the concrete stratification of local society occurred
as a consequence of the seigneurial change. Nevertheless, the evidence we have is
highly revealing—and not just from an ideological perspective either—of the
changes underway in this period. In the seigneurial context, the key rift within
society became that between mounted warriors and all other subjects. It is no
coincidence that the ‘tripartite’ model of society survived longer in autonomous
rural communities—which is to say, ones not subject to any lords, such as Novi,
57 Muratori, Antiquitates Italicae Medii Aevi, III, col. 241; the text is discussed in Cammarosano, Le
campagne, pp. 34–6.
58 On the tripartition of society and its late-antique origins, see Bougard, Bührer-Thierry, Le Jan,
‘Les élites du haut Moyen Âge’, pp. 1079–94. On the use of tripartition in high medieval Italy, see
Bordone, Società cittadina, pp. 143–59.
59 Documenti cremonesi, II, n. 248 (a. 1102), pp. 64–5.
60 I Biscioni, I/2, nn. 279–80 (a. 1093), pp. 120–2; even in the sources about the castles under Farfa’s
lordship, there is an opposition between equites and angariales; on this Il Chronicon farfense, II, pp.
299–313.
61 Tiraboschi, Storia dell’augusta badia di Nonantola, n. 236 (a. 1125), p. 236.
in southern Piedmont, as late as 1135—or even, outside the countryside, in urban

communities.62
An analysis of pacts and franchises confirms that in our period a (rather fluid)
division emerged between a military elite and the mass of peasants. However, it
tells us precious little about the internal stratification of the latter. So in order to
assess whether and to what degree the general extension and consolidation of the
lords’ power in the rural context influenced the social structure and status levels
of subordinate strata of village society, it is necessary to move beyond this ideo-
logically highly defined domain and investigate the dynamics at work in the
countryside by focusing on deeds more connected to practical matters, such as
records of services or property deeds, as well as archaeological data. Regrettably,
the sources pertaining to our specific time period do not allow us to conduct any
in-depth enquiries in this direction, owing to the dearth of documentary evi-
dence. Yet while it is difficult to interpret specific cases, we do have a series of
data—however scattered and patchy—that enable us to grasp, at least in general
terms, some of the features of peasant society and, in particular, to catch a glimpse
of the ways in which the processes of transformation of local political power
influenced existing balances in the rural world.
In order to carry out this operation, it is necessary of course to examine the
situation at least from the early eleventh century, in such a way as to ascertain to
what extent our period was marked by changes and whether these simply repre-
sent a further development in ongoing dynamics, or whether new tendencies
emerged. In this respect, one element worth stressing is the fact that, despite the
distortions caused by the heterogeneous nature of the surviving sources—which
reflect not just the contexts in which they were produced but also the specific
situations of the (almost invariably religious) institutions that have transmitted
them—such a wide-ranging and general view reveals the existence not just of
considerable differences at a local and micro-local level, but also of regional
divergences. It would be futile to attempt to paint a detailed picture of central and
northern Italy as a whole: extensive areas are too under-represented in the surviv-
ing sources to formulate anything more than hypotheses. Moreover, many of the
areas richest in sources are located close to cities, and hence—for the aforemen-
tioned reasons—cannot be regarded as representative of rural developments in
general, precisely because they were conditioned by the proximity of the urban
centres with which they were closely integrated from an economic and social per-
spective (see section 5.1). I will focus, then, only on rural centres, which at least
from the turn of the 1100s onwards were subject to territorial lordships.
62 I Libri iurium di Genova, I,1, n. 47 (a. 1135), pp. 77–81 (divites, mediocres et pauperes); a similar
tripartition is mentioned in another autonomous rural community, Gamondio, in 1106; on this
Gasparolo, Memorie storiche di Sezzè Alessandrino, II, n. 2 (a. 1106), pp. 8–10.
One first area of investigation concerns the ownership of small landed estates
and in particular of allodial lands by peasants. It is a matter of ascertaining whether
and in what way the change in lordship patterns affected the class of small land-
owners, who were entirely or at least partly economically independent. But what
must also be assessed is the sub-leasing of land by peasant leaseholders (and hence
not boni homines) to other peasants, an element which is an important indicator
of the complexity and stratification of village society.
As regards the western subalpine area, while the data we have is rather limited,
we find a marked presence of large estates (both lay and ecclesiastical). The high
Roya Valley was home to three large, neighbouring rural communities which just
after the mid-eleventh century would appear to have been still dominated by small
landowners, protected by public authorities that took a fully traditional form.63
What emerges from the (scanty) sources pertaining to these specific areas in this
period is a social picture characterized by the presence of a large number of
small landowners (around a hundred in the case of Saorgio) whose social status is
revealed not just by their property ownership, but also by their collective patron-
age of the local chapel. To this group we should add that of tenants (manentes),
who would appear to have had a subordinate social status and role.64
Moving east, the Milan and Como area, even outside those territories closest to
the two cities, would appear to be marked by a significant presence of small land-
owners. These coexist with large landowners, who experienced a phase of expan-
sion from the Carolingian age onwards.65 It is worth noting that even in certain
centres subject to powerful lords—such as Varese, which was under the archbishop
of Milan, and Cologno, Comabbio, and Origgio, which were under the monastery
of Sant’Ambrogio—small landowners did not at all disappear in the decades at the
turn of the year 1100: we still find some farmers owning allodial lands.66 However,
the documentary evidence pertaining to the sale or donation of land in these
centres is much scantier than for autonomous communities in the same area, which
is to say communities that were not subject to lords and in which power was
collectively exercised by the local elites, as in the case of Isola Comacina and
63 Panero, Terre in concessione; on the area of Asti see Bordone, Città e territorio; on high Roya
Valley, see Daviso, ‘La carta di Tenda’.
64 The church of Santa Maria del Poggio was donated by its owners (a hundred of freemen from
Saorge) to the abbey of Lerins; see Codex diplomaticus Langobardiae, II, n. 417 (a. 1091), coll. 696–9.
The presence of manentes, alongside freemen, is remembered in the so-called ‘charter of Tenda’.
65 As shown in the case of Cologno Monzese, near Milan, discussed in Rossetti, Società e
istituzioni.
66 On Varese, under the lordship of the archbishop of Milan, see Atti privati milanesi, IV, n. 582 (a.
1078), pp. 59–60; n. 670 (a. 1085), pp. 220–1; n. 720 (a. 1088), pp. 310–1; n. 731 (a. 1089), pp. 328–30;
n. 851 (a. 1097), pp. 552–4; Le pergamene della basilica di S. Vittore di Varese, n. 31 (a. 1109); n. 49
(a. 1125); on the lands of Sant’Ambrogio see Le carte del monastero di S. Ambrogio di Milano, III/1, n.
5 (a. 1104); n. 23 (a. 1113); n. 26 (a. 1114); n. 31 (a. 1123); n. 41 (a. 1138). On Origgio (where there was
peasant propriety), in a later period, see the classic Romeo, ‘Il monastero di Sant’Ambrogio’.
Chiavenna.67 So it is quite clear that in centres marked by dominatus loci small

landowners featured far less prominently. However, it should be added that some
peasant landowners received so much land from their lords that they could sub-
lease it to their less wealthy neighbours.68 This shows how the complex stratifica-
tion of local society was not limited to the simple dichotomy between landowners
and lords’ tenants. It should be said that in other areas controlled by lords, such as
the subalpine area to the east of Brescia, the peasant alodium is widely attested at
least up until the early 1080s, with plenty of deeds recording transactions between
prosperous peasants, but then essentially disappears around the mid-1090s. While
this does not necessarily imply the complete obliteration of small landowners in
the area, it does suggest that the drop in their numbers was far more significant
than in the territories around Milan and Como.69
In the Veneto, the Padua area is one of the best documented ones and presents
an extremely complex picture.70 The evidence pertaining to the Saccisica district—
the site of a large royal curtis later acquired by the prelates of Padua, who in our
period consolidated their rights as territorial lords over the whole territory—reveals
a significant presence of peasant-owned land, with a genuine real estate market
and frequent transactions at least up until the early decades of the twelfth century.71
It is worth emphasizing that a drop in the number of small landowners would
appear to be suggested by the transformation of at least some of the arimanni into
holders of territorial lordships (the holder of a feudum arimanniae was expected
to provide military service as scutifer to the bishop or one of his higher-ranking
vassals).72 What we see, however, is not simply a flow of landed properties from
small to large landowners, but rather a dynamic system of exchanges between small
and medium lay landowners, who came to acquire single-family farmsteads,
along with smaller properties.73 Even though aristocratic land ownership would
appear to have been on the rise, it did not monopolize local exchanges: minor
67 For a discussion about autonomous communities, see section 5.2 (with the references to the
sources about Chiavenna and Isola Comacina).
68 Le carte del monastero di S. Ambrogio, III/1, n. 27 (a. 1116).
69 The area is enlightened by Le carte del monastero di San Pietro in Monte; on peasant ownership
see esp. n. 47 (a. 1076), pp. 92–4 (sale between lay owners); n. 48 (a. 1078), pp. 94–5 (lease between
peasants); n. 49 (a. 1081), p. 95 (sale between peasant owners); n. 50 (a. 1081), pp. 96–7 (sales between
lay owners); n. 51 (a. 1085), pp. 97–9 (donation); n. 52 (a. 1086), pp. 99–101 (exchange between a
church and lay owners); n. 53 (a. 1095), pp. 101–3 (donation). This impression is confirmed by the
analysis of the documents of another important church of the same sub-region, that of Santa Giulia of
Brescia, which, with regard to this specific issue, show very similar patterns and chronologies; see Le
carte del monastero di Santa Giulia di Brescia, I, passim.
70 On the territory of Padua, see Rippe, Padoue et son contado, pp. 161–77.
71 Castagnetti, ‘Arimanni e signori’; Rippe, Padoue et son contado, pp. 161–88.
72 See the witnesses edited in Codice diplomatico padovano, II, n. 526 (a. 1150 c.), pp. 383–4; the
witnesses about the feudum herimanniae recall events of the 1100s.
73 Some sales seem to concern only prosperous peasants, but without absolute certainty; see Codice
diplomatico padovano, II, nn. 55–56 (a. 1112), pp. 44–5. In other sales the buyers could be peasants or
elite members, but the sellers are little owner without sons, and in need of cash: n. 39 (a. 1108), pp.
32–3; n. 40 (a. 1109), p. 33.
landowners would seem to have endured, notwithstanding the fact that the local
elites connected to the lords apparently contributed to this process of land acqui-
sition to the detriment of such minor landowners.74 As late as the early decades of
the twelfth century, the local communities, while subject to lords, owned some
common estates which they held in alodium, and produced local officials (marici)
who worked alongside those representing the interests of the dominus loci
(gastalds).75 Again in the Padua area, but outside the Saccisica one, we find very
different situations: large rural communities (such as Monselice) in which large
landowners were few and the class of medium and small landowners was econom-
ically and socially dominant; other areas (such as Pernumia) which, alongside
small and medium allodiaries, had some large aristocratic landowners; and,
finally, centres (such as Porto) where the local lord owned most of the land.76
By contrast, in almost all of Tuscany the peasant alodium displays a considerable
degree of resilience despite a certain drop in numbers compared to the first half of
the eleventh century. This is the case not just in those areas where the imposition
of dominatus loci was weaker and less effective, but also in those areas, such as the
Casentino one, subject to powerful lords like the Guidi.77 More generally, almost
the whole region would seem to have had a lively peasant society that was highly
differentiated from an economic perspective, as is also shown by the frequency of
leases and subleases among peasants. One exception, in this respect, is constituted
by the south of Tuscany, and in particular by the areas subject to the Aldobrandeschi,
where we find a close link between territorial lordships and large landed estates.
Here too the evidence does not rule out a certain degree of stratification of local
society, with different levels of wealth, but it is likely that such wealth depended to
a far more significant degree on concessions of land on the lords’ part.78
Umbria is marked by significant differences both at the sub-regional and
micro-regional level. Centres in which peasant alodia seem to play a prominent
role, as in the case of the Apennine area to the south and east of Spoleto, coexist
with other areas, such as the one around Foligno, where peasant properties and
74 Codice diplomatico padovano, II, n. 3 (a. 1102), p. 3; n. 36 (a. 1108), p. 30; n. 37 (a. 1108), p. 31,
seem to be acquisitions by local elite members from little owners.
75 The marici had to be elected cum consilio et consenso of the lord or of his missus; see Codice
diplomatico padovano, II, n. 74 (a. 1116?), p. 61. On landed properties of rural communities, see Codice
diplomatico padovano, II, n. 102 (a. 1118), p. 83; n. 192 (a. 1129), p. 154.
76 Bortolami, Territorio e società; Bortolami, ‘Monselice’; Codice diplomatico padovano, II, n. 88 (a.
1117), pp. 70–2; even in the territory of Verona the situation was quite similar, and was characterized
by a strong local differentiation; on this see Le carte del capitolo di Verona, I, n. 4 (a. 1101), pp. 9–10;
n. 13 (a. 1107), pp. 28–9; n. 38 (a. 1117), pp. 78–9; n. 39 (a. 1117), pp. 80–1; n. 40 (a. 1118), pp. 81–2;
n. 63 (a. 1132), pp. 127–9; n. 67 (a. 1134), pp. 134–5; Archivio di Stato di Verona, S. Maria in Organo,
Pergamene, n. 46 (a. 1078); n. 67 (a. 1115); n. 67’’ (a. 1116) (these last three mentions are all about
peasant allods in the seigneurial village of Pontepossero).
77 On the Casentino, see Wickham, The Mountain and the City, pp. 221–68; on seigneurial villages
around Lucca, see Wickham, Community and Clientele; on area around Florence: Conti, La formazione
della struttura agraria; Moretti and Pirillo (eds.), Passignano in Val di Pesa; Pirillo and Zorzi (eds.),
Il castello, il borgo.
78 Collavini, Honorabilis domus.
aristocratic estates occur side by side, without it being possible to determine

which of the two was more prevalent, despite some evidence suggesting an expan-
sion of seigneurial property.79 Nevertheless, we also have centres like Stalblamone,
which show almost no trace of large aristocratic estates. Here the land was
unevenly distributed among over a hundred local owners, in an apparently similar
way to the aforementioned rural centres in the high Val Roya.80 Large aristocratic
and ecclesiastical estates (most probably of fiscal origin) would instead seem to
have been prevalent in the southern stretch of what is now the Marche, the only
well-documented area in this region, where we find practically no traces of small
peasant properties.81 Property transactions and donations, including ones involv-
ing emphyteusis, concern large and compact estates, while smaller plots of land
are only mentioned in relation to leaseholders.82 For example, whereas the Farfa
cartulary records several donations made to small and medium landowners in
Umbria and Latium, we find nothing of the sort in the Marche, despite the fact that
the abbey of Farfa owned much more land in this region.83 Besides, the absence of
any autonomous communities in this area—at least up until the late twelfth
century—confirms the picture of a territory marked by the presence of large estates,
where free peasants are inconspicuous and economically dependent on more
powerful figures.84
What emerges from this cursory overview, then, is a varied scenario clearly
characterized by a drop in the number of peasant alodia, even though these did
not completely disappear in any area following the rise of territorial lordships, if
not in certain limited contexts. Undoubtedly, however, the expansion of the terri-
torial lordship undermined the property rights of peasants, who became more
vulnerable to the confiscation of their land. Although the documentary evidence
shows that most of those who had enough land to sublease it belonged to the
military elite, some were prosperous farmers. The peasant class, therefore, was
79 The area of Foligno, known thanks to the rich archive of the abbey of Santa Croce di Sassovivo, is
characterized by a strong presence of peasant allod; we can perceive a drop of peasant ownership after
1080, but not a terminal crisis; see Le carte di Sassovivo, I, n. 96 (a. 1094), pp. 147–8; n. 125 (a. 1100),
pp. 191–2; n. 141 (a. 1102), pp. 212–13; II, n. 17 (a. 1118), p. 21; n. 23 (a. 1118), p. 29; n. 24 (a. 1119),
pp. 30–1; n. 40 (a. 1121), pp. 50–1; n. 48 (aa. 1109–1123), p. 60; n. 118 (a. 1143), pp. 143; for an
example of acquisition of peasant land by a territorial lord (without monetary compensation), see Le
carte di Sassovivo, II, n. 117 (a. 1143), pp. 142–3.
80 Il regesto di Farfa, V, n. 1167 (a. 1113), pp. 170–1.
81 For a general overview see Bernacchia, Incastellamento e distretti, pp. 177–222. It must be
stressed that, just a couple dozen kilometers north, in Camerte area, the documentary evidence of
peasant allod, quite strong until 1070s, has a sharp drop in following decades, and ceases after 1119;
see Le carte del monastero di S. Vittore, n. 44 (a. 1047), p. 32; n. 48 (a. 1061), p. 33; n. 55 (a. 1072), p. 35;
n. 58 (a. 1082), p. 36; n. 73 (a. 1090), p. 41; n. 90 (a. 1106), p. 47; n. 95 (a. 1119), p. 48.
82 See for example Liber iurium, n. 45 (a. 1134), pp. 83–4; n. 309 (a. 1129), pp. 557–9; n. 337
(a. 1091), pp. 604–5.
83 Some example of donations to Farfa by little and medium owners: Il Regesto di Farfa, IV, n. 981
(a. 1067), pp. 360–1; V, n. 1194 (a. 1104), pp. 190–1.
84 I will discuss politically autonomous rural communities in section 5.2. The only probable excep-
tion in the Marche is Fabriano, not surprisingly located in the Camerte, the only area where peasant
allod was strong before the 1080s.
highly diversified, albeit in ways that varied depending on the context. In this regard,
it is important to emphasize the fact that, at the current state of research, these
differences are not yet visible in the archaeological record. It is more than likely
that, landed property aside, the different levels in status and wealth within peasant
society were marked by material elements that cannot be detected through exca-
vations, such as the ownership of cattle, sophisticated clothing, currency and iron
farming tools, in addition to the consumption of products such as wine and meat,
as is evident for instance from the will drawn up by the aforementioned miles
from Foligno.85 The lack of archaeological traces left by peasant wooden houses,
which are still predominant throughout our period, combined with the serious
challenges in terms of dating, makes it impossible to use evidence pertaining to
the size of dwellings as markers of local status. It is likely that in the coming years
the growing awareness of such problems among archaeologists and the develop-
ment of innovative excavation techniques will provide new, crucial data on these
issues. But for the time being, the question remains open.86
In order to further investigate this topic, we must leave aside the material evi-
dence and get back to our written sources, approaching them from a different
angle. Another perspective that might help understand the kind of socio-economic
changes at work in the countryside is constituted by the fate of servi/mancipia
(slaves) in our period.87 Mentions of genuine servi in relation to the ownership
of farmsteads and castles are still relatively common until 1050 but become
rarer in the following period, only to vanish almost completely in the decades
around 1100, when in the documents the term servi is replaced by the far
more generic one homines.88 These mentions should not be interpreted as mere
85 On the use of archaeological data, see Molinari, ‘Siti rurali’; and Carocci, ‘Archeologia e mondi
rurali’. On the ownership of animals as a local status indicator, see Codex Diplomaticus Amiatinus, II, n.
309 (ante a. 1084), pp. 261–3, where bene valentes peasants from settlements previously belonging to
the abbey of Monte Amiata strike an agreement with the Aldobrandeschi precisely with regard to cattle.
Note that the taxes imposed by urban communities on rural centres (including seigneurial ones)
acknowledging their authority were calculated precisely on the basis of the number of oxen (boves)
owned by each tax-payer—hence the term bovateria. A less burdensome substitute tax (zappaticum,
from zappa, hoe) was applied to families without any cattle, which confirms the existence of different
levels of wealth among the rural population: see the testimonies on 1120s preserved in Documenti per
la storia d’Arezzo, I, n. 389 (aa. 1177–80 c.), pp. 565–73. With regard to bovateria, I shall refer to the
discussion below, in section 5.1. On the importance of meat consumption (from a quantitative as well
as qualitative standpoint) as a means to define hierarchies in villages between the tenth and the early
eleventh century, see Salvadori, ‘Zooarcheologia e controllo’; as the author notes, from the period we
are investigating we still lack large assemblages of animal remains that might enable a detailed analysis,
of the sort that are instead available for the immediately preceding phase.
86 For a discussion, see Molinari, ‘Siti rurali’.
87 On these problems, see Panero, Schiavi, servi e villani; and Collavini, ‘La condizione dei rustici/
villani’.
88 Mentions of servi, ancillae and manicipia in Umbria, in the first half of the eleventh century: Il
Regesto di Farfa, IV, n. 682 (aa. 1029–31), pp. 85–6 (about four estates with castles between Perugia
and Todi); Le carte di Valdiponte, I, n. 7 (a. 1050), pp. 14–16 (castles of Collicello e Castiglione, in the
territory of Gubbio); Papsturkunden 896–1046, n. 625 (a. 1045), pp. 1172–5 (castles controlled by the
abbey of San Pietro, in the territory of Perugia); ‘Appendice’ to, Mochi Onory, Ricerche sui poteri, n. 13
formulas, devoid of any real content. The documents from a monastery such as
that of San Tommaso in Reggio Emilia clearly show that in monastic farms servi—
who constituted the majority of the residents of monastic lands in the tenth
century, as is shown by a late polyptych—were still a prominent presence in the
following century.89 As late as the mid-eleventh century, at Cannobio, an ancient
fiscal curtis on the banks of Lake Maggiore which belonged to the monastery of
Breme/Novalesa at the time, the population was made up of servi, most of whom
were exclusively employed as craftsmen and woodsmen, according to the ancient
mos (consuetudo) governing royal estates. The monk who drafted the Chronicon
novalicense regarded this specialized employment as an exception, related precisely
to the fiscal origin of the curtis of Cannobio, but apparently was not in the least
surprised by the servile status of its inhabitants.90
Over the course of the eleventh century, and particularly in its second half, a
process of progressive equalization occurred between servi casati (landholder
slaves) and the lower class of leaseholders (such as manentes and angariales), as
lords extended their rights over the latter and the dominatus loci spread. Events
like the bishop of Gubbio mass manumission of the servi residing in his castles
and their (almost certain) transformation into leaseholders provide evidence of
this process, which nonetheless must have unfolded more through the progressive
and pragmatic levelling of the condition of lower-status peasants than through
any specific measures.91 Records of homines being bought or sold, even individu-
ally, along with the land they farm, become increasingly numerous. Their obliga-
tions are explicitly stated to be hereditary; but what is most striking is that although
in certain cases the object of the transaction is the land to which the farmer is
‘attached’, often what is being sold (or donated) is the man himself, with the land
only playing a secondary role. In extreme cases an homo is sold along with his
alodia.92 While in none of these cases the term servus is used, it is evident that the
(a. 1058), pp. 217–8 (territory of Perugia). See also Pier Damiani, Die Briefe, II, n. 109 (a. 1064), p. 203
(reports a mass emancipation of the servi living in a castle in the territory of Gubbio, happened few
years before).
89 S. Tommaso di Reggio, pp. 193–8 (382 servi and ancillae against forty-one manentes and eighty
massarii). On the long-term presence of servi in the lands of San Tommaso, see Le carte degli archivi
reggiani, n. 1 (a. 1051), pp. 1–2; n. 46 (a. 1060), pp. 90–3. There were also many servi and famuli work-
ing the lands of the bishop of Genoa in the second half of the eleventh century; the documentary
evidence is rich, see for example Il registro della curia arcivescovile di Genova, p. 201 (a. 1026); p. 169
(a. 1060); p. 281 (a. 1061); pp. 282–3 (a. 1062).
90 La Cronaca di Novalesa, pp. 282–5.
91 Pier Damiani, Die Briefe, II, n. 109 (a. 1064), p. 203; see Fiore, Signori e sudditi, pp. 265–6.
92 See for example Le carte di Sassovivo, I, n. 104 (a. 1095), pp. 160–1 (lands with their peasant and
his dues and levies); n. 129 (a. 1100), pp. 196–7 (person and land); n. 140 (a. 1102), pp. 211–2 (Maio di
Giovanni is given with his allods and his services); II, n. 73 (a. 1127), pp. 91–2 (persons and lands);
Liber iurium, n. 276 (a. 1105), pp. 506–7 (persons and lands); n. 307 (a. 1127), pp. 554–5 (persons and
their servitia). For a useful comparison with the situation in southern Italy, see Carocci, Lordships,
pp. 336–9.
status of these individuals was not so different from that of the people to whom
the label had previously been applied, even though the individuals in question
were not always descendants of the old servi casati. In the Castle of Morleschio,
near Perugia, the local custom in the second half of the twelfth century was to
divide the tenants of lords into two distinct categories, bound to different duties.
The category subject to the most burdensome duties was that of manentes vel servos,
the other one being the class of homines per capitantiam: the process of complete
merging with servi casati, therefore, did not concern all lords’ tenants, but only
some of them.93 This opposition between a class of leaseholders burdened with
heavy duties and entertaining a close and harsh relationship with their lord, and
another class of peasants subject to lighter duties (and consisting of leaseholders
and/or small landowners, depending on the context) repeatedly occurs in the
documentary evidence. This clearly suggests a diversification and stratification
of peasant society, which at times was strong enough to create genuine local
categories.94 This is not to say that the status of servus/ancilla vanished, as is evi-
denced not just by the references in our sources and by the manumissions, but
also by voluntary servitude, which is sporadically attested as late as 1140 or there
about.95 However, by our period it seems as though this notion had chiefly become
associated with spheres such as that of domestic servitude, or the fulfilment of
duties in a lord’s familia—hence the name famuli often used to describe these
individuals.96 Besides, the condition in question was a very different one from
that of mere peasant; direct contact with a lord favoured the preservation of his
traditional full ownership of individuals, but also provided certain opportunities
in terms of social mobility that were quite unknown to peasants, as illustrated in
the previous section.97
We have seen how the technically servile condition among farmers was prac
tically obliterated and how this largely coincides with the general extension of the
dominatus loci model. It is important to emphasize this connection and to reflect
on its implications not just from a material perspective, but also in terms of social
identity and personal status. As previously noted, the privatizing of jurisdiction
93 Le carte di Valdiponte, II, n. 112 (a. 1175), p. 21.

94 See for example Le carte di Sassovivo, I, n. 29 (a. 1084), pp. 46–50 (angariales and liberiores
homines); Liber iurium, n. 77 (a. 1055), pp. 167–8 (colonitii and castellani); n. 313 (a. 1130), pp. 563–5
(commendati and castellani).
95 Le carte di Sassovivo, II, n. 1 (a. 1116), pp. 1–2; ‘Le carte di Gubbio’, n. 168 (a. 1140), p. 277
(self donation of a woman (and of her future offspring) as ancilla of a count).
96 For example the servi of Santa Fiora of Arezzo, recorded in a genealogy composed around year
1100 seem to be connected (at least partially) with household service; among them there was a family
of cooks: Documenti per la storia d’Arezzo, I, n. 293 (a. 1100 c.), pp. 400–2; in the land of Farfa the
famuli were cooks, specialized craftsmen (tanners, carpenters) and muleteers, as results from Il Regesto
di Farfa, V, n. 1320 (a. 1119), p. 314. On the famuli in the territory of Verona, see Brugnoli, ‘Pares
illorum famuli’; on the great presence of famuli in northern Italy in early eleventh century an important
witness is Oberto dell’Orto; see Lehmann, Consuetudines Feudorum, VIII, 11.
97 See section 4.1, and the rich documentary dossier about the territory of Verona, discussed by
Brugnoli, ‘Pares illorum famuli’.
that characterizes territorial lordships made it possible to extract the surplus in a

different way compared to earlier times: not just through land rents, but also
through the imposition of taxes.98 Likewise, the dominus loci could require ser-
vices (often very burdensome ones) not on the basis of the lands he had granted
or the rights he exercised over certain individuals, but rather on the basis of their
residing in an area under his political jurisdiction, as is evident for instance in
the Farfa case discussed in the previous chapter.99 In other words, peasants were
expected to obey their lord also—and especially—because they were subjects of
his, and not just because they were his property or farmed his land. No doubt,
landed properties and the possession of strictly personal rights constituted a sig-
nificant source of revenue for lords and provided a valuable means to more deeply
influence local processes. However, strictly speaking, they were not crucial for
the establishment of a territorial lordship, as is clearly illustrated by the case of
Casciavola, a village of small free landowners.100 Nor is this an exceptional situ
ation: we know of several cases in which the dominus loci was utterly bereft of any
allodial lands or owned very few—as in Stablamone, in Umbria, and Biandronno,
in Lombardy.101 It is evident that in this context of territorialization of power serf-
dom lost the strategic function it had exercised in the eyes of aristocrats and
powerful men up until the first half of the eleventh century: it simply dissolved
into the medley of relations of dependence and patron-client ties that pervaded
local societies at all levels.
It is no coincidence that in the (rare) places where groups of servi/famuli
employed as farmers are attested well into the twelfth century, local jurisdiction
was in the hands of individuals other than those men and women’s masters. In
Cannero and Oggiogno, on Lake Maggiore, where the chapter of Santa Maria di
Novara owned considerable landed estates and a few dozen servi (along with
several free leaseholders), power nonetheless lay in the hands of the abbey of
San Graziano of Arona, and the chapter’s tenants preserved their servile status
up until the early thirteenth century, not least on account of the control main-
tained by the dominus loci over the chapter’s properties.102 Erasing these people’s
98 See section 3.2.

99 See for example Il Regesto di Farfa, V, n. 1154 (a. 1097 c.), p. 158; Le carte del capitolo di Verona, I,
n. 48 (a. 1121), pp. 96–9; Codice diplomatico padovano, II, n. 74 (a. 1116?), p. 61. See also Tabarrini, ‘Le
operae e i giorni’, on the importance of peasant corveés and dominical reserve in the late twelfth century.
101 In all likelihood, the Rapizoni counts owned only marginal properties at Stablamone, where up
until 1113 they had imposed their lordship, based on long-established comital rights over the comitatus
tudertinus: see Il Regesto di Farfa, V, n. 1167 (a. 1113), pp. 170–1. For a reconstruction of the complex
context of this document, concerning the transfer of seigneurial rights to the abbey of Farfa, I will
refer to Fiore, ‘Strategie dinastiche’. The situation appears to have been much the same with the counts
of Ventimiglia in the upper Val Roya: see Daviso, ‘La carta di Tenda’. At Biandronno all landed properties
were divided between the three leading aristocratic families of the area, while jurisdictional rights
were in the hands of a fourth family: see Le carte di S. Maria del Monte Velate, II, n. 135, (twelfth cent.,
but a. 1170 c.), pp. 184–90; on this latter text see Keller, Signori e vassalli, pp. 47–8.
102 Panero, Servi e rustici, pp. 149–57.
condition would have meant significantly curtailing the rights exercised by Santa
Maria over its tenants, insofar as the chapter could not make up for this loss
through any jurisdictional rights. Likewise, in Liguria, from as early as 1060 the
bishop of Genoa could rely on a large number of famuli to farm his land. By the
early decades of the twelfth century these were only attested (in some cases still in
the order of dozens) in those centres, like Molassana, governed by other social
actors, whereas no famuli were to be found in centres, like Ceriana, where the
dominus loci was the prelate himself.103 Naturally, situations of this sort were only
possible where the person exercising territorial power had an interest in protect-
ing the rights of servi-holders, as in the two cases just mentioned. Cases in which
the dominus loci took advantage of his power to obliterate the servile status of
other lords’ men, so as to exploit them more freely, must have been far more com-
mon. For example, this is what the Aldobrandeschi did with the servi depending
on the monks of Monte Amiata in the centres under their control.104 All in all,
territorial lordships undoubtedly played a leading role in the redefinition of forms
of personal dependence and subjection in the rural context.
As we have seen, there are certain regional differences, although significant
divergences can also be found from one place to the next within the same area.
While in certain villages in a given area all land belonged to the territorial lord
and peasant alodia were simply non-existent, in other villages, for instance in the
Verona area, allodial lands featured quite prominently. This is not simply due to
the presence of ‘strong’ or ‘weak’ lordships: for in some places where the domina
tus loci was apparently well established, such as Marzana in the Valpantena, alodia
endured despite the significant economic pressure exerted by lords through their
jurisdictional rights.105 Still, it is undeniable that where a lord controlled most
of the land, his hold over rural society was even stronger and contributed to the
limiting of his subjects’ scope for economic as well as social action.106 In such
contexts, given the lack of possible alternatives, the establishment of a patron-
client relationship with the local lord was crucial for any attempt to affirm or
promote oneself and one’s family.107 That said, we should not conclude that the
ownership of most lands by the dominus loci necessarily entailed the exercising
of a stifling and oppressive power. As late as the thirteen century, two villages of
this sort, both of which had been ruled by urban monasteries for the past couple
of centuries, and who were certainly inhabited by the descendants of servi,
entertained opposite relations with their lords: Casalina, in Umbria, resisted the
103 Panero, Schiavi, servi e villani, pp. 331–8. On Ceriana, see Liber privilegiorum ecclesia ianuensis,
n. 10 (a. 1124 c.), pp. 25–6.
104 Codex Diplomaticus Amiatinus, II, n. 309 (ante a. 1084), pp. 261–3.
106 As was the case in Montecerro and Castelbaldo, in the north of the Marche (but also in several
other villages of the same area); on this Fiore, Signori e sudditi, pp. 77–110.
107 Other examples in Balda, ‘Una corte rurale’; Collavini, ‘Signoria ed élites rurali’.
lord’s power and sought to free itself from their rule by all means, including the
use of force, whereas Ceresia, in the southern Marche, was perfectly compliant
with its monastery, whose rights it acknowledged and even sought to protect
against the claims made by other political actors.108 This example shows the high
degree of variability at the local level, even in contexts that are apparently similar
from a structural point of view.
One last point that bears mention concerns the very status of peasant, which is
to say the way in which they perceived themselves and were perceived by people
outside of their social group. As regards this specific point, there is no doubt that,
leaving aside the variability in terms of individual economic and social levels, our
period in general witnessed a worsening in peasants’ status. The small freeholder
had a different subordinate status compared to the past, often expressed through
the language of violence. One example should suffice here. Whereas in Carolingian
society beatings, as a socially humiliating practice, were only reserved for actual
servi, to mark a lord’s full ownership of their body, things were very different in
our period.109 The freeholders in a community such as Casciavola repeatedly
endured beatings from those who sought to impose themselves as their new
lords, the San Casciano nobles and their myrmidons.110 Not only that, but the
ritual beatings the latter inflicted on the bodies of peasant women in the process
of childbirth were more than an act of meaningless violence: they amounted to
the staging of a genuine ritual of possession of the subjects’ bodies, right from the
moment of birth. In other cases the acts of the domini and their henchmen were
even more ruthless: as we shall see in greater detail later on in the book, the beat-
ing and whipping of subjects was common and (in rare cases) could even lead to
death; the hospitality that farmers were expected to provide in their homes could
be extended to the (often systematic) demand for sexual favours from its women;
and the seizure of land through the arbitrary exercising of justice was not at all
infrequent. Anyone who tried to resist the lords’ power, even without resorting to
force, would incur severe penalties, even torture and mutilation.111 Brutal prac-
tices which hitherto had been reserved for the lowest stratum of peasant society,
on account of their individual status of utter subordination, were now applied to
peasant society as a whole, in virtue not of their condition of personal subjuga-
tion, but of their being subject to a lord as residents in a given territory. The very
fact that these rituals of subjection were at least partly modelled after those once
108 See respecively Galletti, ‘Evoluzione dei rapporti di dipendenza’; Bartocci, ‘Il monastero di
Sant’Angelo’.
109 Albertoni, ‘Law and thepeasant’.
110 Lettere originali, I, n. 18 (aa. 1098–1106 c.), p. 156. On violence as language of power, see the
discussion in Chapter 10.
111 See for example Codex diplomaticus Amiatinus, II, n. 309 (a. 1084), pp. 261–3; and most of all
Archivio capitolare di Treviso, Rotoli senza data, sec. XII, Breve recordationis (aa. 1100–35), edited in
Biscaro, ‘La polizia campestre’, p. 51; these practices and the connected sources will be discussed in
section 10.1.
reserved for servi is revealing of how the lords viewed their subjects and of how
the latter might perceive their own condition.112
Certainly, this is not to say that all rural communities always lived under a
regime of terror and oppression. However, this was hardly only a possibility. It all
largely depended on local power relations, on the political context, and on the per-
sonal attitudes of the lords themselves. Yet even in those situations where the lord
exercised his power in a milder and more regulated fashion, his subjects must have
been well aware of the (at least theoretical) possibility of such nefarious outcomes,
and of their precarious condition as subjects. If to this we add the insecurity caused
by the state of endemic warfare (and the occasional ravages this implied), the
heavy corveés associated with the building and restoration of fortifications and,
finally, the increase in expropriations through the imposition of taxes, which de
facto—in the best of cases—prevented peasants from reaping any benefits from
economic growth by redistributing any surplus to the lords and milites, what
emerges is a far from rosy picture. This, in turn, helps explain why wealthy peas-
ants aspired, wherever possible, to become milites themselves, as in San Cassiano.
The general rural extension of territorial lordship around the year 1100, there-
fore, had a significant impact on the balances governing peasant society: peasant
alodia dwindled in numbers (although rarely disappeared); a rift—albeit a bridge-
able one—emerged between the class of wealthy peasants and milites, who enjoyed
considerable tax benefits and were expected to provide services of a different
nature; and traditional serfdom was almost entirely obliterated, as the descend-
ants of servi casati merged with the lowest class of freeholders. Overall, the situ-
ation did not worsen for all peasants—in fact, for some individuals seigneurial
power offered highly significant avenues for social advancement, even more so
than in the past, precisely because of the possibility of establishing a personal
relation with the dominus loci. However, generally speaking, the condition of the
vast majority of peasants did indeed take a turn for the worse, in various respects,
albeit with considerable differences depending on the local framework.
112 On how lords looked down upon their subjects and tended to view them in much the same
terms as the servi of old, see the still useful remarks by Bloch, Slavery and Serfdom, pp. 151–201.
5
Collective Powers
Political Actions of Urban and
Rural Autonomous Communities
In the last two chapters I have specifically focused on territorial lordships and
their functioning. However, as already repeatedly noted, although this was the
dominant form of power, it was not the only one in rural Italy in the period under
consideration. Before moving on to the second section of the book, specifically
devoted to an analysis of the interrelation between practices and languages in the
seigneurial world, I feel it is crucial to complete the picture outlined so far by investi
gating in greater detail the structural role played by those ‘collective powers’ that
were active in the countryside—and which I have already mentioned on repeated
occasions. I use this expression to describe urban and rural communities as autono
mous political actors, which actually vary considerably in terms of the influence they
exerted on political organization at a local level. Communities of cives (citizens)
would appear to have played a very significant role from the turn of the twelfth
century and affected increasing stretches of the countryside. By contrast, autono
mous rural communities had a far less noticeable impact on the overall political
situation, and their influence (most likely) waned, at least until the end of the period
under consideration. However, it is necessary to carefully examine both forms of
power if we wish to fully grasp the political structure of the countryside in this age
and hence the context of development and spread of the dominatus loci. Territorial
lordships found themselves interacting in various (practical and ideological) ways
with these at least partly alternative models for the organizing and functioning of
local power, which cannot be overlooked, even within the context of an enquiry
specifically focusing on lordships. I will begin my investigation from urban commu
nities and their mode of operating at a local level, as they are obviously better known
and documented. I will then move on to consider the more elusive—and appar
ently less significant—mode of operating of independent rural communities.
5.1 Urban proto-communes
The theme of urban communes features prominently in the grand narrative of the
Italian Middle Ages, at least up since the first half of the nineteenth century. Given
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198825746.001.0001
these premises, it is rather surprising that the very first phase in the political
autonomy of citizen communities has not been the object of numerous studies, at
any rate compared to the vast scholarship devoted to subsequent periods, as Chris
Wickham has emphasized in his recent volume on this particular topic.1 Within
this rather limited scholarly context, studies focusing on the political relations
between cities and the countryside in the period under consideration are even
less numerous. This is due not only to a lack of specific interest but also, or per
haps especially, to an actual dearth of sources. We should not forget that, with few
exceptions, the vast majority of studies on Italian communes are monographs on
individual cities. Within this context, it is difficult to develop detailed analyses,
given that sources on the governing of local areas are very scarce—when they
exist at all—until the 1130s, and only become more frequent, at any rate in certain
areas, in the age of Frederick II.2 However, if we examine the overall documentary
evidence pertaining to this topic up until around 1130, we find that, while not
particularly abundant, it is not discouraging.3 In the following pages I will
endeavour to provide a first, partial, overall reading of this material, in an attempt
to further broaden the picture of the political situation in the countryside that I
have outlined so far. Urban communities operate within the rural context in ways
that are only partially akin to those typical of lords. This peculiarity must be
emphasized and investigated, if we are to fully grasp the complexity of local polit
ical contexts and the forms of interaction between their actors.
One widely known fact worth recalling by way of premise is that as late as the
end of the 1120s, with few exceptions, communal institutions had yet to take an
established form. Therefore, in the following pages I will avoid using the term
‘commune’, which refers to better structured and more mature polities; instead, I
will be using the less binding expression ‘proto-commune’ to describe any com
munity of cives operating as a specific political actor. This is not to say that com
munities of cives were incapable of engaging in autonomous political action, often
in cooperation with traditional local authorities (most notably bishops, and more
rarely margraves and counts), as in the case of Milan and Pisa, or in open

2 Among the most noteworthy exceptions to the predominance of monographs in the scholarship
on communes, see Maire Vigueur, Cavaliers et citoyens, and Bordone, La società cittadina. A valuable
overview of communal jurisdiction, with a special focus on the decades around 1100, is provided by
Milani, ‘Lo sviluppo della giurisdizione’.
3 A particularly useful source in this respect is to be found in some extensive collections of witness
statements (or summaries thereof) pertaining to the jurisdiction exercised over the countryside by
urban communities. The documents in question date from the second half of the twelfth century,
although some witnesses recount events from the very first decades of the century. See Documenti degli
archivi di Pavia, nn. 45–8 (a. 1184), pp. 72–193 (on some centres in the Oltrepò area disputed between
Pavia and Piacenza); Gli atti del comune di Milano, n. 73 (a. 1170), pp. 103–7 (on the Seprio area dis
puted between Milan and Como); n. 74 (a. 1170), pp. 108–11 (on some centres in the Como area,
again disputed between Milan and Como); and ‘Appendice’, to Castagnetti, Il processo per Ostiglia, n. 1
(ante a. 1151), pp. 317–69, on Ostiglia, a castle disputed between Ferrara and Verona.
Collective Powers 103
opposition to them, as in the case of Cremona, Arezzo and Turin.4 Here too, the
crisis of public forms of government in the 1080s brought about a sudden and
strong acceleration of existing processes and dynamics, providing urban commu
nities with avenues for autonomous action that hitherto would have been quite
unthinkable.
Before moving outside the city walls, however, it is worth emphasizing that
even within cities the dynamics of power were quite different from those described
in the previous chapters. Urban space would appear to be marked by a greater
degree of continuity in terms of the everyday exercising of power; the leading actors
changed (from the old public officials to the most prominent representatives of
the urban community), yet the practices adopted show a considerable stability, as
they continued to revolve around those forms of collective action typical of the
previous phase.5 Even where we do not witness an early establishment of com
munal institutions and where the bishop continued to play his traditional role (as
in Fermo, Volterra, or Ascoli), he nonetheless remained a civic leader, without
ever acquiring despotic power. Rather, the bishop continued to operate within a
long-standing tradition of public power, frequently reinforced by the growing
centrality of the arengo, or citizens’ assembly.6 However, precisely this significant
degree of continuity in the concrete, everyday management of power that charac
terizes the urban context can help us better understand the gap between cities and
(most) rural centres. Very few urban communities engaged in forms of rule akin
to those regarded as quite normal in the countryside. When this occurred, as in
several cities of Latium and in northern Italian centres governed by German
imperial podestates in the 1160s, it constituted a real shock for the cives.7 The best
documentary evidence we have for this specific topic is probably the one con
cerning Terracina, in the area of Latium under the Roman pontiff. While it dates
from the second half of the twelfth century, it leaves no doubt as to the dramatic
nature of the change of regime, not only for local political balances, but also for
the everyday life of local inhabitants.8
By this I certainly do not mean to argue that cities, and urban communes,
were violence-free. In fact, the research conducted over the last few decades has
strongly emphasized the importance of the military element in urban life, the
4 On these dynamics in general, see Wickham, Sleepwalking.

6 This is particularly evident in the case of Parma, on which see Schumann, Istituzioni e società a
Parma.
7 On the imperial podestas and their action, see Güterbock, ‘Alla vigilia della Lega’; and Diplomata
Friderici I., II, n. 444 (a. 1164), pp. 343–4 (on Treviso); see also Bisson, The Crisis, pp. 316–9. On the
cities in Latium, see Carocci, ‘La signoria rurale’, pp. 190–5.
8 The rich text in question has been published, with numerous errors, in Contatore, De Historia
Terracinensi, pp. 52–5; a useful and emended, if partial, edition is provided in the appendix (no. 3) to
Carocci, ‘Le lexique du prélèvement seigneurial’. I will be getting back to this important source in
greater detail in the second part of the book, devoted to violence (section 10.2).
militarization of urban elites, and the harshness of the conflicts between different
cities and, even more so, within cities.9 However, in my view this is a different
kind of violence, which fits within a profoundly different context, in which power
remained—from both an ideal and practical standpoint—something that was
shared and based on the community and the building of consent. Violence within
cities was essentially connected to conflicts over power;10 rural violence was (also)
connected to the very exercising of power.11
If we instead move from the urban milieu to the countryside over which the
proto-communes sought to impose their power, a very different picture emerges.
Certain differences compared to the seigneurial world are evident and worth noting.
On the one hand, the texts pertaining to actions within the context of conflicts
over the control of an area reflect modes of warfare that are in all respects akin to
those adopted by lords’ gangs. What proves particularly revealing in this respect
is the content of De bello et excidio urbis Comensis, written by an eyewitness viv
idly describing the bloody war between Como and Milan in the decade between
1118 and 1127.12 We read of raids, villages plundered and set fire to, rapes, vil
lains put to the sword and, more generally, acts of violence of all sorts, in addition
to savage open clashes and attacks against castles: the sort of actions we might
expect to find in some of the more gruesome seigneurial querimoniae. Proto-
communes, then, engaged in warfare with just as much ruthlessness and fierce
ness as lords. By contrast, in the rather limited sources we have about the relations
established with rural communities directly under the control of urban communes
we find no trace of the kind of brutality and violence associated with the everyday
exercising of power on the lords’ part.13 For example, we find no mention of arbi
trary beatings or lashings of villains, less still of rapes. Communal officials cer
tainly knew how to behave assertively towards local inhabitants, but it would seem
as though their action was far more restrained than that carried out by rural noble
men. We will be getting back to this important issue later on. Before addressing it,
it is necessary to examine in greater detail not just the concrete forms of the
political action taken by proto-communes in the countryside, but also the various
stages of their process of expansion, which finds its crucial moment of gestation
and later of development in the period under consideration.
Through the breakdown of traditional royal power structures and the disinte
gration of marches, but also through the marked internal conflicts between urban
communities and pro-imperial or, more rarely, pro-papal bishops (leading to the
9 The reference is Maire Viguer, Cavaliers et citoyens.

10 On Genoa see esp. Filangieri, Famiglie e gruppi dirigenti; and Inguscio, Reassessing civil conflicts.
11 On this characteristic of seigneurial power in the countryside, see the discussion in Chapter 10.
12 Anonimus Cumanus, De bello.
13 Gli atti del comune di Milano, n. 73 (a. 1170), p. 106 (on the Seprio area, disputed between
Milano and Como); and ‘Appendice’, to Castagnetti, Il processo per Ostiglia, n. 1 (ante a. 1151), on the
castle of Ostiglia, disputed between Ferrara and Verona.
expulsion of the prelates, sometimes for many years), the civil war period provided
communities of cives with hitherto unthinkable avenues for action. Free from epis
copal tutelage, they could independently organize themselves and take into their
own hands the task of urban government and, more generally, the safeguarding of
urban interests, even in the countryside. The rapid rise of urban communities as
autonomous political actors is already evident in the diplomas issued by Henry
IV for Lucca and Pisa in 1081, as well as in the charter issued only a few years
later for Mantua. From the very beginning, in several cases this new prominence
was associated with the exercising of forms of political control over the country
side surrounding individual urban centres.14 Certainly, with few exceptions, at
this very early stage the actual ability of proto-communes to project their political
power into the countryside must have been limited to a distance of a few kilometres
away from the city walls. However, it would be a mistake to underestimate the
role played by proto-communes in the rural context already before the year 1100.
In 1095 the citizens of Asti gained control of the important castle of Annone,
located within 10km from the city walls.15 In 1097 Matilda of Canossa granted the
representatives of the comunum of Cremona—in exchange for military help in
the war against Henry IV—comital rights over the Insula Fulcheria, a vast area
between the Serio and Adda rivers, some 20km north of the city. The inhabitants
of Cremona attempted to bring these rights into effect the following year, spark
ing a violent war with Crema and the Gisalbertini counts.16
In the years after 1100 the evidence concerning the political action of proto-
communes in the countryside becomes (relatively) more abundant, allowing us to
grasp two distinct phenomena. On the one hand, there was a sharp rise in the
number of urban communities engaged in the countryside; on the other, a signifi
cant difference emerged in the capacity of individual centres to influence their
environs. Already as early as 1110 Milan had started expanding outside its (very
large) diocese, destroying Lodi and seizing practically all of its territory.17 Besides,
in the same years it seems as though the cives of Piacenza and Pavia were capable
of regularly escorting the cargo ships travelling the river Po within their diocese
with contingents of milites, in such a way as to ensure the flow of commercial
goods in times of war.18 In those same years, Como strengthened its hold over the
surrounding area by subjugating centres like Mendrisio and Civenna, located a
dozen kilometres away, and then sought to forcefully bring under its control the
autonomous rural communities and territorial lordships in the northern stretch
of its diocese, as is evidenced by the war against the Isola Comacina, located
14 On Mantua, Diplomata Henrici IV, n. 421 (a. 1091), pp. 563–4.
15 Codex Astensis, III, n. 94 (a. 1095), p. 651.
16 Le carte cremonesi, II, n. 242 (a. 1098), pp. 53–4; see Menant, ‘La prima età comunale’,
pp. 201–10.
17 Landolfo Seniore, Historia mediolanensis, p. 37.
18 Documenti degli archivi di Pavia, nn. 45–58 (a. 1184), pp. 72–193.
almost 30km away from the city.19 Again in the 1110s Florence was engaged in a
regional conflict such as the ‘Prato War’. In 1119 it destroyed the old Cadolingian
castle of Montecascioli—defended by the imperial margrave of Tuscany Rabodo,
who died in the clash—and located a dozen kilometres away from the city. Between
1104 and 1106 Pisa and Lucca fought over the Ripafratta castle, a dozen kilo
metres away from either city.20 A few years later the community of Pisa extended
its power as far as Piombino, while Genoa, after bringing the surrounding area
under its rule, established a military garrison in far-off Portovenere and seized a
few castles in the Apennines in order to gain control of the routes connecting it to
the Piedmontese and Lombard plain.
From this brief overview it is quite evident that the earliest autonomous c entres,
capable of swiftly projecting their power even dozens of kilometres beyond the
city walls, were located in the heart of the Po Valley or in the immediately sur
rounding areas, as in the case of Milan, Pavia, Brescia, Piacenza and Como (despite
some significant differences, and even though this does not apply to all centres in
the area), along with the two major ports of Pisa and Genoa. In those same years,
the field of action of other proto-communes, such as Lucca, Florence and Asti,
would appear to have been far more limited, not least because of the presence of
particularly powerful local competitors, such as the Monferrato and Del Vasto
lords for Asti, and the Guidi for Florence. Another factor was Henry V’s interven
tion, especially after 1116, when through the inheritance of Matilda’s lands the
imperial government acquired a dense network of castles throughout most of
northern Italy. Moreover, we should not forget that the last Salian emperor, while
acknowledging many urban communities as autonomous political subjects, took
harsh military action against the cives of Arezzo and Novara, who were judged
guilty of having attempted to strip pro-imperial bishops of their established polit
ical prerogatives.21
It was nonetheless the failure of Henry V’s policy, which was already evident by
1120 and took definite form after 1125, that really paved the way for the expan
sion of proto-communes into the countryside. In 1115 Bologna was still seeking
to forcefully affirm its autonomy, by destroying the imperial urban stronghold;
only eight years later, it proved capable of conquering three castles located some
30km away, in the Apennines, and in 1131 it subjected far-off Nonantola.22
19 Gli atti del comune di Milano, n. 73 (a. 1170), pp. 103–7; on other villages (such as Mandello,
Lierna, and Civenna) directly controlled by Como, and passed under the rule of Milan in 1120s, see
Gli atti del comune di Milano, n. 74 (a. 1170), pp. 108–11.
21 Delumeau, Arezzo, pp. 1005–10; see Ekkeardus, Chronicon, p. 244. The reasons under the
destruction of Novara (1110) are less clear, but are probably connected with the frictions between the
citizens and the pro-imperial bishop; on this Ekkeardus, Chronicon, p. 244.
22 In 1123 the Apennine castles of Rodiano, Sanguineto, and Gavriglia fell directly under the power
of the urban consuls: see Savioli, Annali Bolognesi, I.2, p. 173 (a. 1123). On the first stage of Bologna’s
territorial expansion, see Siciliano, ‘Bologna nella prima età comunale’; and Hessel, Storia della città di
Bologna, pp. 12–57.
In 1118 the inhabitants of Cremona seized control of Soncino, over 20km north
of Cremona, turning it into their military outpost against Crema and its counts.23
In 1120 the inhabitants of Brescia gained direct control of the castle of Orzivecchi,
located some 15km away from the city, while the following year they destroyed
the imperial castle of San Martino di Gavardo, garrisoned by German troops,
some 20km away from Brescia.24 By the late 1120s Pavia had strengthened its
hold over much of its diocese, while practically the whole plain around Piacenza
acknowledged the hegemony of the urban government, which was also capable of
military intervention in the Parma area.25 In this case Milan also stands out: in
addition to its own diocese and most of that of Lodi, it also controlled much of
the Como area, after the destruction of the city in 1127. By then rural centres such
as Mandello and Civenna, located some 60km north of the city, on the banks of
Lake Como, had fallen under the direct control of the consuls of Milan.26 From
the 1120s onwards, Ferrara successfully affirmed its rights over Ostiglia, a lord
ship owned a Veronese ecclesiastical institution, and located over 40km away from
the city. Ferrara would regularly despatch its officials to collect the fodrum, taxes
on mills, and (at least) partly the teloneum (toll) on cargo boats, which was par
ticularly profitable, as this centre was located along a leading waterway.27 Even a
community such as Siena, which would not appear to have developed particularly
early on, was so confident of the control it exercised over its diocese by 1128 that
it imposed a tax on all its residents, which led to an armed uprising of all the
major lords in the area and to a temporary yet definite curtailment of the city’s
sphere of political hegemony.28
In other areas in the north of Italy—especially across much of Piedmont, the
Veneto, and Romagna—and even more so in central Italy, the degree of political
autonomy acquired by urban communities relatively early on was rarely associated
with an equally swift capacity to influence power balances in the countryside, which
remained in the hands of rural lords, at least up to the 1130s (and often even
later). Among these domini loci, bishops played a very significant role, but they
too could act largely independently of the cives—and sometimes even in open
opposition to them—through politics entirely foreign to the agenda of their urban
community, well into the twelfth century. The cases of Ivrea, Acqui, Arezzo
(up until 1130) and Ravenna, to mention only some of the many possible examples,
would appear to fit this model perfectly. Not only that, but in central Italy in
certain cases, such as those of Volterra, Fermo and Ascoli, from as early as 1200,
23 Le carte cremonesi, II, n. 273 (a. 1118), pp. 106–9 (Soncino).
24 Liber Potheris, n. 2 (a. 1120), coll. 9–10; Annales Brixienses, p. 812 (s.a. 1121).
25 Documenti degli archivi di Pavia, n. 45–48 (a. 1184), pp. 72–193.
26 Gli atti del comune di Milano, n. 74 (a. 1170), pp. 108–11.
27 ‘Appendice’, to Castagnetti, Il processo per Ostiglia, n. 1 (ante a. 1151), pp. 317–69; on this specific
issue see the analysis by Castagnetti, Il processo per Ostiglia, pp. 229–60.
28 Documenti per la storia d’Arezzo, I, n. 389 (aa. 1177–80 c.), pp. 565–73. On the political expan
sion of Siena, see Scheider, Siena.
bishops succeeded in constantly reaffirming their full powers over the city itself,
preventing the urban community from displaying any real political autonomy.29
What are rarer, at any rate after the collapse of the great lordships of the Canossa
and Arduinici families, are urban centres directly governed by lay lords. These are
essentially limited to Ventimiglia and some towns in Latium, such as Palestrina,
even though in contexts such as Verona, Pistoia and Savona local dynasties of
counts or margraves continued to play, to varying extent, a far from marginal role
as late as the first decades of the twelfth century.30
Having completed this succinct overview, we must now examine in greater
detail the modes of action of proto-communes in the countryside. From the
perspective of urban communities, the rural context was not an undifferentiated
whole; rather, it is necessary to carefully distinguish between different areas of
intervention. The first is the peri-urban area, which is to say the area located within
a few kilometres of the walls (usually no more than a dozen). The second area
coincided with those rural centres directly governed by the proto-communes,
without any intermediation of lords, and located further away from the city. The
last area coincides with those territorial lordships that acknowledged the political
superiority of the urban community; their lords could be cives, urban ecclesias
tical institutions, or even domini loci completely foreign to the urban context yet
nonetheless closely dependent upon or subordinate to the city.
Let us begin our enquiry, then, by focusing on the peri-urban area, where urban
communities displayed the greatest and most compelling capacity for political
action. The presence of a rural area in the environs of cities and closely connected
to them was acknowledged in many royal and imperial charters addressed to
bishops from the early decades of the tenth century onwards.31 For example,
when in 962 Otto I issued a charter for the transfer of public prerogatives over
Parma to the city’s bishop, these rights also extended to the rural area within three
miles of the urban walls.32 Much the same privileges were granted by Otto III to
the bishops of Acqui, in southern Piedmont, in 996.33 The extent of this peri-
urban area varied from case to case, probably depending on local political con
figurations, but it almost invariably ranged between three and six miles, which is
29 Pinto, Ascoli, pp. 38–43; and Pirani, Fermo, pp. 40–6.

30 On Latium, see Carocci, ‘La signoria rurale’; on Ventimiglia and its counts see Ascheri,
‘Ventimiglia’; on the cities of Liguria at least partially governed by the Del Vasto family, see Provero,
Dai marchesi del Vasto, pp. 50–3; on Verona and the counts of San Bonifacio see Simeoni, ‘Le origini
del comune’, pp. 87–8 and 143–6; on Pistoia and the significant role played by the Guidi family, see
Canaccini (ed.), I conti Guidi. Finally, it is worth adding that as late as 1130 the Savoy succeeded in
establishing themselves as the lords of Turin—if only briefly, given Lothar III’s intervention shortly
afterwards (1136); on this see Sergi, Potere e territorio, p. 75. It is important to stress that between 1132
and 1150 counts and margraves lost all (or almost all) their power over Verona, Pistoia and the cities
of Liguria.
31 This issue is discuted in Sergi, I poteri temporali.
32 Diplomata Ottonis I, n. 239 (a. 962), pp. 333–4.
33 Diplomata Ottonis III, n. 191 (a. 996), pp. 599–600.
to say between 5 and 10km.34 When in 1081 Henry IV acknowledged the autonomy
of the cives of Lucca, he de facto assigned them a territory within six miles of
the urban walls, banning the building of castles within it. In doing so the emperor
was following an established trajectory: all he did was acknowledge the autonomous
role acquired by citizens, who by then no longer needed to rely on the bishop as an
intermediary.35 However, this connection was not merely political in character:
the rural area within 5–10 km of the city was also the area where citizens’ landed
property was concentrated and where the food crucial for the city’s survival was
produced. As such, it was closely integrated with the urban space, not just from a
political perspective, but also from an economic and social standpoint, as Chris
Wickham has shown in his analysis of the Lucca area.36
In the peri-urban area proto-communes struggled to prevent the building of
castra and to destroy existent ones. The presence of castles, by now associated
with the exercising of jurisdictional prerogatives, was perceived as a threat to the
city’s political hegemony and control of its environs, not least in economic terms.
The most famous case in this respect is provided precisely by the Sei Miglia (Six
Miles) of Lucca, the area almost completely devoid of castra surrounding the city,
but similar phenomena may be observed in many other cases, as shown by Elena
Maria Cortese’s recent and systematic analysis.37 One element which appears to
distinguish these areas, and at least some of the more remote ones that were
nonetheless directly governed by cities, is the seemingly non-military character of
their local elites, in sharp contrast to those centres subject to lords. This is evident
both in the Sei Miglia around Lucca and in the rural centres under the authority
of Pavia and Piacenza. I would argue that there are two reasons for this. On the
one hand, through its integration with the urban centre, much of the local land
was in the hands of the city’s militia, who received revenue from it; this made it
harder (and in some cases impossible) for residents to collect enough land to pur
chase horses and armour. On the other hand, even those members of the com
munity who somehow managed to acquire sufficient economic resources to
achieve military status were clearly drawn to the city, as they were integrated
within its economic and political network. This hypothesis helps account for the
large number of milites among the urban population, as highlighted in Maire
Vigueur’s important book on the topic.38 Moreover, quite often the estates of
34 As early as in 916, Berengar I concessed to the bishop of Cremona the territory within five miles
of urban walls: I diplomi di Berengario I, a. 112 (a. 916), pp. 285–9.
36 Wickham, Community and Clientele; a similar (but with some significant differences) pattern
can be observed around Rome; see Wickham, Medieval Rome, pp. 35–88.
37 On the Sei Miglia, see Wickham, Communities and Clientele. Fort a general overview, see
Cortese, ‘Incastellamento e città’.
38 Maire Viguer, Cavaliers et citoyens. On the land of the urban militia in countryside in this period,
see Gardoni, ‘Élites cittadine’, pp. 304–48, focused on the analysis of the group of arimanni mentioned
in the first ‘consular’ document from Mantua, in 1126.
eople residing in the city were not subject to regular taxation, but only to emer
p
gency levies, which encouraged the emigration of local landowners.39 This may
explain the exemptions that the authorities of Cremona granted to the inhabitants
of certain centres under their control which lay in critical areas of the countryside
from a military point of view, and in which milites played a prominent role. The
aim was probably to bring the tax burden for the local elite in line with that for
urban landowners, in such a way as to discourage them from moving within the
city walls.40
As regards the presence of fortifications, however, the peri-urban area must be
divided into two different sectors, which are actually identified as such in many
charters: the three-mile (c. 5 km) area and the five/six-mile (c. 10 km) one. In the
immediate environs of the city (the area within 5km) fortified structures were almost
exclusively seen as a threat to the power of the urban community—with only a
few exceptions, due to the geomorphological configuration of certain areas. The
vast majority of settlements around Genoa, while presumably centralized, would
appear to have had no fortifications at all around the year 1120. Nonetheless, we
find two castra under the direct control of the city: Carignano, strategically located
on high ground close to the city, and Manzasco, located on a hill about 4km away
from the harbour41. In the outermost area (between 5 and 10km away), castles
instead constituted a crucial means of projecting the city’s power. One well-known
and early example is the castrum of Annone (formerly belonging to the margraves
of Turin). Located around 9km from Asti, in 1095 it was granted as a benefice to
the urban consuls by the city’s bishop.42 While this very early mention of consuls
may be a later interpolation, the substance of the act—which is to say the bishop’s
granting of rights over the city to the citizen community—is almost certainly
genuine. For their part, the inhabitants of Asti did not demolish the fortifications
originally built by the margrave, and located along an important route, but made
them the linchpin of their strategy to extend their control over the surrounding
area. Moreover, fortifications in the hands of subjects well integrated with the
urban community were allowed to stand, as they could be used in the event of
war. This is illustrated by the case of Mosezzo, belonging to the canons of Novara,
39 On the tax exemption granted to the cives of Genoa and their estates in centres under the polit
ical control of the urban community, see I Libri iurium di Genova, I,1, a. 4 (ante a. 1139), pp. 11–12. In
Milan the cives were almost certainly exempt from ordinary taxation; when they were required to pay
regular taxes under the imperial podestà, after Barbarossa’s destruction of Milan, this was experienced
as a very traumatic event. See Fasola, ‘Una famiglia di sostenitori’.
40 As results clearly from the renewal of the old privileges of the castle of San Bassano; see Le Carte
cremonesi, II, a. 373 (a. 1157), pp. 292–4.
41 I Libri iurium di Genova, I,1, n. 4 (ante a. 1139), pp. 11–12.
42 Codex Astensis, III, n. 94 (a. 1095), p. 651; on which, see Bordone, Città e territorio, pp. 356–8.
and that of Ripafratta, located in a strategic position between Lucca and Pisa, and
controlled by a noble family that for decades had found a place in Pisan society.43
In all those settled areas located outside the peri-urban area yet still falling
under the direct control of a city, the urban community regarded castles as the
cornerstone of its political and military action. The highly uncertain and fluid
situation at the time and the recurrent episodes of warfare made it essential to
establish a network of fortresses as dense as possible, by analogy to what was hap
pening with large lordships. Within such a context, proto-communes could even
promote the building of new castles or the incastellamento of open settlements in
such a way as to strengthen their own presence in an area. One example is provided
by the construction of new fortifications by the authorities of Pavia at Parpanese,
a border area where their power was being challenged by the authorities of
Piacenza: the inhabitants of neighbouring villages were despatched to Parpanese
in order to erect a new tower.44 In certain strategic areas the fortifications were
controlled not by the local communities but by officials (described as castellans in
the sources, or more rarely as viscounts), who controlled small permanent garrisons
stationed there by the proto-commune and paid by it.45 Not least thanks to the
wealth of its sources, Genoa provides some early examples of this phenomenon.
One such area was Portovenere, a military stronghold in enemy territory, where
an armed citizen garrison was stationed.46 Another similar case from the Genoa
area is Fiaccone, situated along the crucial Apennine route connecting the city to
the Po Valley. The renewal of Vicecomes Lanfranc’s appointment as the castellan of
Fiaccone shows that he was at the head of a small permanent garrison of ten war
riors. The maintenance of the whole stronghold cost the Genoese eighteen lire a
year, which were paid out to the castellan, who was responsible for the soldiers’
remuneration and provisions.47
However, the presence of permanent officials in the area would appear to have
been an exception, not the rule. What concrete form, then, did the power of
urban communities take in relation to rural centres directly under their authority,
whether they be located in the immediate environs of the city or (as was more
43 On the castle of Mosezzo, see Le carte dell’archivio capitolare di Novara, II, n. 366 (a. 1150), pp.
269–70; on Ripafratta, see Ronzani, ‘L’affermazione dei Comuni’, pp. 24–5.
44 Documenti degli archivi di Pavia, a. 54 (a. 1184), pp. 153; a strengthening of the concrete struc
tures of the castle is remembered by the testimonies collected in Liber Potheris, a. 31 (a. 1192), col. 92.
45 In addition to the Genoa cases, mechanisms of this sort (with a rapid turnover) are attested in
relation to the important border castle of Volpino, near Brescia, at least from the early 1150s (but
plausibly already before that date); the testimonies from various custodes of this castle have been pub
lished in Liber Potheris, n. 31 (a. 1192), coll. 90–93; these sources also suggest that, after conquering
the castle in the 1150s, the authorities of Brescia continued to manage it through temporary governors
and a garrison.
46 In those years, Genoese castellans (with permanent armed garrisons) were probably active in
Voltaggio, Fiaccone and San Remo; see I Libri iurium di Genova, I,1, n. 141 (a. 1130), pp. 208–10.
47 I Libri iurium di Genova, I,1, n. 89 (a. 1145), pp. 143–4. The activity of Genoese castellan/vis
counts in Fiaccone is mentioned before 1137; on this, see I Libri iurium di Genova, I,1, n. 43 (a. 1137),
pp. 69–71.
rarely the case) further afield? The data we have, which chiefly pertain to some
centres in northern Italy, present a rather uniform picture, at any rate for the very
early decades of the twelfth century.48 First of all, unlike what occurred in terri
torial lordships in the same period, the cives’ authority was not exercised through
permanent officials (such as viscounts and gastalds). Urban missi and legati were
only occasionally despatched to convey orders, collect taxes, or enforce oaths of
sworn fealty and military duties. Ordinary administrative matters were in the
hands of local officials appointed by members of the rural community (deans,
consuls, etc.). One interesting case, in this respect, is that of Mendrisio, a town
north of Milan, in what is now Switzerland. From as early as around 1100 this
centre had been governed by Como, located a dozen kilometres away.49 Its inhab
itants paid their taxes to this city, while also providing military and transporta
tion services. However, the sources do not mention the authorities of Como as
being responsible for the administration of justice in the area. After 1118 Mendrisio,
like many other centres in the area, fell under the rule of Milan, which continued
to exercise the same prerogatives.50 In 1140, when two aristocratic families sought
to lay claim to the village (as well as nearby Rancate), on the basis of old imperial
charters, it was the consuls of Milan who settled the dispute, in the city.51 While
the lords relied on their charters, it was clear from witnesses that neither of the
two families had exercised any real jurisdiction over the area in the previous dec
ades, and that only one of them actually enjoyed some property rights. By contrast,
what was clear (and largely undisputed) was the fact that the vicini (i.e. the inhab
itants of the two villages) autonomously governed themselves (se distringere)
through decani (deans) appointed by them, notwithstanding the fact that they
were both subject to Milan.52 A similar form of domination has been recorded in
relation to the communities (not territorial lordships) disputed between Pavia and
Piacenza. Within these contexts, it would seem as though (at least in some cases)
the consuls were appointed by urban envoys, simply because no local inhabitant
was willing to accept the appointment out of fear of reprisal from the other city.
Only from the 1150s or 1160s onwards did the appointment of rural consuls by
communal missi become the standard practice.53 Before then, urban envoys would
merely acknowledge the consuls chosen by the local community.
Urban power, therefore, was exercised by making local elites involved in the
process as intermediaries. A guarantee was offered by the solemn oaths which
48 Documenti degli archivi di Pavia, nn. 45–48 (a. 1184), pp. 72–193; Gli atti del comune di Milano,
n. 73 (a. 1170), pp. 103–7; ‘Appendice’, to Castagnetti, Il processo per Ostiglia, n. 1 (ante a. 1151), pp.
317–69.
49 Gli atti del comune di Milano, a. 73 (a. 1170), pp. 103–7.
51 Gli atti del comune di Milano, n. 5 (a. 1140), pp. 9–11. On this text, see Rossetti, ‘Le istituzioni
comunali’, pp. 92–3.
local inhabitants would swear to the urban proto-commune.54 In describing the

situation of communities governed by Como, the author of De bello et excidio
repeatedly refers to the iura sacrata binding rural centres to the city. As is shown
by some surviving examples of these oaths (from Lombardy and elsewhere), they
essentially entailed the provision of military aid and the regular paying of taxes
(in money and/or in kind).55 The De bello et excidio instead makes no mention of
castles governed by officials from Como, except in one rather ambiguous case.56
Besides, as late as 1139 the inhabitants of Isola Maggiore, a centre on Lake
Trasimeno, swore a very similar oath to the consuls of Perugia. They committed
themselves to paying the colta, in addition to an annual donativum of a thousand
tenches, to give ostem et parlamentum (military and political assistance) when
ever the authorities of Perugia required it, and to welcome and offer hospitality to
the urban envoys tamquam domini (like [their] lords). By contrast, no references
are made to permanent officials or to the administration of justice, which evi
dently must have remained in the hands of the local community.57
An interesting text regarding the rights exercised by cities over their immediate
environs comes from Genoa, one of the earliest urban communities, which was
among the first to establish itself as a political space. The document was certainly
produced before 1139, perhaps in the 1130s, although there is not enough evi
dence to safely date it.58 The document records the sentry duties assigned to the
residents of the rural centres closest to Genoa and directly governed by it. The
inhabitants of half a dozen settlements were required to provide such services on
the ramparts of the castrum of Genoa, a fortress located within the urban walls
and adjacent to the harbour. The only inhabitants excluded were the famuli
(unfree) and the donecati (leasers) of Genoese citizens. The inhabitants of a dozen
other centres were instead required to facere guardiam at a series of strongholds
controlled by the Genoese, such as the castles of Calignano and Manzasco, and
the lighthouse towers located at the harbour entrance. The inhabitants of thirty-
odd other centres were not required to perform sentry duties, probably because
they lived too far from the Genoese fortifications, but were instead expected to
pay taxes in money or in kind (especially oil and chestnuts, but also timber). In
this case serfs and those living in estates owned by cives were exempt from these
duties, which fell on local free citizens. It is almost certain that other, more bur
densome duties were also enforced, connected with participation in the hostis and
the paying of taxes. Up until 1152 the inhabitants of the village and castle of
54 See for example the charter of Orzivecchi, with the castle granted by the consuls of Brescia to
local elite; see Liber Potheris, n. 2 (a. 1120), coll. 9–10; and the pact, quite similar between the milites of
Soncino and the citizens of Cremona, in Le carte cremonesi, II, a. 273 (a. 1118), pp. 106–8.
55 On communal taxation the reference is Mainoni, ‘Sperimentazioni fiscali’.
56 Grillo, ‘Una fonte per lo studio’.
57 Codice diplomatico del comune di Perugia, n. 1 (a. 1139), pp. 3–5; a riguardo si veda Grundman,
The popolo at Perugia, pp. 10–15.
58 I Libri iurium di Genova, I,1, n. 4 (ante a. 1139), pp. 11–12.
Portovenere must have been expected to pay the Genoese a very significant share
of their harvest, since that year—as a melioramentum (improvement)—the con
suls decreed that the share of blavis et fructibus to be handed over to the castellan
appointed by the commune to control the local area would be reduced by
three-fourths.59
This should not be taken to suggest a complete disinterest in the judicial sphere
on the part of the proto-communes—quite the contrary. If we examine the first
consular trials held in Milan between 1117 and 1150, we will note that many of
the cases pertaining to the countryside concern not individuals but actual institu
tional subjects (local communities, churches, and lords) in mutual conflict. This
is the case with the bishop of Lodi, who requested the annulment of the beneficia
his predecessors had assigned to various lay families; with the counts of Seprio,
who entered into conflict with the men of Mendrisio over the royal fodrum; and
with the church of San Bartolomeo, who entered into a dispute with the abbess
and men of Cairate regarding their rights over the waterways.60 In this respect,
the consuls acted as representatives of the political community of Milan, so as to
maintain order within the area where it exercised its authority. Yet consular just
ice also dealt with the resolution of conflicts on a much smaller scale. In 1138 the
court settled a land litigation between some residents of Sesto, regarding estates
with an overall value of around twenty lire; in 1141, a lawsuit concerning the
ownership of a building at Rosate disputed between a local inhabitant and one of
the city’s churches; and in the same year a litigation between an inhabitant of
Cairate and a church over the ownership of a mill at Lonate.61
Nevertheless, it is important to note that only matters of some economic sig
nificance were discussed by the city’s consuls, and that this always occurred in
Milan, whereas lesser disputes must have been dealt with locally.62 In other words,
it was probably up to the litigants themselves to turn to Milanese consular justice—
just as a community or lord not ruled by Milan might choose to do—if the Milanese
tribunal was perceived as being a more neutral arbiter, as in the case of the Calusco
peasants and the church of Sant’Alessandrio in Brescia in 1130.63 In other words,
resorting to the urban court’s judgement was almost certainly an alternative, or
follow-up, to the judgement pronounced by the dominus loci or rural consuls.64
Particularly for a weak party such as a local community in conflict with lords or
59 I Libri iurium di Genova, I,1, n. 88 (a. 1152), pp. 142–3.

60 Gli atti del comune di Milano, n. 1 (a. 1117), pp. 3–5; n. 8 (a. 1142), pp. 13–14; n. 17 (a. 1148),
pp. 27–8. On the exercise of justice in Milan (and its territory) in those years, see Padoa Schioppa,
‘Aspetti della giustizia milanese’.
61 See respectively Gli atti del comune di Milano, n. 4 (a. 1138), p. 8; n. 6 (a. 1141), p. 11; n. 7
(a. 1141), p. 12.
62 A similar pattern is observed also in Genoa, until the middle of twelfth century; on this see
Vallerani, ‘La riscrittura dei diritti’, pp. 74–85.
64 On these mechanisms, see Wickham, Courts and Conflicts.
churches, resorting to the consular tribunal was an attractive option. Thus within
a few years the men of the comunantia of Velate in the Varese area brought before
the Milanese consuls first the archbishop of Milan (1148) and then the church of
Santa Maria of Monte Velate (1153), in both cases over issues concerning the use
of public land, whereas other disputes in the same area were resolved locally.65 Of
course, this was only one possibility; sometimes it was the more powerful side that
systematically resorted to the communal court, as in the case of the archbishop
of Genoa, who systematically resorted to the consul’s judgement in order to have
his rights as a territorial lord in the area acknowledged in the 1140s—apparently,
with great success.66
However, we should be wary not to unduly apply these data to all autonomous
urban communities attested in this period. Many of them had real difficulties in
effectively projecting their power only a short distance away from the city walls.
The proliferation of castra in the hands of subjects not directly controlled by the
proto-commune in the peri-urban area may be regarded as a clear indication of
the weakness of its political projection. A good example in this case is provided
by Alba, in southern Piedmont, which is worth examining in some detail. Up until
1091 this area fell within the political sphere of the march of Turin. In addition to
fiscal estates and ones in the hands of the lay aristocracy, a considerable number
of estates were in the hands of two monastic institutions located outside the area
in question, namely the abbey of Fruttuaria and that of Breme, which owned
several villages and castles, based on a series of donations.67
The civil war period, however, brought about a significant redefinition of local
power balances. The Fruttuaria estates were usurped by local noblemen (in all
likelihood, they were at least partly acquired by the heirs to the concessionaires of
these properties), whereas the bishop expanded his political power, mostly to the
detriment of Breme. The two castles of Verduno and Roddi, located a few kilo
metres away from the city, fell into the hands of the prelate of Alba, who also
controlled several other centres in the immediate environs of the urban centre.68
Breme only kept the castle of Pollenzo, located a dozen kilometres away from
65 See, respectively, Le carte di Santa Maria del Monte Velate, I, n. 123 (a. 1148), p. 211; and Gli atti
del comune di Milano, a. 28 (a. 1153), pp. 44–6. On the latter deed, see Padoa Schioppa, ‘Aspetti della
giustizia milanese’, p. 540. One example of a conflict being resolved at the local level, without the
consuls’ involvement, may be found in Le carte di Santa Maria del Monte Velate, I, n. 86 (a. 1126),
pp. 150–1.
66 Vallerani, ‘La riscrittura dei diritti’; see the documents collected in Il registro della curia arcives-
covile di Genova, passim. Note that the first document pertaining to the Genoese consuls’ exercising of
justice in the countryside dates from as early as 1104–5, and concerns the area near Portofino, some
30km away from Genoa, where local power was in the hands of churches and urban noble families
rather than the urban community; see Wickham, Sleepwalking, pp. 243–4, n. 5.
67 On the considerable properties owned by the abbey of Fruttuaria in the area (including the curtes
scilicet castella of Serralunga, Borgomale, Barbaresco, Colombero and Montorsino), see the charter
issued by Henry II: Diplomata Henrici II., n. 302 (a. 1014), p. 381. On the ownership of Verduno and
Roddi by the monastery of Breme, see La Cronaca di Novalesa, pp. 290–2; on Pollenzo see pp. 290–3.
68 Albesano, ‘La costruzione politica’, pp. 90–100.
Alba and, probably, that of San Giorgio, in the immediate vicinity of the other
castrum. Shortly after 1110 we also find the first clear signs of autonomous action
on the part of the community of cives in Alba, which had already manifested itself
to some degree a few decades earlier, with the expulsion of the pro-imperial bishop
Benzone.69 In 1118 the Albenses, along with the Astenses, Vercellenses, Ypporegenses
(the citizens of Asti, Vercelli and Ivrea), and the curia of margrave Bonifacio Del
Vasto, were involved in the resolution of a conflict between two leading political
actors, the bishop of Turin and the viscounts of Baratonia.70 Moreover, in the
1120s the Albenses took part in the war against Como by providing the Milanese
with a contingent of milites, although no mention is made of their bishop being
involved in the conflict.71
So while the community of cives displayed clear signs of political autonomy
from the early twelfth century, it was only in the second half of the century that it
succeeded in projecting its power beyond the peri-urban area. Located immedi
ately beyond this 2km area extending from the city walls was a dense network of
castles controlled by different authorities, among whom the most prominent—as
already noted—was the bishop of Alba, who for many decades, down to the violent
clashes of the late twelfth century, was largely responsible for keeping the hege
monic action of the commune in check. These castles, moreover, were not located
only on the hills surrounding Alba, but also in the fertile river plain, where the
urban centre was located which largely controlled it. The castle of Colombero,
owned by the lords of Monforte, was located on the opposite bank of the Tanaro
River from the city and only a few kilometres away from the walls, and it was still
standing in the early thirteenth century.72 The castrum et villa of Oriolo, situated at
the foot of a hill about 3km away from Alba, would appear to have been governed
by a small group of lords. The bishop, moreover, owned the castles of Roddi and
Piano, both of which were located a short distance away from the city and encom
passed broad stretches of the fluvial plain. In addition to these we find Diano,
Guarene and Rodello, located in the hills within a few kilometres from Alba and, a
little further afield, Castagnole and Verduno. So while the urban community of
Alba displayed early signs of political action, at least up until the 1170s its projec
tion into the surrounding countryside was practically non-existent.73
69 Bordone, Città e territorio, pp. 336–8.

70 Documenti di Scarnafigi, n. 5 (a. 1118), pp. 24–5. This text is discussed in Bordone, ‘ “Civitas
nobilis et antiqua” ’, pp. 29–31.
71 Anonimus Cumanus, De bello.
72 Albesano, ‘La costruzione politica’, pp. 101–6 (to which I will refer also for what follows, unless
otherwise noted); it would appear that by 1181 the castle had long been held in fief by its lords from
the commune of Alba; however, it is significant that the authorities of Alba had not been able either to
demolish the castrum or to take direct control of it.
73 On the process of territorial expansion of the commune of Alba, see Fresia, Comune Civitatis
Albe. It is worth noting that up until the 1170s we have no sources from the commune of Alba, but
even then—and up until the end of the century—the action of the commune would still appear to
have had very limited territorial extension.
A rather similar case is that of Imola, in Romagna. Here the urban community
also affirmed its autonomy in the turbulent context of civil war, which especially
affected this areas, disputed as it was between Matilda of Canossa and the arch
bishop of Ravenna, one of the main supporters of the imperial party. In 1084 the
bishop of Imola granted the cives of Imola all public rights over the city, including
the toll rights. He also gave them privileged rights to use the important river port
of Conselice, located some 20km away from the urban centre.74 The bishop’s
rights over the city must have been a rather recent acquisition, given that only a
decade earlier they had been (peacefully) disputed between the Roman pontiff
and the prelate of Ravenna. However, it is almost certain that one of these two
figures had then transferred them, a few years before the event, to the local
bishop, in order to win his support in the war.75 While the deed makes no men
tion of consuls, the political autonomy of the urban community is very evident, as
is its commercial spirit (as illustrated by the granting of the rights to collect tolls
and make use of the port of Conselice, but also by the treatise which the commu
nity signed a few years later with Venice). Indeed, trade at least partly accounted
for the prosperity of the inhabitants of Imola. Nevertheless, the bishop remained
fully in control of the castrum of San Cassiano, adjacent to the city and housing its
cathedral, and of a range of mostly distant fortifications in the surrounding area.
Moreover, in 1126–30 Honorius II granted the local prelate a privilege that con
firmed not just the rural castles he owned but also the very rights on the urban
centre which he had de facto renounced in 1084.76 We do not know whether the
bishop used this document to concretely impose his power on the city, or whether
he only threatened to do so in order to prevent the urban community from taking
any further action against his rural properties, starting from San Cassiano.
Certainly, the situation between the cives and the bishop was a fraught one, as is
witnessed in those same years by a series of attacks launched against the castle of
San Cassiano by the urban milites, which led to its first destruction in 1132. The
castle was then rebuilt by the bishop, who relied on the pontiff ’s support, and
then by new attacks on the citizens’ part. However, here I would like to emphasize
a different point: despite an early formal acknowledgement of the self-government
of the urban community, from as early as 1084, half a century later the city was
still struggling to project its power into the surrounding area, including its imme
diate environs.77 Just as in Alba, the bishop’s power continued to pose an insur
mountable obstacle. Alba and Imola should not be regarded as exceptional cases;
rather, they may be taken as useful case studies to understand much broader
74 Cantarella, ‘Imola’, p. 156. 75 On this conflict, section 7.1.

76 Archivum Mensae episcopalis, II, n. 726 (a. 1126–30), p. 292.
77 On the relationship between the bishop of Imola and the citizens, see Pallotti, Pubblici poteri,
pp. 91–104.
phenomena, at least up until the mid-twelfth century, when ‘weak’ urban com
munities were still numerous, at any rate outside the central area of the Po Valley.
It is necessary, however, to focus our attention again on more mature and
enterprising proto-communes, in order to understand how the forms of political
control they exercised over increasingly extensive stretches of the countryside
interacted with the local territorial lordships, in particular in the areas more dis
tant from the city. Here such centres of power were far more numerous than in
the peri-urban area, where for the most part they constituted an exception. One
element worth emphasizing right from the start is the fact that the dominatus loci
and the power of the urban community were never mutually incompatible.
Nevertheless, the way in which individual urban communities interacted with it
varied considerably. The exercising of power in the countryside was clearly a
thorny matter, and a cruxes of urban politics in this period, even though it took
very different forms depending on the context. In order to appreciate the degree
of divergence in the approaches adopted, we can consider the two widely different
cases of Pisa and Milan.
As regards the specific case of Pisa, for good reasons scholars have even
hypothesized that in the 1080s a civil war broke out, with the urban elite being
divided into two factions: those seeking to establish territorial lordships in the
countryside by forcefully subjecting the peasants, and those who instead aimed to
preserve more traditional (and collective) forms of power in the countryside and
who favoured a maritime expansion.78 This conflict would have been solved by
archbishop Dagoberto’s famous lodo delle torri (arbitrament of the towers), which
witnessed the victory of the ‘collectivist’ faction over the ‘seigneurial’ one, bring
ing an end to the forms of lordship that were beginning to emerge in those years
even in the rural areas closest to Pisa, such as the Valdiserchio. However, this did
not amount to a general hostility towards the dominatus loci within the area
politically controlled by the city. Many lordships endured, yet only in areas
located far away from the city and in the hands of either families (whether of
urban origin or not), who had been acquiring prerogatives of such kind for some
decades, or of urban churches, particularly the episcopal one.79
A very different case is offered by Milan, where the community did not inter
fere with the traditional lordships held by local capitanei (citizens with seigneurial
rights in the countryside) or urban churches, even in centres very close to the city,
such as Linate. Rather, the community only sought to ensure that the holders of
these lordships would acknowledge the superiority of the city and would not
adopt any policies hostile to it. Even the lordships in those areas progressively
taken over by Milan were protected, as in the case of the lordships of the bishop of
Lodi.80 Indeed, it is more than plausible that even in the Milan area the turn of the
78 Ronzani, Chiesa e ‘Civitas’, pp. 246–7. 79 Cortese, ‘Aristocrazia signorile e città’.
80 Gli atti del comune di Milano, a. 1 (a. 1117), pp. 3–5.
1100s witnessed a strengthening and formalization of the rights of local domini

over their subjects in centres controlled by lords, as argued by Hagen Keller.81 In
many cases new territorial lordships were created from scratch precisely under
the political aegis of the commune of Milan, based on pre-existent tithe and lord
ship rights, over the course of the twelfth century.82 Not only did the proto-
commune not prevent these processes, but it probably favoured them as a way to
strengthen Milan’s hold over the countryside. Besides, the importance of the sei
gneurial (and feudal) dimension for the Milanese elite is already evidenced by the
role played by the dominatus loci in Milanese customs (which were redeveloped
and broadened in 1216, although their core was much older), as well by the inter
est that an urban jurist like Oberto dell’Orto showed in the world of personal and
power relations in the countryside—indeed, the treatises he composed were later
to serve as the basis for the Libri feudorum.83 Feudal and seigneurial relations,
therefore, were an integral part of the intellectual horizon of the ruling elite,
including those sections of it that, as in Oberto’s case, did not concretely enjoy
such rights in the countryside. Through the expansion of the rural power of many
proto-communes over the course of the 1110s and 1120s, a growing number of
lordships, often in the hands of figures with no significant connections with urban
centres, came to fall within the political orbit of the latter. One means to lend
juridical form to these annexations was the oblate fief, as is especially evident in
sources from Piacenza and Genoa, along with the pact of citizenship and other
forms of submission. Besides, these forms of subordination were not purely the
oretical, but entailed very concrete military and fiscal duties, as we shall soon see
in some detail.84 Although in all likelihood these processes of incorporation were
not always peaceful and painless, they were not based merely on the use of force
or the threat of military intervention on the city’s part. For smaller local lords,
subordination to a proto-commune must have been no worse than subordination
to a ‘prince’; and in a context such as that of the 1120s, while the lord who con
trolled between five and ten castles might hope to preserve his autonomy, the only
possible choice for the holder of a territorially restricted lordship was to decide
to whom he should submit. The capacity of proto-communes to rapidly earn
the consensus of rural aristocratic elites is quite evident. Around 1120 the urban
authorities of Piacenza, precisely through the open support of local lords, had
successfully repelled the margrave Pelavicino, who with his escort of knights
had come to assert his high jurisdiction based on albergaria, from centres located
81 Keller, Signori e vassalli. 82 Grillo, ‘Una fonte per lo studio’.

84 Fiefs de reprise: Il Registrum Magnum, n. 53 (a. 1126), pp. 102–4; n. 153 (a. 1141), pp. 319–22; I
Libri iurium di Genova, I,1, n. 41 (aa. 1132–3 c.), pp. 64–6 (Frascaro); nn. 48–50 (a. 1141), pp. 81–6
(on Fiaccone). Other forms of sujection: I Libri iurium di Genova, I,1, nn. 8–11 (aa. 1138–9 c.), pp.
68–72; Il Registrum Magnum, n. 34 (a. 1132), pp. 59–60.
over 40km away from the city, near the diocesan border with Pavia.85 While not
structurally integrated within the society of Piacenza, which had only recently
asserted its power, the local lords chose to remain loyal to the latter rather than to
side with Pelavicino.
Finally, it is worth stressing the fact that many of these lordships belonged to
urban churches, especially bishops, who almost invariably constitute the main
holders of territorial lordship right within the area dominated by the community.
In this respect it must be noted that from as early as the very first decades of the
twelfth century a clear distinction emerged between rural centres directly gov
erned by an urban community and ones in which the dominus loci was the prel
ate. The cases of Pisa, Lucca, Como and Milan are particularly revealing in this
respect.86 There is no confusion here, but rather an evident distinction, even in the
framework of the collaborative relationship between the community and its prel
ate, as in the cases of Pisa and Milan. While in the peri-urban area as a whole (and
in the city) most of the time the community replaced the bishop as the holder of
established jurisdictional rights, as in Cremona, this did not occur in most rural
centres.87 Within the area closest to the city the bishop could continue to control
seigneurial enclaves, as in the case of Moriano and Aquileia in the Six Miles of
Lucca, yet these were isolated presences, which stood out within a broader area
governed by the urban community. By contrast, in 1110 the cives of Arezzo sought
to take control of the episcopal lordships in city’s environs by force of arms. The
outcome of this operation was a swift and brutal repression, carried out by Henry
V’s troops with full support from the prelate. However, the citizens did not give up
but made another—this time successful—attempt one generation later, in 1130.88
We cannot therefore speak of a single approach adopted by (proto-)communes
towards lordships, since the approach varied depending on local political and social
configurations, as Chris Wickham has compellingly emphasized in his recent
book on the origins of communes.89
We must now ascertain what concrete prerogatives were exercised at this early
stage by cities over those lordships that acknowledged their political superiority.
A first crucial sphere, of course, was the military one. The most obvious obligation
in this sense was to defend the local castle on behalf of the city, which sometimes
entailed the specific requirement of allowing urban military contingents to guard
it and occupy it, should the need arise. Offensive duties were often added (hostis
et cavalcata), in the form of participation in any military expeditions led by the
85 Documenti degli archivi di Pavia, n. 54 (a. 1184), pp. 150–1; and n. 55 (a. 1184), p. 161.
86 On the lordships of the archbishop of Pisa, see Ceccarelli Lemut, ‘Terre pubbliche’; on Milan and
Como see Grillo, ‘Una fonte per lo studio’; and Keller, Signori e vassalli; on Lucca, see Wickham,
Community and clientele. As late as the early 1160s, the bishop of Piacenza fully exercised jurisdictional
rights over his castles—in complete agreement with the consuls—even in the environs of the city: see
Il Registrum Magnum, n. 273 (a. 1162), pp. 556–7.
87 Menant, ‘La prima età comunale’. 88 Delumeau, Arezzo, pp. 1005–10.
89 Wickham, Sleepwalking, 189–94.
city’s army.90 However, the cities’ scope for intervention was much broader and
soon extended to the sphere of taxation, which—much like today—constituted
one of the main spheres of governance, along with war and justice.91 While possible
traces of special levies imposed by urban communities on rural centres (and their
lords) are to be found as early as the late eleventh century, by the 1120s we find
certain evidence of policies designed to impose forms of taxation on (almost) all
centres subject to a proto-commune, including those in which the domini loci,
while acknowledging the superiority of the city, de facto continued to exercise full
jurisdiction over the area.92 In Siena, where we essentially know nothing of the
political activity of the urban community at this stage owing to the lack of docu
mentary evidence, we learn of these dynamics through some depositions made
shortly before 1180. Several witnesses—who were questioned in connection to an
ecclesiastical dispute between Siena and Arezzo—recall that towards the late
1120s Siena introduced the bovartera, a tax of roughly twelve denarii for each pair
of oxen and seven for each plough that applied throughout the comitatus senensis
(the sources do not entirely agree as to the exact sum to be paid). This levy was
introduced to cover the considerable expenses of the dispute between the two cities,
which was taken to the papal tribunal. However, the reaction of local society to
the new tax suggests that it was not merely a one-off occurrence, or at any rate
that it was probably regularized. Upon receiving the news, the local comital families,
the Berardenghi, Asciano, and Scialenghi—in all likelihood joined by other
minor noblemen—took up arms against the urban authorities, finding military
support from the bishop of Arezzo. The levy was perceived as an intolerable
breaching of the lords’ priorities over the centres subject to them. Regardless of
the catastrophic outcome of the attempt to impose the new tax, it is significant
that at the time the cives of Siena were so confident of their power that they did
not hesitate to introduce such a substantial tax in all centres under their authority
90 Two examples concerning respectively Genoa and Piacenza in I Libri iurium di Genova, I,1, n. 41
(aa. 1132–1133 c.), pp. 64–6; Registrum magnum, n. 22 (a. 1141), pp. 36–7.
91 On Italian communal taxation Patrizia Mainoni’s studies are the point of reference; on the earlier
period, that we are discussing here, see esp. Mainoni, ‘Sperimentazioni fiscali’; and Mainoni, ‘A prop
osito della “rivoluzione fiscale” ’.
92 It is worth noting that from as early as the first years of the 1090s the agreements between the
abbess of Luco and a noble family of Mugello foresaw the possibility of occasional levies being raised
(to the detriment of the monastery) not just by the king and the margrave but also by the civitate
(clearly, Florence); this would be the earliest reference to levies being imposed by an urban commu
nity—and this, in an area a few dozen kilometres away from the city and at the expense of rural lord
ships. See ‘Appendice’, to Annales camaldulenses, III, n. 68 (a. 1090, but actually 1092), col. 99. This
document (the original copy of which survives in the Diplomatico of the Archivio di Stato in Florence)
was used by Davidsohn, Untersuchungen, p. 63, who however made rather too much of it: he pre
sented it as proof that Florence already regularly exercised political and fiscal control over (almost)
the whole diocese in this period. This untenable thesis probably contributed to the subsequent lack of
historiographical interest in this significant document. However M.E. Cortese casts some doubts on
the authenticity of the document, suggesting a later date (early twelfth century); see Cortese, Signori,
castelli, p. 187.
(de facto, the whole diocese), including those belonging to the most well-established
lordships in the area.93
Besides, this is not an isolated episode. Depositions from the border area
between the territories of Pavia and Piacenza show that, roughly in the same
period, these northern Italian proto-communes also introduced the bovateria in
all centres under their control (even though in this case we do not know what the
payment amounted to—some sources from the Piacenza and Pavia area suggest
that the payment was in kind). In this case the tax also affected both communities
directly governed by the city and ones controlled by local domini.94 What’s more,
the levy would not appear to have been a one-off occurrence: in several acts of
submission of lords to Piacenza, from the very early 1140s, it is specified that the
inhabitants subjected to the domini loci would henceforth be required to pay the
bovateria, in addition to the levies imposed by the local lords.95 Again in the same
period an analogous form of taxation had entered into force—almost certainly a
few years before—in most rural centres governed by Cremona, or at any rate in
those centres directly controlled by the proto-commune. Only the inhabitants of
certain rural castles, while being governed by the urban community without the
intermediation of any lords, were spared the tax in virtue of the considerable mili
tary aid they provided.96 They were expected to pay the bovateria only if this was
also required of the cives of Cremona (who normally must have been exempt
from it), which is to say in truly exceptional circumstances. From very early on,
therefore, the bovateria was conceived as a regular annual tax, and not an occa
sional one (if not in the case of land owned by citizens and of a few privileged
individuals). It affected not just communities directly governed by the proto-
commune, but also seigneurial castles (or villages) that acknowledged its
hegemony.97 Finally, it is interesting to note that from as early as the 1120s the
proto-commune of Ferrara exercised jurisdictional rights over Ostiglia, a sei
gneurial centre belonging to a Veronese ecclesiastical institution, and located over
40km away from the city, by imposing taxes, and collecting fodrum and teloneum.
It is important to stress that these rights were (successfully) laid claim to even in
relation to a centre subject to a lord—whose power was not actually disputed—
and stood in perfect continuity with the prerogatives previously exercised there
93 Documenti per la storia di Arezzo, I, n. 389 (aa. 1177–80 c.), pp. 565–73.
95 Registrum magnum, I, n. 22 (a. 1141), pp. 36–7; n. 89 (a. 1141), pp. 183–5; n. 152 (a. 1142),
pp. 316–18.
96 As results clearly from the renewal of the old privileges of the men of San Bassano; see Le carte
cremonesi, II, n. 373 (a. 1157), pp. 292–4.
97 Here I disagree with the opinion voiced in Mainoni, ‘Sperimentazioni fiscali’, according to which
all levies were only of an occasional nature until the second half of the twelfth century. Besides, some
witnesses clearly affirm that Como was collecting the royal fodrum from many rural centres under its
authority already before the war with Lodi, which is to say in the first decade of the twelfth century at
the latest. See Gli atti del comune di Milano, n. 73 (a. 1170), pp. 103–7; n. 74 (a. 1170), pp. 108–11
by the traditional holders of public authority (Matilda of Canossa and later Henry
V).98 In the (rare) deeds of submission of lords to have reached us from those
years, no mention is usually made of levies imposed on subject centres, but only
of their subjection (Piacenza and Genoa being early exceptions). However, it is
most likely that fiscal burdens of this sort were widespread, albeit probably not in
all those seigneurial settlements that acknowledged the hegemony of a city, at
least from the 1120s onwards.99
We must now ascertain exactly what prerogatives the proto-communes enjoyed
over those areas in which they were able to impose their power or at least achieve
some form of hegemony. It is plausible (if not likely) that cities—at any rate in
those rural centres directly subject to them, where urban rule was not mediated
by any lords—adopted, at least at first, forms and modes of power more in line
with traditional ones. The cases of Pisa and Lucca would seem to point precisely
in this direction, although in this specific case the reason may have been the
early charters issued by Henry IV, which from the 1080 provided the basis for
the establishment of urban power. More generally, this attitude possibly also
depended on the lower degree of legitimacy assigned to the power exercised by
proto-communes over their environs, at any rate during the first stage of their
expansion, compared to the power of lords. This gap was filled by a greater con
tinuity in modes of power compared to those typical of the old public order. Some
important clues in this sense also emerge from the little documentary evidence
we have from this period pertaining to rural centres directly subject to urban
communities in northern Italy, such as Pavia, Piacenza, and Milan.100
Having reached the end of this brief overview, let us draw some (provisional)
conclusions of a general sort with regard to this crucial topic, which requires
more specific investigations in order to be better understood. The data examined
allows us to rethink and more accurately define the role played by cities in the
countryside up until 1130 at least, and in many respects even up to 1150. In
present-day Lombardy and in some urban areas just outside its boundaries (such as
Tortona, Piacenza, and part of the Veneto), as well as in Genoa and in the triangle
98 ‘Appendice’, to Castagnetti, Il processo per Ostiglia, n. 1 (ante a. 1151), pp. 317–69; the local rule
of Ferrara was the result of a military action against imperial forces which previously controlled the
area.
99 On Piacenza see Registrum magnum, I, n. 22 (a. 1141), pp. 36–7; n. 89 (a. 1141), pp. 183–5; on
Genoa I Libri iurium di Genova, I,1, n. 79–80 (a. 1145 c.), pp. 131–3 (respectively the lords of Lagneto
and Passano), where submission to the city entails, in addition to defensive military duties, offensive
ones (in oste et cavalcata), by land and by sea, and the payment of taxes and levies.
100 What we have, in particular, are some extensive collections of depositions (or summaries
thereof), pertaining to jurisdiction over the countryside. They date from the second half of the twelfth
century, but the witnesses recount events which took place from the very first decades of the century
onwards. The documents in question are: Documenti degli archivi di Pavia, nn. 45–8 (a. 1184), pp.
72–193 (on some centres in the Oltrepò area disputed between Pavia and Piacenza); Gli atti del
comune di Milano, n. 73 (a. 1170), p. 106 (on the Seprio area, disputed between Milan and Como); and
‘Appendice’, to Castagnetti, Il processo per Ostiglia, a. 1 (ante a. 1151), pp. 317–69, on Ostiglia, dis
puted between Ferrara and Verona.
formed by Pisa, Lucca, and Florence in Tuscany (with the addition of Siena a little
later), within a few decades the proto-commune successfully established itself—
most often, yet not always, also through its effective collaboration with local
bishops—as the main centre of power within its diocese. Already by 1120 it was
capable of exercising direct control over an area extending for a few miles outside
the city, where the presence of lordships was very limited and bound to the urban
community. But the proto-commune was also able to project its power much fur
ther by directly controlling some more distant castles, often located several dozen
kilometres away from the urban walls, as in the case of Portovenere for Genoa or
Soncino for Cremona. Moreover, it was capable of exercising effective hegemony
over much of the diocese and, far more rarely, even beyond it.
The 1120s witnessed a consolidation of these dynamics, favoured by the dis
appearance of the principality of Canossa and by the inability of the Empire to
successfully establish itself as its heir. Moreover, it was probably in this period
that several proto-communes (especially in northern Italy) started imposing lev
ies on (almost) all the centres under their authority, including lordships: a fact
that bears witness to their increasing political control over the countryside. By
contrast, no direct connection is to be observed between the early formalization
of consular institutions and the capacity of proto-communes to deeply influence
local pol it
ical balances, as is shown for instance by a comparison between
Florence and Arezzo. Outside these still limited areas, the situation would appear
to be marked by very different patterns. We find exceedingly few centres outside
the immediate environs of a city in which the urban community was able to impose
its power; in fact, in many cases even the area closest to the city walls is marked
by the presence of lordships, which strongly limited any access to the territory
and its resources. In different cases, almost exclusively concentrated in central
Italy, we find no trace at all of the political autonomy of cives up until the second
half of the century (and sometimes even beyond this date), as the b ishops—and,
especially in Latium, some seigneurial families—continued to exercise (sometimes
almost absolute) control over the strictly urban space.
In other words, around the year 1130, despite the unquestionable progress made
over the two previous decades, the impact of proto-communes on the countryside
was still relatively limited, except in the heart of the Po Valley and in a few other
areas. Even in those regions where cities had become politically dominant, the com
munities under their control nonetheless constituted a small minority, and were
almost exclusively concentrated in the immediate environs of the city, whereas in
the rest of the countryside power generally remained in the hands of lords, even
though they were often subject to a proto-commune—if only in a limited way.
However, urban institutions were not the only political bodies founded on the
collective use of power to be active in the countryside at the time. As previously
noted, in this period we also find various rural communities capable of engaging
in autonomous action on the political stage, in ways frequently mirroring those
typical of cities. These communities will be the focus of the next section.
5.2 Autonomous rural communities
The choice of devoting a separate section to autonomous rural communities,

which have generally been neglected or only fleetingly mentioned in studies
devoted to our period, is closely connected to the choice of adopting a non-
teleological interpretation of those processes which unfolded in the Italian coun
tryside at the turn of the 1100s.101 Centres of this kind would not appear to have
been very numerous and most of them had lost their autonomy by the mid-
twelfth century, to the benefit of urban communes and large aristocratic domains.
In this respect, it is worth emphasizing the marked, albeit not absolute, discon
tinuity between most ‘free’ rural communities active at the turn of the 1100s and
autonomous castles, which were especially widespread in central Italy between
the late twelfth and fourteenth century.102 The vast majority of these later polities
sprang from communities that had previously been subject to lordship, and which
took advantage of the latter’s crisis to assert their full autonomy in the period
roughly extending between 1160 and 1260. In this respect, the most widespread
model is illustrated by the well-known case of Matelica, which until 1162 was
under the Attoni counts and then for a long time stood at the centre of new polit
ical developments.103
Actual continuity is only to be found in a far more limited number of cases,
such as that of the rural centres in southern Piedmont (including Gamondio and
Marengo) which became part of the newly founded city of Alessandria, that of
Norcia and Cascia in Umbria, and (probably) that of Fabriano and Spello.104
Nevertheless, in our period communities of this sort were certainly to be found
and, while their autonomy was often short lived, they were not as exceptional as
the available sources (preserved by the winners of this stage of competition)
might lead us to think. In brief, they represent one of the possible outcomes of the
redefinition of rural power structures, and offer a model alternative to that of
seigneurial power or the establishment of domains centred on large urban com
munities. By focusing on these communities, it is possible to paint a picture of the
countryside in this period that is far more lively and complex than the one based
on the established and simplistic dichotomy between urban contadi and
101 A recent exception is Grillo, ‘Una fonte per lo studio’.

102 A recent overview, focused on central Italy is Taddei, ‘Comuni rurali’, with further
bibliography.
103 On Matelica the reference is the seminal work of Luzzatto, ‘Le sottomissioni’. For an overview
on the Marche, see Maire Vigueur, ‘Centri di nuova fondazione’.
104 On Alessandria and the unification of autonomous rural communities, which led to the emer
gence of the new urban commune, see most recently Bordone, ‘Il caso di Alessandria’. It is worth
emphasizing the fact that in central Italy in the last decades of the twelfth century a large number of
these communities, including Matelica, Norcia and Cascia, fell under the rule of the Staufer emperor,
who—at least occasionally—governed them via temporary officials, while granting more or less sig
nificant margins of self-government to the communal institutions. With the death of Henry VI and
the collapse of the system of imperial power in 1198, these centres regained full autonomy. For a first
overview of the problem, see Fiore, Signori e sudditi, pp. 114–23, with further bibliography.
lordships, a picture enriched by the presence of political entities that, while rarer,
are just as significant—such as centres belonging to the royal demesne or autono
mous communities. An analysis of the (scarce and scanty) sources that talk about
these communities highlights the vitality and enterprise of the local societies I
have previously described. It shows how, given favourable contexts, they were
able to pursue fully independent political projects and trajectories.
The origins of these centres of power are no doubt to be identified in those
settlements marked by a strong predominance of local allodiaries. From the
Lombard and Carolingian ages, rural society in central and northern Italy was
characterized by the spread of allodial land, i.e. of small and medium-sized rural
estates. While allods often existed alongside large landed estates, we find quite a
few communities in which the latter kind of property was essentially absent (or
very limited) and in which local society was de facto governed by local landowners,
sometimes labelled as arimanni.105 Already by the year 1000 or thereabouts such
centres were clearly in the minority, and were unevenly distributed throughout the
territory. They are more numerous in the Alpine and pre-Alpine areas (for instance
around Como and in the Maritime Alps), in the Veneto, and in the Apennine area
between Umbria and the Marche, whereas they are almost completely absent in
broad swathes of the Po Valley and of Tuscany.106 Nevertheless, it is worth noting
that by their very nature these centres are far less visible from a documentary per
spective compared to those characterized by the presence of large landed estates;
therefore, it is perfectly plausible that they were more numerous than the sources
would seem to suggest.
In order to better understand the aspirations of these groups within the context
of the kingdom of Italy between the tenth century and the end of the following
one, it may be useful to take the incastellamento as our vantage point, by analogy
to the approach previously adopted for lords. The building of castles on the part
of autonomous communities of allodiaries is undoubtedly a less common phe
nomenon than aristocratic incastellamento, yet it is no less significant. We find
precisely communities of this sort engaged in the building of castles, often associ
ated with royal privileges through the granting of public rights, much along the
lines of what was seen to have been the case with churches and lay noblemen. In
the well-known case of Lazise, in the Verona area, in the late tenth century the
local elite promoted the building of a castle and obtained toll rights and other
public rights from the monarchy, as though they were noblemen.107 Again in the
Verona area the inhabitants of two separate yet neighbouring villages, Montecchio
and Bure, came together to build a shared castle at Montecchio.108 Many other
105 Tabacco, I liberi del re.

106 Grillo, ‘Una fonte per lo studio’; Castagnetti, ‘Arimanni e signori’.
107 Diplomata Ottonis II., n. 291 (a. 983), p. 343.
108 ‘Appendice 1’, to Brugnoli, ‘Sala, Val Salaria’ (Montecchio).
examples could be adduced, such as that of the two castles of Stablamone in

southern Umbria. What matters here, however, is the significance of these oper
ations, namely the fact that they express a desire for autonomy on the part of a
local community, and its independence from seigneurial powers. Whereas for
lords the building of castles was a way to express their ambition to control an area,
in the case of allodiaries it expressed an aspiration to autonomy on the part of a
community—or at any rate its upper echelons, its elite. Evidently, castles were one
of the cornerstones of the identity of these local communities. When the latter
yield to lords (such as the Pastrengo, Montecchio, and Stablamone), evidently
under considerable pressure, which the surviving evidence only occasionally
allows us to grasp (as in the case of the arimanni of Sacco who were forcefully sub
jected by the bishop of Padua in the closing decades of the eleventh century), this
often occurs via a donation of the local lands and castle that involves all members
of the community, or at any rate the local landowners.109 This clearly bears witness
to the cohesion of local society—which finds a vivid expression in the castle—even
when it is forced to acknowledge the end of its experiment in autonomy.
Particularly in the decades between 1080 and 1120, but often even before then,
most centres of this sort fell into the hands of lords, while sometimes preserving
more or less significant margins of autonomy, generally depending on their mili
tary capacity and demographic weight. De facto, some villages remained free,
particularly in Alpine and Apennine areas, where the terrain made it easier to
resist seigneurial military pressure, but often even in the lowlands, as illustrated
for instance by the cases of Gamondio and Novi in southern Piedmont.110 The
collapse of the traditional system of public governance offered these centres an
opportunity for self-government, with no interference on the part of the public
officials who had hitherto exercised jurisdiction over the area.
The opposition to Como shown by several of the leading communities in the
environs the city, and the support they provided to the military action of Milan
within the framework of the prolonged and ruinous war between the two
Lombard cities, can arguably be interpreted precisely in terms of the pursuit of
autonomy: as an attempt to avoid having to be subject to the dominant proto-
commune and to preserve the degree of independence acquired with the break
down of the traditional political order. Besides, in the Como area armed conflicts
between local communities and the cives of Como had broken out at least a couple
of decades before the war with Milan (111827), in the wake of the city’s attempt to
impose its power over neighbouring rural centres. In 1101, when making a pro
anima donation, a wealthy inhabitant of the Isola Comacina (located around
20km away from the city) spoke—before members of the community acting as
109 See respectively: Il Regesto di Farfa, V, n. 1167 (a. 1113), pp. 170–1; (Stablamone); Castagnetti,
‘Arimanni e signori’, pp. 261–2 (Pastrengo); Rippe, Padoue et son contado, pp. 168–75 (Sacco).
110 Bordone, ‘Il caso di Alessandria’.
his witnesses—of ‘nostra communa vuera cum hominibus de civitate Como’.111

The communities that were stronger from a demographic perspective, which had a
higher degree of self-awareness and were capable of taking effective military action,
must have seen subordination to a neighbouring city (or lord) as a dangerous
limitation of their horizons. In other words, while weaker rural communities—
assuming they had a choice—could only choose whom to submit themselves to,
in the case of stronger communities autonomy was a real option worth pursuing by
force of arms, if necessary, by making the most of the local political situation. While
(at least in the vast majority of cases) the course effectively followed was that of
gradual subordination, we should not forget that at this fluid stage other outcomes
were seen as possible, and desirable, by the actors directly engaged in the field.
The available sources paint a rather murky picture of the way in which com
munities of this sort operated, forcing us to construct models based on the juxta
position of data pertaining to what are actually different contexts. We lack the
kind of collections of documents we can rely on for the late twelfth and thirteenth
centuries, and which have enabled detailed and sophisticated analyses of castle
communities active in that period, such as Matelica or Fabriano—the focus of
Gino Luzzatto’s pioneering studies in the early twentieth century.112 One important
exception in this respect, which lends some concreteness to what might otherwise
seem like a too abstract and model-based picture, is the aforementioned Isola
Comacina, a centre on the shores of Lake Como that encompassed, in addition to
the small island of the same name, a stretch of the lake and of the surrounding
elevations.113 If we examine the documents from the late eleventh and early
twelfth century pertaining to the Isola, and which have for the most part been
preserved in the archives of the local parish church of Sant’Eufemia, what emerges
is a largely coherent picture. The community is a tight-knit one, led by an elite of
boni homines (also including some iudices).114 The group of vicini is capable of
acting collectively to initiate a litigation against the neighbouring community of
Lenno over control of the church of San Benedetto, to which the parishes of the
two centres lay claim. The church of Sant’Eufemia is therefore brought under the
protection of the whole community, that acts in unison to defend its interests.115
The size (three naves) and fine craftsmanship of the romanesque church of
Sant’Eufemia, dating precisely from the eleventh century, bear eloquent witness
to the wealth of the institution (in which several presbiteri officiate and which is
repeatedly described as a canonica) and of the community behind it.116 While the
church in question is undoubtedly the leading ecclesiastical institution in the
111 Le carte di S. Maria dell’Acquafredda, n. 18 (a. 1101).

112 Luzzatto, ‘Rustici e signori’; and Luzzatto, ‘Le sottomissioni’.
113 On Isola Comacina in general, see Gianoncelli, Note storiche su Isola.
114 Gli atti privati milanesi e comaschi, IV, n. 642 (a. 1083), p. 170 (boni homines and iudices).
115 Gli atti privati milanesi e comaschi, IV, n. 642 (a. 1083), pp. 169–71.
116 Belloni, L’isola Comacina.
Isola area, it is not the only one: the complexity of local society is reflected by the
range of religious buildings, as well as the number of settlements, both on the
island and on the mainland.117 The members of the community appear to have a
close relationship with the parish church, which over the decades receives a con
stant stream of donations of farmland, houses and orchards.118 The donors appear
to be of good social standing: these are almost invariably non-testamentary dona
tions, which therefore only concern limited portions of their patrimonies. Alongside
these transactions with religious institutions, we find various sales between lay
men, often involving considerable sums of dozens of lire: a further indicator of
the economic ebullience of the community.119
Moreover, the landed properties of the inhabitants of the Isola were not located
only in the area of the lake, but were scattered across a much broader area, ran
ging from the Valtellina to the Vercelli countryside.120 In addition to allodial land
we find often extensive estates held in concession by local churches or clerics, as
in the case of the numerous houses and lands that Gandulfo of Isola received in
beneficio in 1077, and which were located in the nearby Lenno.121 The members
of the local elite dwelt in multi-storey houses (solariatae) with fine architectural
features, such as the two stone staircases of the house that Genzone purchased in
1073 at the considerable cost of twenty-nine lire, which he paid in silver coins.122
The dwellings of humbler individuals, by contrast, were smaller—generally one-
storey, one-room buildings, at any rate judging from the surface archaeological
surveys carried out on the island, which was abandoned shortly after the mid-
twelfth century.123 From the mid-eleventh century, if not earlier, Isola—like other
centres not subject to seigneurial powers—had a castrum, with houses, olive groves,
a square and at least three churches (Santa Maria, San Faustino, and Sant’Eufemia)
within its walls.124 Besides, this picture of a prosperous and populous community
is confirmed by the events surrounding the war between Milan and Como, where
the Isola played a prominent role, as the leader of the group of local communities
117 Besides Sant’Eufemia there were in Isola two monasteries (San Benedetto and Santa Faustina),
and the church of Santa Maria; see Gli atti privati milanesi e comaschi, IV, n. 642 (a. 1083), pp. 169–71;
n. 892 (a. 1100), pp. 629–30; Le carte di S. Maria dell’Acquafredda, n. 22 (a. 1113).
118 See Gli atti privati milanesi e comaschi, III, n. 433 (a. 1062), pp. 169–70; IV, n. 571 (a. 1077), pp.
39–40; n. 646 (a. 1083), pp. 177–8; n. 768 (a. 1092), pp. 392–9; n. 883 (a. 1100) pp. 614–15; n. 892
(a. 1100), pp. 629–30; Le carte di S. Maria dell’Acquafredda, n. 19 (a. 1101).
119 See for example Le carte del monastero di San Faustino, n. 2 (a. 1106); Le carte di S. Maria
dell’Acquafredda, n. 20 (1110); a. 21 (a. 1112); n. 23 (a. 1114).
120 Gli atti privati milanesi e comaschi, III, a. 433 (a. 1062), pp. 169–70 (Valtellina); IV, a. 571
(a. 1077), pp. 39–40 (Valtellina); a. 768 (a. 1092), pp. 398–9 (territory of Vercelli). The lands of the
men of Isola in the area around the lake were substantial, especially in the nearby Lenno.
122 Gli atti privati milanesi e comaschi, III, n. 534 (a. 1073), pp. 349–51. See also Le carte di S. Maria
dell’Acquafredda, a. 22 (a. 1113), with the mention of a two-storey house with interior courtyard.
123 Brambilla, Brogiolo, ‘Case altomedievali’.
124 Gli atti privati milanesi e comaschi, III, n. 545, p. 369; IV, n. 892 (a. 1100), pp. 629–30; Le carte
dei monasteri di S. Maria dell’Acquafredda di Lenno e di S. Benedetto, a. 22 (a. 1113).
that sided with Milan (and which included Bellagio and Menaggio). It even went
as far as setting up a small war fleet consisting of seven boats assembled by local
carpenters.
Compared to the peaceful picture which emerges from the eleventh-century
evidence, the years around 1100 must have witnessed a military turn on the part
of the local elites, who were engaged in the conflict, as may clearly be inferred
from the pages of De bello comacino. In parallel, a change occurred in the relations
between the local boni homines and their subordinates. In 1113, in a sales contract
concerning the rights over two massarii residing in the castle of Isola and over the
property granted to them, the personal prerogatives of the two individuals are
defined through the formula districtus et albergaria.125 Within the community,
therefore, what emerged in parallel to the militarization of local power were
forms of genuine personal lordship wielded by the boni homines (which is pre
cisely how the buyers and sellers in the document in question are described) over
their leaseholders. This is a very different situation from the one we find in the
city, where the population was free, and which brings Isola (and certainly other
autonomous communities too) more in line with the seigneurial world. It would
be a mistake to regard these centres as islands of freedom within a countryside
dominated by seigneurial oppression. Rather, we should view them as areas in
which the will to rule men and the land took on at least partly different forms
compared to lordships (and urban proto-communes). The local political context
allowed Isola to resist Como’s attempt to impose its rule over the surrounding area,
by analogy to what many other cities were striving to accomplish, and to success
fully affirm its own autonomy; but it also led this community to attempt to affirm
its hegemony over weaker centres, exactly as occurred in the Val di Scalve or in
Trevi, in the mountainous Tiburtine area.126
Besides, the militarization of dominant local groups emerges as a feature
shared by all these autonomous rural communities, which in this respect reflect
patterns that are essentially akin to those distinguishing urban proto-communes
(as well as communities subject to seigneurial powers).127 While the model provided
by Isola cannot automatically be applied to other communities, another autono
mous centre located a few dozen kilometres away, Chiavenna, presents a perfectly
comparable situation—albeit a less detailed and complex one.128 Even the more
125 Le carte di S. Maria dell’Acquafredda, n. 22 (a. 1113).

126 The territory politically controlled by the ‘homines abitatores de loco Insula’ was called iusticia
in a document of 1136; see Le carte di S. Maria dell’Acquafredda, n. 26 (a. 1136).
127 The author of De bello comacino remembers with admiration and respect the courage of a miles
from Piuro and his comrades, allied with Como, in the first great battle of the war against Milan; see
Anonimus Cumanus, De bello, vv. 20–80.
128 On Chiavenna see: Gli atti privati milanesi e comaschi, IV, n. 595 (a. 1079), pp. 82–3; n. 622 (a.
1081), pp. 130–1; n. 636 (a. 1082), pp. 160–1; n. 656 (a. 1084), pp. 196–7; n. 660 (a. 1084), pp. 202–4; n.
702 (a. 1089), pp. 347–8; n. 771 (a. 1092), pp. 403–4; n. 784 (a. 1093), pp. 428–9; n. 799 (a. 1094), pp.
453–4; n. 808 (a. 1094), pp. 469–70; n. 833 (a. 1096), pp. 518–20; n. 840 (a. 1096), pp. 531–2; n. 852
limited documentary evidence pertaining to some centres in the mountains

surrounding Spoleto, and preserved in the Farfa cartulary, paints a rather similar,
if far more fragmentary, picture of local society.129 A valley community such as
that of the Scalvini, in which economic prosperity was closely linked to the local
extraction and processing of iron, two centres like Gamondio and Novi, located
respectively in the plain and in the low-lying hills along the major route running
from the western Alpine passes to Genoa and its harbour, and a lake centre like
Isola must necessarily have been different. What they have in common is an
aspiration to complete autonomy, a capacity for military action and the presence
of solid (and militarized) local elites. In this respect, they may to some extent be
viewed as small-scale versions of urban proto-communes, notwithstanding their
differences of course. And it is on these similarities and differences that we must
now focus.
The case of Trevi, in the mountains of Latium, is a useful one to understand, on
the one hand, the importance of the militarization of local elites in the competi
tion for control over local areas and, on the other, the nature of the power exer
cised by this social group. It is most likely that the phase of instability and the
crisis of pontifical power in the region translated into full political autonomy for
the centre, which embarked on a policy of territorial expansion that brought it
into conflict with the seigneurial powers in the area, and in particular with the
powerful abbey of Subiaco, for control over villages and minor castles.130 In early
twelfth-century documents from Latium, the ruling class of Trevi is simply
described through the expression seniores trebenses, without the mention of per
sonal names, thereby acknowledging its collective nature and markedly military
character.131 The term seniores, as it was locally used at the time, did not carry any
technically feudal connotation, but rather explicitly referred to the state of lord
ship: the group of boni homines in Trevi perceived itself—and was perceived by its
neighbours and even by pontifical authority—as a sort of collective signoria.132 It
is worth recalling that while the legitimacy of urban authority was problematic,
even though cities could invoke their traditional role as centres of public power,
the problem must have been far more acute for rural centres. Only the capacity of
(a. 1097), pp. 554–5; n. 861 (a. 1098), pp. 574–5; n. 867 (a. 1098), pp. 584–5; n. 882 (a. 1100), pp. 612–
3; n. 899 (a. 1100), p. 640. The prosperity of Chiavenna (and of nearby Piuro) was surely connected to
the caves of soapstone, a valuable commodity: Santi et al., ‘Provenance of medieval pietra ollare’.
129 On the centres near Spoleto, see Il Regesto di Farfa, IV, a. 981 (a. 1067), pp. 360–1; V, a. 1194
(a. 1104), pp. 190–1.
130 Chronicon sublacense, pp. 21–5.
131 Il Regesto Sublacense, n. 47 (twelfth century but a. 1120 c.), pp. 87–8; n. 212 (a. 1116), pp. 250–1.
Just later, in the second half of the century, political participation in the local community increased; in
that period (a. 1161) our sources tell about universitas clericorum, dominorum et popularium of Trevi;
see Carocci, ‘La signoria rurale’, p. 197.
132 On this use of the term seniores in contemporary Latium see Il Regesto di Farfa, V, n. 1303
(a. 1100 c.), p. 292.
these centres to negotiate their acknowledgement on their neighbours’ part on

the basis of their claim to legitimacy could ensure their survival as autonomous
political actors.
For these communities, who at least in theory acknowledged royal power
alone, with no intermediation on the part of lords, the use of violence against less
fortunate neighbours became a means to express their own superior status.
Particularly significant, in this respect, is a 1091 document pertaining to the
Lombard Alps: a querimonia submitted by the inhabitants of Borno, a centre
under the lordship of the bishop of Bergamo, against their neighbours, the
Scalvini, which is to say the inhabitants of the small Val di Scalve (a valley in the
Valcamonica area), an autonomous community.133 At the time the two communi
ties were in conflict over control of Mount Negrino, on the border between their
two territories. When a verdict in favour of Borno was pronounced at a placitum
held in Bergamo (obviously a context very favourable to the inhabitants of
Borno), the Scalvini did not give up hope but reacted energetically, laying claim to
the disputed area through public actions and the erection of boundary markers.
They then raised the level of the conflict by resorting to the use of violence on a
wide scale. On a first raid, they killed two inhabitants of Borno, stole nine oxen,
and treacherously captured the brothers of the victims, who had come to bury
their bodies; on a second raid they killed another two men and wounded several
more. They then set fire to Borno furtim, burning down thirty-two houses and
destroyed the vineyards. Another two raids led to further murders and to the
arson of around twenty houses. One final, if much less rewarding, raid, ended
with the arson of just two houses. The level of violence and its repetition in the
episodes described in the querimonia are striking and far beyond anything we
find in most texts of the same kind in which a lord plays the part of the ‘villain’.
Besides, the leading and aggressive role assigned to the Scalvini in this text is not
an isolated episode, but must rather be set in relation to other armed conflicts
that are less documented yet probably just as bloody and brutal. Over the follow
ing years, the enterprising and aggressive inhabitants of the valley successfully
occupied, at least temporarily, the Valle Seriana (in 1120) and the Valle Palotto
(nel 1127). Both these valleys were under the authority of the bishop of Bergamo,
who was forced to negotiate with the Scalvini and who was only able to impose
upon them a limited form of submission in the late twelfth century, with the aid
of the urban commune of Bergamo.134
The military aggressiveness of rural communities, their conscious use of force,
and the importance which the latter played from a practical and symbolic per
spective at the time, clearly emerge also from an aforementioned source, the De
133 The text is edited in Lupus, Codex Diplomaticus Bergomatis, II, p. 775 (a. 1091).
134 Menant, Campagnes lombardes, p. 493.
bello et excidio urbis Comensis.135 This text describes the main rural centres in the
diocese of Como either as socii (allies) of the city that are bound to it by iura
sacrata (oaths), or as enemies. The capacity to autonomously resort to the use of
force and to rally troops is presented by the anonymous author as the chief criter
ion for autonomy. Isola, Trevi and the Val di Scalve were far from being isolated
cases; as early as 1106 Gamondio, in southern Piedmont, succeeded in wresting
land from the Aleramic margraves of Bosco, while over the following decades
numerous cases of this sort are known, especially from central Italy.136 The
dynamics at work present close similarities with the Val di Scalve, which may
therefore be taken as a useful case study to understand much broader phenom
ena, albeit still minority ones in the rural context.
Of course, communities of this sort could strike mutual agreements, which
varied in nature depending on the context. In the pact of submission of Novi to
Genoa and Pavia, drafted in 1135, mention is made, for instance, of a previous
alliance with the communis of Marengo, which was to be safeguarded by new
agreements.137 Pacts of this sort might revolve around the sharing of control over
minor nearby centres, at any rate in those areas in which the presence of commu
nities of this sort was greater, as in the case of the environs of Alessandria, Spoleto,
and Como. Once again in the last of these three areas, around the year 1110, a
genuinely institutional union was established between Chiavenna—which was
claimed by the bishops of Como, yet remained de facto autonomous at least
between 1110 and 1150—and the smaller centre of Piuro. The pact entailed the
creation of a joint consular college consisting of four members, one appointed by
the vicini of Piuro and the rest by those of Chiavenna. Ultimately, this institution
translated into a sort of covert domination of the larger community over the
smaller one.138 The consuls of Chiavenna (and Piuro) exercised all the old public
rights over the surrounding area and in 1151 they visited the diet of Ulm, in
Germany, to have Frederick I officially invest them with the ‘comitatus de Clavenna
cum suis pertinentiis’, for which they had already received a formal privilege from
Conrad of Swabia, probably in 1128.
The early formalization of local power at Chiavenna, whose consuls are first
recorded in 1097, on the occasion of a transaction concerning the common rights
of the community of vicini, can provide an opportunity to discuss the institutional
135 Anonimo Cumano, De bello. On this specific issue see Grillo, ‘Una fonte per lo studio’, pp.
59–76.
136 Gasparolo, Memorie storiche di Sezzè, II, a. 2 (a. 1106), pp. 8–10. On autonomous rural commu
nities in Umbria and in the Marche see the overview in Fiore, Signori e sudditi, pp. 183–97, with fur
ther references to sources and studies.
137 As it’s clear in the agreements of di Novi with Genoa and Pavia in 1135; see I Libri iurium di
Genova, I,1, n. 47 (a. 1135), pp. 77–81.
138 The event, known from a trial held in 1151–5 before the consuls of Milan, has been analysed in
detail by Keller, ‘La decisione a maggioranza’. Note that the first, early recording of the consuls of
Chiavenna dates from the last decade of the eleventh century (see the following note).
and social aspects of these communities.139 The picture emerging from our sources
is a rather ambiguous one, in this respect. From the very first mention of consuls at
Chiavenna, which in the early decades of the twelfth century was defined as a
burgus and which also had a castle, obviously controlled by the community, a
prominent role would appear to have been played by the de Curte family, who
maintained a strong presence in the college throughout the twelfth century. This
family must have been playing a prominent role already by 1097, considering that
the member in charge at the time was a minor who had to act with his father’s con
sent, while over the following decades several other kinship groups were involved
in the consulship alongside the de Curte family.
At Isola, notwithstanding the political enterprise displayed by the community,
we find no traces of formalized institutional roles. The obscure funerary epitaph
inscribed on the grave of one Rodulfus (d. 1131) might suggest some sort of
informal leadership over the local community, and some scholars have identified
this figure as the tyrannus mentioned in a passage of the De bello et excidio, who
led the defence of the island during its siege at the hands of Como.140 The way in
which local power operated, therefore, remained highly fluid and informal, unlike
in the case of nearby Chiavenna. In fact, it may be hypothesized that the leader
ship de facto exercised by Rodulfus to some extent contributed to preventing the
crystallization of institutional roles. However, at least in the early decades of the
twelfth century, a fluid political system also characterized those centres in which
broad sections of society would appear to have been involved in the exercising of
political power. In the deed by which the margraves of Sezzadio ceded part of
their castle to Gamondio in 1106, mention is made of the populus Gamundiensis,
whereas consuls are only recorded from the 1140s onwards.141 In the same deed
of 1106, however, the populus is divided into maiores tam minores, which suggests
a group that encompassed (at least ideally) the whole local community, regardless
of social and economic differences.
The situation in nearby Novi would appear to have been much the same, at
least in the 1130s, by which time the local consular institutions had become for
mally established. In the deed by which it submitted to Genoa and Pavia in 1135,
the people of Novi (populus Novarum) was divided into divites, mediocres et
140 The funerary inscription, which is now lost but was formerly preserved in a church in Monza,
has been transcribed in Frisi, Memorie storiche di Monza, p. 225: ‘Sumque Rodulfus ego. Patrem
habuit Elmandum variis gestis memorandum. Cuius ego debui habere ratum. Qua fueram natus
secum regione fugatus. Umbria nos genuit Svevia nos tenuit. Victa stetit toto nobis Cumacina voto.
Sed pro sorte levi parvit illa brevi. Me vaga post fata excepit Modicia grata’. The text would seem to
allude to some kind of military leadership (possibly brought to an end by a rebellion) on the part of
Rodolfo, an adventurer from Umbria who settled in the Como area after spending some time in
Swabia: a biographical profile largely consistent with the harsh context of warfare in the area during
the ‘decade-long war’ between Como and Milan.
141 I Libri iurium di Genova, I,1, n. 96 (a. 1146), pp. 152–3; in this text the territory politcally
controlled by Gamondio is called districtus.
pauperes, as well as into milites et pedites. This formula was designed to ensure
that the political deed would be a communal one; yet, at the same time, it clearly
illustrates the social stratification of this large rural centre (already divided into a
burgus and a castrum at the time), whose castellum—donated to Pavia and Genoa
in equal shares—constituted the symbol of the political power and autonomy of
the community.142 The deed was ratified by four consuls from Novi, followed by
around thirty prominent figures who are mentioned by name, and by alii plures.
The aforementioned case of Trevi, in Latium, instead seems to differ somewhat,
at any rate as regards the period under consideration. The very formula used to
present the local authorities in the documents involving them, namely seniores
Trebenses, suggests that while their power was still collective in nature, it was
exercised by a more restricted group of people of military rank, which was not all
that different from the small groups of lords that controlled one or more rural
castles (either as benefices or as allods), and which may plausibly be identified
with the local milites/boni homines.143 With good reason, a model of this sort has
been posited also in relation to Conegliano, a centre in the Veneto that in around
1140 controlled a rather extensive area. Its ruling elite was of military and—broadly
speaking—lordly rank, while the subordinate classes were politically invisible.144
A situation of this sort, in which a ruling group of military rank practically and
formally held the monopoly of local power, is also reflected by the later documen
tary evidence from Fabriano. Here, as late as the second half of the twelfth century,
the local community and its institutional expression, the consulate, were entirely
governed by the group of the boni homines. These also exercised extremely harsh
forms of personal lordship, involving a significant use of violence for symbolic and
intimidatory purposes, on much of the local population, consisting of their per
sonal retainers. The situation only changed following a revolt of these subordinate
groups against the milites around the year 1200.145 As we have previously seen
when examining the evidence pertaining to Isola, in this centre around the year
1100 the boni homines and their massarii were connected by bonds of personal
dependence that were not all that different from those documented a few years
later in Fabriano. Therefore, we might be dealing with a widespread, albeit not
predominant, model for the functioning of autonomous rural communities.
I have already noted the similarities between the small aristocratic clans that
controlled territorially restricted lordships and autonomous rural communities
such as Trevi, which might even be interpreted as ‘collective lordships’. However,
precisely the case of Fabriano clearly illustrates a crucial difference in the way of
conceiving and managing territorial power. In centres governed by aristocratic

143 Regesto sublacense, n. 47 (twelfth century but a. 1120 c.), pp. 87–8; n. 212 (a. 1116), pp. 250–1.
144 On Conegliano, see Collodo, ‘I “vicini” e i comuni’.
145 The reference is the classic Luzzatto, ‘Rustici e signori’; see also Pirani, Fabriano.
clans, power was divided among all those (often numerous) individuals entitled
to it, ideally to equal degrees, and it was subject to the usual dynamics govern
ing patrimonies (the sharing of inheritances, sales, donations, exchanges, etc.).
Moreover, these mechanisms ensured that an individual could enjoy a quota of
jurisdictional rights much greater than other clan members, creating strong
imbalances within the group.146 The case of Fabriano instead clearly shows that in
autonomous communities, including markedly ‘aristocratic’ ones, political power
was conceived as something which interested the community as a whole, with no
distinctions among its members, who all equally participated in territorial power.
Individuals would become part of the community (and could even be expelled
from it at times), yet did not personally own any share of the public patrimony;
rather, they were members of a group that held in indiviso a series of rights and
prerogatives, conceived as a single whole. An altogether different case is that of
the possession of landed property and of rights of personal lordship over massarii
and, more generally, homines, which had a strictly patrimonial and individual
character. As individuals, the boni homines of Fabriano (and of other communities
of this sort) owned landed property and held rights over other individuals (some
times dozens of other individuals, sometimes only a few). At the same time, they
were members of the group, which in a collective and undifferentiated way, exer
cised jurisdictional rights over the centre and its environs. In the mid-twelfth
century, by which time the comunis Fabriani had become crystallized with the
regularizing of the institution of consulship, the commune would appear to have
included—at any rate formally—both boni homines and minores (certainly ordin
ary free men and, to a less likely extent, homines subject to personal lordship).
In Fabriano, for instance, the first document bearing witness to the existence of a
comune Fabriani, and dating from March 1165, illustrates the direct involvement
of the two categories of inhabitants, the maiores and the minores, in the commune’s
affairs—specifically, a pact of submission signed by a prominent aristocratic
dynasty of the area. These two groups are mentioned immediately after the consuls
in the list of authorities or institutions to which the lords make their pledge.147
However, power was de facto monopolized by the military elite, until the revolt of
1200, which redefined local forms of political participation.
The world of autonomous rural communities, while not vast, would thus
appear to have been marked by widely divergent modes of operating and of political
participation, at any rate judging from the little documentary evidence available.
Besides, this was also largely the case with urban proto-communes in the same
period.148 Moreover, while the tendency to formalize local institutions modelled
146 On these patterns a recent general overview in Debax, La seigneurie collective; see also Collavini,
‘Formes de coseigneurie’ (focused on central Italy).
147 Il Libro rosso Fabriano, II, a. 61 (a. 1165), pp. 103–4; see Pirani, Fabriano, p. 97.
148 On this difference and its origins see now Wickham, Sleepwalking, pp. 189–205.
after urban ones represents a defining feature, the chronologies vary considerably
and would not appear to be directly connected to the capacity to have a political
impact on local areas. To return to the cases previously illustrated, the Isola
Comacina and Gamondio represent genuine polities, even though they did not
formalize their institutional roles, whereas exactly the opposite is true of Piuro.
This form of power, therefore, proves particularly significant, insofar as it offers
a different model for the exercising of political power compared to the dominatus
loci, and one that—by contrast to urban proto-communes—has an exclusively
rural character. This model would appear to be based not on the capitalization of
jurisdiction, but on the collective exercising of this jurisdiction, and not merely
from a formal perspective. In this respect, the communities in question under
went a different process of evolution compared to lordships, which shows that the
latter did not constitute an inevitable development of the political framework but
only one of its possible outcomes.149 While the model embodied by urban polities
(and, to a lesser extent, domini loci) must undoubtedly have played an important
role, it is evident that the development of rural communities rested on local foun
dations, on practices and tendencies that had been at work in the countryside for
centuries, such as the collective management of property, the protection of reli
gious institutions, and interaction with royal power. Around the year 1100, these
elements experienced a new phase of acceleration and crystallization, analogous
to the one that was taking place in the seigneurial domain.150
149 On the signorie of the High Middle Ages as the inevitable outcome of the process of transforma
tion of local power triggered by the Carolingian reform of power, see West, Reframing the feudal revo-
lution. I will be discussing this thesis and some of its implications in more detail later on, in the notes
at the end of the present volume.
150 On collective forms of action in the countryside in the Carolingian and post-Carolingian age,
which in a way represent the premise for the emergence of autonomous castle communities, see e.g.
Mancassola, Uomini senza storia, pp. 311–85; Albertoni, ‘Law and the peasant’; Provero, ‘Peasant
society’.
PART 2
A C U LT U R E OF P OW E R
The Dominatus Loci between Practices and Discourses
6
Royal Legitimation and its Crisis
After the long excursus devoted to the role and action of collective powers in the
countryside, in this second part of the book we will turn to consider—in an even
more detailed way—the world of territorial lordships. We will do so by analysing
the political discourses and power practices that distinguish this social and polit
ical model. I have chosen this as my vantage point to examine relations within the
aristocratic world in greater depth, as well as between lords and their subjects.
The research conducted in recent decades has shown that the culture of power
undoubtedly constitutes a privileged avenue for examining the formation of
social and political structures.1 Public discourses of power constitute a valuable
indicator to grasp the dynamics governing society as a whole, as well as its indi
vidual strata. In this respect, an analysis of the complex system of such languages
stands as an ideal counterpart to the investigation conducted on concrete social
and political balances in the first part of the volume. It is a matter of understanding
whether and to what extent the transformation of power structures influenced the
way in which social actors interpreted the social and political situation of their
day, as well as the courses of action they adopted in their attempt to shape this
situation. While, chronologically speaking, the period between 1080 and 1130 will
continue to be the focus of the discussion, I will draw upon later sources—always
with the utmost caution—whenever they shed light on dynamics that are only
mentioned or adumbrated in earlier texts. Nevertheless, particular care will be
taken not to unduly project later developments into the age under scrutiny.
Before embarking on our enquiry, it is worth taking a few words to clarify the
nature of the operation I will endeavour to carry out in the following chapters,
along with its assumptions.
No doubt one of the most important research strands in the historiography
produced in recent decades is the one devoted to political cultures. As regards the
more specific field of Italian medieval studies, research of this sort tends to focus
on the late Middle Ages, owing to the wealth of sources, which enables us to
better follow these research trajectories.2 Over the last fifteen years, the issue of
political languages has emerged as a crucial research topic in the historiography
on the late Middle Ages in Italy, starting from the extensive studies conducted on
1 An important example is the recent Gamberini, The Clash of Legitimacies.

2 On late Middle Ages the scholarship is now abundant; for a first approach see Gamberini and
Petralia (eds.), Linguaggi politici nell’Italia.
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198825746.001.0001
the areas under the Viscontis’ control, which continue to represent the privileged
field of investigation in enquiries of this kind.3
While to this day the predominance of late-medieval studies is all too evident,
recent years have also witnessed a renewed interest in the centuries prior to the
fourteenth. At least as far as Italy is concerned, these centuries constitute an as
yet little-explored stage from this perspective, and one which still has much to
offer, as shown by Luigi Provero’s recent volume on peasant political culture in
thirteenth-century rural Piedmont.4
The period at the turn of the twelfth century has only been illuminated by
investigations focusing on specific discourses, whereas we still lack a comprehen
sive attempt to reconstruct the system of communication and political culture in
the countryside. Studies have shown that the field of political languages varies
considerably depending on the territorial and chronological context, and hence
that it is necessary to conduct specific investigations and to avoid generalization.
Shifts in social and power balances are mirrored by a different articulation of
political discourses: the changing ways in which the various social actors related
to one another constantly shaped the field of discourse.5 The latter, far from con
sisting of shared rules and interpretations, was riddled with tensions engendered
by the interaction between the various members of political society.6 Certain
languages appear to be closely connected with specific social actors, often through
an almost exclusive relationship, and the shifting role of these actors in the political
field affects not just the relevance of their particular discourses within the broader
political culture of their day, but also the very way in which such discourses are
articulated. Not only that, but the choice of a specific language by one or more
social actors also determines, to some extent, its concrete action, by defining
particular courses of development while concealing others. The sphere of political
discourse, therefore, is subject to a constant process of redefinition, and represents
the outcome of the ongoing interaction between the various players in the
socio-political field.
Analysing political languages does not mean simply reflecting on lexical
occurrences, conceptual models, and representations. Power discourses are not
expressed merely in words, but also through practices (gestures and writing of
documents) that constantly restructure and redefine the sphere of discourse of
which they are a part, through an ongoing creative process. Discourses and actions,
therefore, are inextricably connected: it is ultimately impossible to analyse these
3 Some good examples are: Gamberini, La città assediata; Della Misericordia, ‘Principat, commu
nauté et individu’; Cengarle, ‘Immagine di potere’; Gentile, ‘La vendetta di sangue’.
4 Just recently the research is moving toward an earlier period; see Carocci, ‘Le lexique du prélève
ment’; and Provero, Le parole dei sudditi.
5 Gamberini, The Clash of Legitimacies, pp. 1–16.
6 German scholarship has focused on the idea of ‘rules’: see Althoff, Spielregeln der Politik.
Royal Legitimation and its Crisis 143
two frequently overlapping levels separately.7 Concrete practices are shaped

by underlying discourses, which in turn they contribute toward redefining.
What we have, then, is not so much two distinct, if interconnected, spheres,
but an organic system. From this perspective, investigating a political system
means reflecting on a range of words, actions, and documents that point to the
same sum of meaningful concepts, in perpetual tension with the stimuli
engendered by actions drawing upon the same conceptual core and/or other
languages. Besides, the documents themselves should not merely be interpreted
as texts transcribing given practices, but as the product of and source for
actions—indeed, as a specific type of action.8 Writing is a form of action and
the need to produce a document (for instance, to certify a particular right) in
turn determines a series of concrete acts, establishing a continuous process.
Moreover, it is worth stressing that at times public rituals and ceremonies are
constructed on the basis of written texts, as we shall see in greater detail later on.9
Certainly, while these are not particularly innovative considerations, it is
important to bear them in mind if we are to approach the sources and their
content in the correct way.
In the light of the outcomes of the research conducted in recent years, it seems
important here not just to analyse a specific language, but to try and understand
how it enters into relation with other languages employed in a given context, how
it influences them, and how in turn it is influenced by them. In other words, what
is required is a configurational analysis.10 With a few changes, a given action can
slip from one discourse into another, as in the case of collective oaths sworn to a
lord, which we will be analysing in the next chapter. Isolating a specific language
and analysing it separately inevitably means developing what would be at least
a partially distortive analysis of it. This also largely applies to an interpretative
approach seeking to discuss the languages employed by specific social actors
(e.g. lords, urban or rural communities, the monarchy). While it is no doubt
useful to analyse all discursive strategies employed by specific actors, it is crucial
to discuss them within the broader context of the languages adopted by the other
social actors of the period. Only an overall analysis of the shifting interplay of
actors and the languages connected with them can fully account for discursive
developments within a particular historical context.11
7 This has resulted (especially in modernist scholarship) in a strictly topographical reading of

public ritual, labelling the whole set of local practices as ‘culture of ownership’, and treating with
skepticism the possibility to analyse individual discourses. On this see the seminal work of Grendi, ‘La
pratica dei confini’; and the recent and important Torre, Luoghi; more nuanced echoes of this perspec
tive can be found in Provero, Le parole dei sudditi.
8 Torre, Il consumo di devozioni.
9 For a forceful discussion of ninth- and tenth-century West Frankish diplomas conducted (also)
from this standpoint, see Koziol, The Politics of Memory.
10 On the configurational analysis the model is Elias, The Court Society.
11 On late medieval Italy, see Gamberini, The Clash of Legitimacies.
Therefore, in the following pages, we will consider whether and to what extent
the redefinition of concrete power structures is reflected in the strategies by
which the various social actors sought to legitimize their local prerogatives
within the magmatic context of the decades around 1100, by the ways in which
they articulated and defined their mutual relations and, more generally, by their
way of operating on both the practical and symbolic levels. Each chapter will be
devoted to a specific political language, which can easily be identified as such in
the texts from the period. The aim is not to examine all the languages recorded in
the sources, but only those which seem more relevant to the specific topic dis
cussed in this book, namely socio-political balances, and which are more widely
documented in surviving texts. For example, the discourse of the sacred (and its
use as a language of power) will remain outside the field of enquiry, owing to the
fact that it is not very prominent in the available sources, or at least not in the
particular context we are examining.12 We will commence our investigation by
examining the crisis of what had traditionally constituted the cornerstone of the
systems of communication and legitimation of local power, namely royal power.
Its breakdown in our period paved the way for a profound redefinition of the
strategies of local actors in this crucial sphere. The subsequent chapters will
instead be devoted to the four most prominent languages in our sources: fidelity,
pacts, customs, and violence. By adopting these four vantage points, we will
endeavour to grasp the ways in which the very matrix of political culture was
reshaped in the Italian countryside at the turn of the year 1100.
6.1 Royal power as a source of legitimacy
To commence our investigation, it might be useful to set out from an age in which
the function of legitimation was still firmly in the hands of the monarchy: the first
part of the tenth century.13 From a practical standpoint, in the first decades of this
century, the action exercised by the central authorities at a local level was rather
weak, as clearly emerges from a comparison between the action of ninth-century
kings—in particular Louis II—and that of the rulers of the following century.14
Despite this considerable weakening, in other respects the central authorities
continued to play a prominent role. Royal and imperial charters continued to
constitute a key means of legitimizing local prerogatives. The forms of power
12 Just in later period the sources about this specific language became more numerous; see Provero,
Le parole dei sudditi.
13 Another version of the next pages of this chapter was published in Fiore, ‘Refiguring local power’.
14 A good vantage point is offered by the lawmaking, that, after the abundance of the ninth century
ends, quite abruptly, in 898, with the reign of Lamberto; on this, see I capitolari italici. On the
relationship between aristocracies and monarchy in the tenth century see the classic Tabacco, ‘Regno,
impero e aristocrazie’; and the recent Vignodelli, Il Filo a piombo.
exercised over individuals and the emergence of seigneurial power required

legitimation from above, from the king, which—while increasingly ineffective on
the local level—continued to be perceived as a crucial source of legitimacy, as
strongly emphasized by studies published in recent decades.15 In other words, a
fully accomplished process of affirmation at the local level found sanction in
charters issued by the royal (and/or imperial) chancellery. If we examine the
series of Italian royal charters from the first half of the tenth century, in particular
Berengar I’s, we find frequent confirmations of ‘seigneurial’ rights to control and
govern individuals and territories by sources other than the monarchy: in par
ticular, via donations or purchases from subjects who already held and exercised
such prerogatives.16 This was perceived as insufficient: the need was felt for a further
guarantee, which only the central authorities could provide. Thus, after having
received three villae (villages) bequeathed by the late bishop Notkerio, cum placi-
tis et districtionibus (with rights of justice and command), the canons of Santa
Maria in Verona turned to Berengar to obtain a charter confirming the rights
attached to these villages.17 Similarly, in 911 the sovereign confirmed the owner
ship of a curtis, some castles cum districtionibus, and a chapel, which the monas
tery of Nonantola in Emilia had received from count Alberto of Verona.18
In order to legitimize power exercised at a local level, the need was evidently
felt for royal sanction. One of the key sanctioning methods was no doubt the issu
ing of charters. Obtaining a written royal grant was an opportunity to sanction
the legitimacy of one’s claims, both in the eyes of subjects and of other political
actors. The most recent research has highlighted the fact that charters must also
be analysed as the central focus of, and catalyst for, social and ritual practices that
reinforce the image of the recipient.19 Receiving a charter, even when it did not
grant anything new or add anything to the power an individual already exercised,
nonetheless furnished the occasion for a mise-en-scène that constituted a powerful
legitimizing factor. The ceremony during which the charter was issued represented
an important moment in which the legitimacy of the recipient’s claims and
prerogatives, along with that of his political and social role, was sanctioned before
other prominent political actors in the kingdom.20 This is one of the reasons why,
15 Rosenwein, Negotiating space, pp. 137–44; and eadem, ‘The family politics of Berengar’.
16 See e.g. I diplomi di Berengario I, n. 17 (a. 897), pp. 53–5; n. 46 (a. 904), pp. 132–4; n. 65 (a. 906),
pp. 176–8; n. 113 (a. 916 c.), pp. 290–4; I diplomi italiani di Lodovico III, n. 4 (a. 900), pp. 11–5; n. 7
(a. 901), pp. 22–4; I diplomi italiani di Rodolfo II, n. 8 (a. 924), pp. 117–20; n. 9 (a. 924), pp. 120–2; I
diplomi di Ugo e Lotario, n. 40 (a. 935), pp. 123–6; n. 63 (a. 942), pp. 184–9; n. 71 (a. 943), nn. 210–2.
A forceful analysis of these diplomas in Tabacco, The Struggle for Power, pp. 151–76.
17 I diplomi di Berengario I, n. 113 (a. 916 c.), pp. 290–4.
18 I diplomi di Berengario I, n. 69 (a. 911), pp. 214–16.
19 On this, see Koziol, The Politics of Memory.
20 See Keller, ‘Die Herrscherurkunden’; and Keller, Dartmann, ‘Inszenierung von Ordnung’; a very
good example which describes the ceremonial framework of the redaction of a diploma (issued by
a Staufen emperor for the commune of Cremona) is Le carte cremonesi, IV, nn. 787–8 (a. 1195),
pp. 357–60.
whenever possible, recipients sought to have the charter drawn up in a place

within the political area to which it applied. This ensured the most effective
possible legitimation and sanctioning of an individual’s rights before the members
of his political community. The choice of the location, therefore, was based not
just on practical reasons that had to do with distances and expenses, but also on
symbolic reasons, since an attempt was made to make the most of the charter-
issuing ceremony. It must also be said that, in the case of the leading actors of the
kingdom, receiving a charter in the capital, Pavia, was no doubt an exercise
in prestige.
However, there was more to the development of ceremonial practices surround
ing these kinds of documents. In all likelihood, this first ritual was followed by
other, more local ones, whereby the text was read out and physically displayed—
in all of its symbolic significance—to the subjects concerned. The texts recording
practices of this sort are few and far between, at any rate as far as Italy is con
cerned, and they essentially date from the second half of the twelfth century
onwards, when central power started making a comeback under the Staufer.21
One significant exception, which shows that rituals of this sort were far older, is
represented by a brevis from 879, preserved in the archives of the Milanese mon
astery of Sant’Ambrogio, and pertaining to the curtis of Limonta.22 This text
records a public ritual staged at Limonta and revolving around the reading out
before the local community of a charter by Charles the Fat, now lost, and of an
earlier, surviving one issued by Lothar in 835, whose purview was confirmed by
the more recent text. The two documents sanctioned the abbot’s ownership of six
mansa of mancipia (slaves), along with their residents. The abbot did not merely
read out the two texts, but showed them publicly (ostendens), evidently in order
to stress the profound symbolic value of the two solemn documents, on which his
local power was based. The reading was followed by a ritual in which abbot Leone
physically confirmed his ownership of the servi and their dwellings.23 The reading
was done aloud, publicly, before the men of Limonta, some episcopal vassals, two
vassals of a royal vassus, and the representatives of neighbouring communities: a
socially diverse public that was highly representative of the local situation. It must
be noted that the following year, the representatives of these neighbouring
communities were summoned as witnesses in support of the Abbot in the dispute
between the Milanese monastery and that of Reichenau over the ownership of
Limonta.24 Therefore, the organizing of a public ritual seems like a crucial means
21 On these rituals see some of the witnesses edited in Fermo città egemone, nn. 19–20 (a. 1253),
pp. 19–141; see also ‘Appendice’, to Tabarrini, Regesta Firmana, n. 3 (a. 1223), pp. 538–41.
22 Codex Diplomaticus Langobardiae, n. 291 (a. 879), coll. 495–7. The text is discussed in Balzaretti,
‘The monastery of Sant’Ambrogio’, pp. 5–6.
23 The abbot Leone (re-)toke ownership ‘per columnam de eadem casa et limite ostii seu ex
predictis mancipiis per manus’ (Codex Diplomaticus Langobardiae, col. 496).
24 Manaresi, I Placiti, I, Inquisitiones, n. 8 (a. 880), pp. 584–5.
to build consensus with regard to one’s prerogatives at the local level, but the
c entre of this ritual is the royal charter. The very fact that two vassals of a royal
vassal were present is significant: while they no doubt represented local interests,25
they also represented the royal power issuing the charter, and guaranteed that its
content would be implemented and respected by local representatives of the
monarchy.26 The material (as well as non-material) cost which the recipient had
to pay for his charter was partly offset by the possibility of creating solemn public
moments ensured by the document, by which he could confirm and sanction
his power.
This becomes evident as soon as we turn to consider placita, and in particular
the ostensio of royal (or imperial) charters during judicial hearings. Quite often
the placitum revolves precisely around the solemn reading out of a royal charter,
and the physical displaying of the document.27 It is not enough to possess a char
ter: the document must be displayed in the most public and solemn possible con
text to really ensure its efficacy.28 Ostensio becomes a way to reinforce one’s local
prerogatives in the face of any local rivals as well as of more or less recalcitrant
subjects. If we consider the chronology, what we find is that this procedure is
widely employed in the first decades of the tenth century and (after the last, tur
bulent stage of the independent kingdom of Italy) in the Ottonian age. In other
words, a healthy monarchy goes hand in hand with an extensive use of charters in
judicial contexts. By contrast, from the 1040s onwards, we witness a marked
decline in such practice, which is adopted more and more sparingly. In parallel to
this, the nature of the placitum changes: from being an expression of royal justice,
it becomes a form of protection exercised by ‘regionalised powers possessing
public prerogatives’.29 Naturally, in this context, charters become increasingly
less crucial, until they finally disappear around 1100, with the collapse of the
traditional structures of royal power brought about by the chaotic struggle
over investitures.
We will shortly return to this specific point. Here I wish to emphasize that the
idea of the importance of sanctioning local prerogatives by the central authorities
does not rule out that these forms of power often sprung ‘from below’, i.e. through
a complex and variable combination of purchases, clientelism, abuses, and vio
lence by aristocrats and churches. Processes of this sort are well known in Italy
from as early as the Carolingian age, as is clearly shown by the Mantua capitulary
25 As underlined by Balzaretti, ‘The monastery of Sant’Ambrogio’, pp. 6–7

26 On the tight connection between text and speech, with a focus on the use of documents as bases
for oral performances, see Geary, ‘Land, language and memory’, esp. p. 184.
27 On the ostensio cartae, see Keller, Ast, ‘Ostensio cartae’.
28 Some examples: Manaresi, I Placiti, I, n. 91 (a. 880), pp. 328–32; n. 113 (a. 902), pp. 418–22;
n. 118 (a. 906), pp. 436–41; n. 136 (a. 935), pp. 506–13; II, n. 148 (a. 962), pp. 19–23; n. 152 (a. 964),
pp. 37–43; n. 164 (a. 970), pp. 96–101.
29 On these shifts see Vallerani, ‘Scritture e schemi rituali’.
of 813.30 What are rarer (yet far from non-existent) are cases in which a royal
charter created a new lordship from scratch, through the transfer of estates and
prerogatives previously belonging to the publicum.31 What matters, however, is
that even in the presence of the development of local hegemony ‘from below’,
what individuals pursued was legitimation by the central authorities, since it
alone offered any certainty with regard to the position they had acquired.
One relatively late (mid-eleventh century), yet highly significant, example of
this process concerns the monastery of San Zeno in Verona. Within the context
of a harsh (and violent) local competition between the monastery and Boniface
of Canossa, the inhabitants of the village of Montecchio, a community of free
allodiaries in the Veneto, chose to bequeath all their property to the abbot of
San Zeno, whom they acknowledged as their lord.32 In this case, then, the
lordship sprung completely from below, from the (at least formal) will of the
members of a c ommunity. However, the monastery made sure to obtain an
imperial charter to sanction the new state of affairs. Within a short time, it obtained
a letter of privilege from Henry III granting the monastery districtus over the
village. While the homines could acknowledge the abbot as their lord, they could
not transfer jurisdictional rights into his hands: as in the case of all communi
ties of freemen, this could only be done by the central authorities.33 Likewise,
around the mid eleventh century, the bishop of Padua attempted to gain control
over the Saccisica—an area located near one of his allodial curtes, but inhabited
by allodiaries, and hence directly pertaining to the monarchy—first by forcing
the inhabitants to issue him cartas which must have been at least partly analo
gous to that from Montecchio in terms of their content, and then by obtaining
royal confirmation of his new local hegemony. However, the whole process was
temporarily brought to a halt by the local residents who, after petitioning the
royal authorities, obtained an acknowledgement of their prerogatives as free
men, which allowed them to resist the episcopal claims for roughly another
twenty years.34
30 Montanari, ‘Conflitto sociale e protesta’.

31 Some examples in I diplomi di Berengario I, n. 18 (a. 897), pp. 56–8 (gift of the royal curtis
of Sacco to the bishop of Padova); see also n. 32 (a. 900), pp. 96–8; n. 62 (a. 905), pp. 170–2; n. 128
(a. 920), pp. 332–4.
32 The donation of the homines of Montecchio is edited in ‘Appendice 1’, to Brugnoli, ‘Sala, Val
Salaria’. See also Castagnetti, ‘Arimanni e signori’, esp. pp. 261–3.
33 Diplomata Henrici III., n. 357 (a. 1055), pp. 485–6. In the same diploma the emperor confirmed
to the abbot the property of Montecchio (remembering the gift of villagers) and concessed jurisditional
rights (districtus) over the locality.
34 Diplomata Henrici III., n. 352 (a. 1055), pp. 479–80: ‘qualiter homines in valle que vocatur Saccus
habitantes clementiam nostram adierant de iniuste servitutis oppressione in qua Pataviensis episcopus
violenter eos compulerat, miserabiliter conquerente [. . .] precipimus et confirmamus ut quicquid
Pataviensis episcopus per violentiam illis abstulit aut cartas ab eisdem fieri compulit integre ipsis res
tituatur et ut deinceps ab iniusta servitute sint soluti sancimus’. See Rippe, Padoue et son contado,
pp. 179–84; Tabacco, I liberi del re, p. 159.
6.2 The crisis and its consequences
This political situation, which was already riddled with tensions owing to the
extended periods of German sovereigns’ absence in the first seventy years of the
eleventh century, entered into a profound crisis with the outbreak of the civil
wars between the Roman reformist party and the pro-imperial one. The military
conflict was accompanied by a bitter ideological polemic that translated into a
mutual delegitimation of the political authorities, as well as of the traditional
ways of exercising power.35 In this context, local actors soon became aware that,
in a society where the old balances based on the centrality of royal power had
been undermined and new balances were emerging in which local power relations
and practices proved decisive, charters were no longer enough to legitimate one’s
power. Indeed, at times charters could be quite worthless. To understand these
dynamics, I believe it is useful to once again briefly examine a famous text such as
the placitum of Garfagnolo.36 This is a text pertaining to the conflict between the
monastery of San Prospero in Reggio and the so-called ‘de Vallibus men’ over the
ownership of lands within the curtis of Nasseto. Here I wish to focus on the devel
opment of judicial procedures, which clearly illustrates the crisis of royal docu
mentation, namely of its juridical and legitimizing value. From this perspective,
it is highly significant that in the first stage of the trial in which it stood against
the rural community, the abbey did not invoke the imperial charters it had been
issued by Charles and Otto, but only the sworn witness of tres homines curtis
Nassete. In other words, it was the local witnesses who determined the first provi
sional ruling in favour of the monastery. After the dispute raised by the men de
Vallibus, who evidently were ready to produce witnesses of their own in order to
further reinforce the position of the monastery, the choice was made to bring the
charters to bear. The latter, in other words, were intended to provide some add
itional legitimacy, but were far from constituting the linchpin of the monastery’s
legal strategy. However, this was not enough, even in the eyes of Matilda’s officials,
who were the experts in judicial and legislative procedures that had been
appointed to resolve the dispute. The charters were not perceived as a decisive
element for resolving the conflict between the ‘living’ legal sources, namely the
monastery’s witnesses and those of the homines. In the face of these contrasting
claims ‘from below’, no use was made of charters to sway the case this way or that;
rather, the decision was taken to resort to a legal dispute. This clearly shows that
by this point, in the eyes of the judges as well as of the society they represented,
charters played an entirely marginal role.
35 On the military history of this conflict, see Hay, The military leadership, pp. 59–197.
36 Manaresi, I placiti, III, n. 478 (a. 1098), pp. 432–4. About this important text see the recent
Santoni, ‘Fra lex e pugna’.
Another rather well-known local conflict, pertaining to the districtio and

f odrum at Mendrisio and Rancate around 1140, unfolded in a very similar way,
with an opposition between royal legitimation and sworn witnesses.37 On the one
side stood Locarno da Besozzo, who laid claim to juridical rights over the area on
the grounds that he had been ‘investitum per feudum ex parte imperatorum
Henrici et Lotharii de toto fodro regali de loco Mendrixio et de loco Ranchate et
de districtu et ed aremania ipsorum locorum’.38 On the other side stood the
counts of Seprio (and the two communities), who claimed rights over the two
centres on the basis of a far vaguer ‘anticum feudum ex parte imperatorum’. The
dispute was settled by the consuls of Milan, who, after hearing sworn witnesses
from the two communities, ruled in their favour (and in favour of the counts of
Seprio who were essentially backing them), arguing that they had exercised the
districtio since time immemorial. The public and ritual statements made by the
vicini thus proved more influential than the two imperial charters, one of which—
Lothar’s—was certainly recent. In this case too, local ritual memory was regarded
as far more trustworthy than the written word of the official document.
These two cases illustrate, if only in an extreme fashion, that which remained
the salient features of the Italian political context practically throughout the
first half of the twelfth century: the remoteness and ineffectiveness of royal power,
which was only occasionally perceived (at the tip of imperial spears)—during
major military expeditions—as an effective bestower of rights and legitimacy. This
is precisely the scenario that emerges from the quantitative evidence pertaining to
the royal and imperial charters issued to Italian subjects between 1106 (Henry V’s
rise to the throne) and 1152 (Conrad III’s death). We have numerous charters
from Henry V’s reign, spanning the two decades between 1106 and 1125, but
most of them are concentrated in the two years 1116–17, when the German sover
eign led an ambitious expedition into Italy.39 As regards the reign of his successor
Lothar (d. 1137), some forty charters survive, nine of which were drafted during
the Romfahrt of 1132–3, while no less than thirty were issued in 1136–7, when
the emperor led a major expedition designed to reaffirm once and for all the role
of imperial power in Italy, raising great expectations in Italian society.40
After the failure of this attempt, the following sovereign, Conrad III, did not
even bother to travel down to Italy to obtain the imperial crown. We only have
around twenty charters issued to Italian recipients by this ruler. The recipients
37 The documenti is edited in Atti del comune di Milano, n. 5 (a. 1140), pp. 9–11. The text is
discussed in Rossetti, Le istituzioni comunali a Milano, pp. 92–3.
38 Atti del comune di Milano, n. 5 (a. 1140), p. 10.
39 We have not on hand the complete edition of Henry V’s diplomas in Monumenta Germaniae
Historica. A still partial one (by Matthias Thiel) is available on the website of MGH (Diplomata
Hennrici V.) This work in progress must still be integrated with Stumpf, Die Kaiserurkunden,
pp. 253–74.
40 Diplomata Lotharii III., pp. 70–83, 143–202. On the 1136–7 expedition and the reactions in
central Italy, see Fiore, Signori e sudditi, pp. 51–4.
were almost exclusively leading political actors, with long-running ties to the
kingdom; as such, they could afford the luxury of despatching envoys to Nuremberg,
Regensburg, or Würzburg to elicit the issuing of charters. The recipients, in other
words, were (almost exclusively) great royal monasteries such as Farfa and
Nonantola; prominent noble families, such as the Monferrato or Biandrate; and
wealthy episcopal sees, such as Pisa and Ascoli.41 So whereas the documentary
evidence as a whole is far more abundant compared to the early eleventh century,
charters become far scantier; and this quantitative drop goes hand in hand with a
sharp rise in the recipients’ social and political profiles. The crisis of imperial
legitimacy associated with the most intense phase of the conflict over investitures
was now over, and hence it once again made sense for certain political actors in
Italy, who were more closely bound to the imperial authorities from an ideo
logical standpoint, to invest in the acquisition of charters. However, for the mass
of local society, the break was complete. By now many of the political actors of the
kingdom found themselves outside the traditional circuits of royal legitimation,
either by force or by choice.
This crisis in the monarchy’s capacity to present itself as the bestower of
publicly-acknowledged rights is expressed even more strikingly in the contemporary
crisis of the placitum, both as a judicial institution and as a documentary source.
As has recently been shown, one witnesses a striking drop in the number of plac-
ita in the last decades of the eleventh century, whereas in the early twelfth century
the placitum model entered a terminal crisis—except in certain well-defined
areas that remained more conservative (and where the bond with the monarchy
remained stronger, as in the case of the Verona area and its comitatus Gardensis).42
The seriousness of the crisis is also reflected by the choice made by almost all
the new local powers active in the early decades of the twelfth century (be they
lords or communes) to abandon the traditional placitum procedures early on in
favour of more informal judicial practices. This decision clearly shows that power
practices intrinsically connected to the public and royal tradition had come to be
perceived with a considerable degree of detachment, or even of annoyance, by
local societies.
All this occurred as the dissemination of local power was reaching its peak
and, in parallel, processes of recomposition were emerging, led by ambitious local
actors. The crisis of royal power strongly compelled a range of social actors to
take strident action (lay and religious lords, cities, and large rural communities),
each of which strove to attain an independent sphere of domination. Yet, in many
41 Diplomata Cuonradi III., n. 16 (a. 1138), pp. 26–8 (abbot of Farfa); n. 32 (a. 1139), pp. 51–3
(archbishop of Pisa); n. 51 (a. 1140), pp. 85–7 (count of Biandrate); n. 272 (aa. 1149–52 c.), pp. 471–2
(margrave of Monferrato); n. 226 (a. 1150), pp. 399–401 (bishop of Ascoli); n. 227 (a. 1150), p. 402
(abbot of Nonantola).
42 On this Wickham, ‘Justice in the Kingdom of Italy’, pp. 239–49. On the comitatus Gardae and
long-term presence of monarchy in this area, see Castagnetti, Comitato di Garda.
cases these were particularly fragile and unstable prerogatives: the world of local
power was a fluid and dynamic one, fraught with endless competition; and this is
all the more true at this stage of the redefinition of local power balances.43 Within
such a context, the members of the political society of the regnum were inevitably
forced to find other ways to consolidate their local prerogatives, and other means
to attain consensus and legitimacy. Clearly, these were not entirely new avenues;
however, within a context that had been deeply transformed by the eclipsing of
royal power, they acquired a new importance with respect to the legitimation
strategies available to political actors.
In the following chapters, we will be exploring these avenues and the languages
associated with them in detail. Before doing so, however, it is worth ending the
present chapter with some brief considerations regarding the documentary evi
dence on which our analysis will be based. This is very different from the kind of
evidence that was dominant up until around 1070–80, and which is characterized
by a marked predominance of munimina (i.e. sells and leases), alongside notitiae
iudicati (i.e. placita) and charters. As most recently noted by Michele Ansani, our
period witnessed a radical redefinition of this structure, which clearly emerges as
the reflection of a profound crisis of social and political balances, a crisis that also
undermined established forms pertaining to the certification of ownership and of
the registration of juridical and social proceedings. Even for charter drafters, this
was not merely a ‘documentary transformation’; rather, the very structure of
written documents reflected the overall redefinition of the situation in the
regnum. The decades around 1100 emerge as a highly experimental phase, even
from the point of view of the documentary sources. The most striking element in
this context is the sharp increase in the percentage of brevia among the various
kinds of documents to have reached us. These are lighter and more flexible deeds
compared to the traditional munimina. They gained popularity precisely because
they were able to provide a more effective response to the social effects of the
political crisis. In the case of Pavia, which has been explored in depth, the docu
mentary sequence is particularly significant. The occurrence of just a few, isolated
brevia between the ninth century and the last third of the eleventh is followed by
a genuine mushrooming of such documents: in the twenty-year period between
1070 and 1090, brevia make up 18% of all written documents preserved; this
figure increases to 31% in the following two decades (1091–1110); and finally
reaches 46% in the period from 1111 until 1130.44
Nor is the case of Pavia an abnormal or exceptional one: an essentially similar
picture emerges from the areas of Brescia, Cremona, and Florence, which consti
tute the best-investigated contexts from this particular point of view.45 Such an
43 On this topic an overview is Provero, L’Italia dei poteri locali.

44 On these data and their discussion, see Ansani, ‘Appunti sui brevia’, pp. 110–11.
45 On the staggering rise in number of brevia in the territory of Florence, see Faini, ‘Le fonti diplo
matistiche’. On Brescia and Cremona, see Ansani, ‘Appunti sui brevia’.
increase is particularly significant because it is precisely brevia that record

oaths of fealty, pacts, ownership rituals, and memories of acts of usurpation and
violence—i.e. the kind of documents that will constitute the basis for our discus
sion in the following chapters.46 The content of these texts, given their flexibility,
is extremely varied and wide-ranging. However, the new relevance acquired by
brevia shows that the need was felt in society to put down social practices and
actions that had hitherto been confined to the field of oral transmission and per
formance in writing, as well as to preserve them in order to certify given rights
and prerogatives. The experimental tendency visible on the level of institutions
and power structures is also perceptible on the documentary level. We shall see
how in the following chapters.
46 On the importance of brevia and of texts free from the constraints typical of munimina (sales
and leases) to gain access to social realities and practices of twelfth century, see an important discus
sion in Tabarrini, ‘Le operae e i giorni’.
7
Fidelity
A Pervasive Language
At this stage of the enquiry, the time has come to focus our attention on forms of
self-legitimation other than those based on the relation with central power, in
order to ascertain whether in the period after 1080 we can indeed observe a
greater involvement in these alternative forms of self-legitimation (and of course
in related documents) on the part of socio-political actors. It is a matter here of
understanding how local societies reacted to the material and symbolic crisis of
the traditional source of legitimacy. The first step in this enquiry is bound to be
fidelity, given its social pervasiveness.
The eleventh century undoubtedly represented a turning point in the spread of
fidelity-based relations in the European context. Within the context of the crisis
of political structures which affected most of the West—at different times in dif-
ferent areas—personal loyalties constituted an important element for the restruc-
turing and consolidation of forms of social and political cohesion, which had
been threatened by processes of decentralization and localization of power.1 In
this respect, however, it is worth noting, on the one hand, the heterogeneity of
regional developments in this particular sphere (not limited to chronological dif-
ferences) and, on the other hand, the richness and pervasiveness of the language
of fidelity. This applied to much broader areas than those associated with the
traditional relations based on vassalage and the granting of benefices, which have
long been the main focus for historians.2 This particular language and the cere-
monies attached to it were also used to structure and define the relation between
a king and all his subjects (as in England), between a territorial lord and his
subordinates, and even between an ecclesiastical leader and the churchmen under
his authority.3 The language of fidelitas was therefore a pervasive and long-
established one which extended to all—or almost all—areas of society. It was a
perfect way to mark out and define relations characterized by verticality, meaning
1 The bibliography on this topic is vast. For a first overview of the various lines of research, see the
contributions brought together in Bournazel and Poly (eds.), Les féodalités, Bonnassie (ed.), Fief et
féodalité, and Il feudalesimo nell’alto medioevo—in addition, of course, to Reynolds, Fiefs and Vassals.
2 An important and wide-ranging discussion of these issues is to be found in the recent Albertoni,
Vassalli, feudi, pp. 21–88.
3 See Brancoli Busdraghi, La formazione storica, p. 142; Giordanengo, ‘Les féodalités italiennes’;
and Werckmeister, ‘The political Ideology’ (on England).
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198825746.001.0001
Fidelity: A Pervasive Language 155
the predominance of one subject over another. Pact-based relations, while being
centred on reciprocity, could certainly take account of any asymmetry between
the parties involved (as we shall see in the next chapter). However, relations based
on fidelitas were structurally asymmetrical, which made the language of fidelity a
privileged means to define superiority and inferiority in social relations.4 Being
someone’s fidelis meant acknowledging his superiority. However, the verticality of
bonds of fidelity must not always be interpreted as reflecting rigid and absolute
hierarchies. Quite often what we have is a way of establishing only relatively
hierarchical relations between different subjects; fidelitas is used to build not just
vertical relations, but also networks and alliances that are at least broadly hori-
zontal and based on equality.5 Nevertheless, it is worth noting that this flexibility
of the language of fidelity has its intrinsic limits: we never see a high-ranking
lord becoming the fidelis of a minor dominus, or the lord of a castle becoming the
fidelis of a mere miles. Evidently, given its manifestly vertical and hierarchical
nature, the language of fidelity could only show so much flexibility without
becoming completely distorted and losing its credibility in the eyes of social and
political actors.
In the light of these premises, it seems obvious that if we wish to consider the
role of personal bonds of fidelity in the context on central and northern Italy at
the turn of the 1100s, we must determine whether and to what extent the restruc-
turing of forms and relations of power influenced the use of such a language,
which was clearly far from new. We must evaluate to what extent this historical
phase stood in continuity with the previous one and to what extent it instead
marked a break. The starting point of my analysis will be the sphere in which the
language of fidelity had been most commonly employed since the Carolingian
age, namely the aristocratic world. This will be taken in its broadest possible
sense, which encompasses a social space extending from great lords to mere
milites castri. Subsequently, I will focus on the way in which fidelitas was used in
our period to define the relation between lords and subjects within the context of
rural seigneurie. While far less attested than previous ones, these practices prove
crucial to fully grasp the redefinition of local relations and their representation on
the level of political discourse. Besides, no study has yet been specifically devoted
to them, at least when it comes to our period.
7.1 Fidelities in the ‘aristocratic’ world
As I have just noted, bonds of fidelity had been a traditional feature of relations
within the ruling class since the Carolingian age.6 However, our period witnessed
4 Debàx, La féodalité languedocienne. 5 Albertoni and Provero, Il feudalesimo in Italia.

6 Becher, Eid und Herrschaft; Albertoni, Vassalli, feudi, pp. 105–22.
a profound redefinition of their importance and overall meaning within society.

In his landmark study of Italian feudalism in the high Middle Ages, François
Menant stressed the importance of the years around 1100 for the development of
feudal structures and the fidelity-based relations associated with them: this phase
is regarded as a key moment in the restructuring of this particular sphere.7 The
previous period still revolved around the idea of a clientele network that found in
the king its ideal point of convergence, as clearly emerges from Conrad II’s legis-
lation on hereditary benefices as late as 1037. The situation changed significantly
in the years under discussion: the old networks broke down and we witness a
process of rearrangement of systems of fidelity and their becoming completely
removed from public or royal authorities.8 Bonds of fidelity were instead used in
order to systematize and formalize relations of subordination—or alliance—
between local political actors. At a lower and hence only broadly aristocratic level,
fidelity was used by the domini loci to swell the ranks of their local clientele—
which, as we have seen, had acquired increasingly military character—and lend it
a more cogent structure.9 Following the collapse of the royal system, which had
made instrumental use of its vast clientele of vassals (despite the fact that these
were not always easy to control), the aristocratic class sought to establish new
balances, concretely rooted in local power relations. These had become a crucial
element with fidelity continuing to play a central role.
This process of transformation and redefinition of relations based on fidelitas
occurred within an Italian context marked—as already mentioned—by docu-
mentary traditions that vary considerably from area to area, which undoubtedly
complicates the picture. In recent decades, this has sometimes led historians to
overestimate the differences between the various regional areas.10 In this respect,
the very fact of selecting fidelity as a specific object of enquiry, rather than fiefs,
may help us grasp the unitary features of the central and northern Italian context,
regardless of the unquestionable local differences. The distinctly feudal relations
at work do not exhaust the field of fidelity, which emerges as a far broader and
more complex phenomenon. Whereas in northern Italy, and in certain limited
areas in Tuscany, fidelitas was closely associated with the granting of fiefs, in the
rest of central Italy and in Romagna it was chiefly connected to different forms of
(temporary) property transfer—such as libellum, precaria and emphyteusis—
which occurred in different ways depending on the regional context.11
Before proceeding any further, it is necessary to briefly discuss these differ-
ences, at least in broad terms, in order to evaluate whether it is possible to provide
a unitary treatment of the topic of fidelitas or whether a more regional approach is
7 Menant, ‘La féodalité italienne’, pp. 347–83. 8 Tabacco, ‘Il regno italico’, pp. 781–3.
9 See section 4.1.
10 As an example of this tendency to emphasize regional differences when discussing these topics,
see Tiberini, Le signorie rurali nell’Umbria.
11 Spicciani, Protofeudalesimo; on Umbria and the Marche see Fiore, Signori e sudditi, pp. 132–47.
required. The starting point for this brief enquiry is bound to be the Po Valley,
which has traditionally been regarded as the area of greatest spread of practices
based on bonds of personal fidelity, at any rate in the period under consideration.12
Northern Italy, at least after 1037, was dominated by the granting of fiefs in the
strict sense of the term, as evidenced by specific texts.13 In this area grants of
estates more feudale are plentiful, while we have very few records of the oaths
sworn by the vassals on such occasions. These were obviously taken for granted
and therefore were rarely, if ever, laid down in writing, although they are more
frequently mentioned in depositions or in sources of other nature.14 This mech
anism clearly emerges from certain passages of the first version of Oberto
dell’Orto’s Liber feudorum, which draws a very explicit link between feudal con-
cessions and oaths of fidelity. However, it is worth noting that—as the text itself
makes clear—in the area in question the feudal transfer of property rights was so
widespread that, towards the end of our period, it gave rise to the phenomenon of
the concession in feudum sine fidelitate, not least as a means to circumvent the
law forbidding the permanent alienation of ecclesiastical estates.15 This led to the
apparent paradox of having feudal transactions detached from the establishment
of bonds of personal fidelitas. At any rate, these transactions constituted excep-
tions and, as such, were specified in the documents issued for the property con-
cessions. Generally speaking, in the context of the aristocracy of northern Italy
the discourse of fidelity would appear to almost perfectly overlap with feudal rela-
tions. No doubt, the subjects of territorial lords and famuli were also required to
take oaths of fidelity, but at the time these relations were in any case perceived to
be socially and qualitatively different, and were characterized by ceremonial prac-
tices that at least partly differed from those of aristocratic fidelitas, as we shall see
in the next section.16
Compared to this essentially homogeneous picture, central Italy (along with
Romagna) presents a far more complex scenario.17 Feudal concessions—in the more
technical sense of the term—are particularly numerous in certain areas of Tuscany
and central-northern Umbria. However, they often have an oral nature, as is the case
in the North before 1037, in particular when it comes to patrimonial transfers from
local lords to mere milites castri, who are rarely made the object of specific docu-
ments, whereas indirect attestations of these transfers are relatively numerous.18
12 Brancoli Busdraghi, La formazione storica.

13 In relation to what follows, I will refer to Menant, ‘La féodalité italienne’.
14 A good example is provided by the depositions from the first decades of the twelfth century
published in Codice diplomatico padovano, II, n. 526 (a. 1150 c.), pp. 383–4.
15 Rippe, ‘Feudum sine fidelitate’.
16 Lehmann, Consuetudines Feudorum, VIII, 11; for a discussion of the matter, see section 7.2.
17 For an overview, see Feller, ‘Les institutions féodales’; Carocci, ‘Feudo, vassallaggi’; Fiore, Signori
e sudditi, pp. 132–48.
18 Some examples of direct mentions of feudal concessions granted to milites castri by territorial
lords may be found in Documenti per la storia di Arezzo, I, n. 289 (a. 1098), pp. 395–6.
Still, it is worth noting that is precisely around the year 1100 that we find the first
written feudal concessions for many areas, along with the first records of genuine
oaths of fidelity. In the same period we witness a considerable increase in the
attestation of fideles and, to a lesser extent, of vasalli and valvassores in the
sources, as well as in the mention of fega or feuda in the documents.19 The mark-
edly higher number of attestations of fideles compared to that of feudal estates is
due to the fact that—as we shall soon see in greater detail—oaths of fidelity in
these areas, unlike in the North, are closely (and in some areas predominantly)
associated not with feudal concessions but with different forms of (temporary)
property transfer, such as libellum, precaria and emphyteusis.20 Whereas in the
case of a feudal concession the oath of fidelity was simply taken for granted (to
the point that it was only specified in those cases in which it had not been sworn),
the situation was very different with these other forms of contract. The sacramen-
tum fidelitatis was not intrinsically connected to these documents, which explains
why the need was felt to record such sworn commitments in writing. It is import-
ant to note that in the period under consideration this occurred in experimental
ways, which is to say in ways that varied on a case to case basis. Overall, it is pos-
sible to identify at least four different solutions. The first and most common one is
represented by texts recording the actual oath of fidelity taken with regard to a
personal dominus.21 The second solution, which was very seldom adopted, con-
sisted in producing documents recording the whole ceremonial context of the
promissory oath, and emphasizing gestures and ceremonial elements rather than
the words uttered.22 Equally rare are those cases in which the very text of the con-
cession specifies that the concessionaire is required not just to pay the annual cen-
sus, but to ‘facere hominitia et fidelitatem’.23 One last and rather frequent solution
was to only mention fidelitas within the context of a written pact designed to lay
out in detail the mutual (and chiefly, albeit not exclusively, military) obligations
between a lord and his fidelis.24
Notwithstanding their diverse nature, reflecting specific contexts, these texts
largely shared the same aim, namely to certify in writing the existence of a formal
relation of fidelitas between two individuals. This requirement of creating a writ-
ten record was no doubt connected to the growing social importance of bonds of
fidelity, which had come to play an increasingly crucial role in a conflict-ridden
19 Il Regesto di Farfa, V, n. 1012 (a. 1073), pp. 15–6 (fideles; Latium); Le carte di Sassovivo, I, n. 127
(a. 1100), pp. 194–5 (vasalli, Umbria).
20 Feller, ‘Elements de la problematique’.
21 One example from Romagna is provided in Fantuzzi, Monumenti ravennati, IV, n. 41 (a. 1097),
p. 229; one from Latium in Il regesto sublacense, n. 206 (a. 1109), p. 246–7.
22 One rare example, concerning the northern Marche, is to be found in Compagnoni, Memorie
istorico-critiche, V, n. 5b (a. 1124 c.), pp. 20–1.
23 A text pertaining to the Fermo area has been published in Liber iurium, n. 395 (a. 1103),
pp. 719–20.
24 Il Regesto di Farfa, V, n. 1012 (a. 1073), pp. 15–6 (on the Sabina area).
and politically fluid context. In these decades, being loyal to someone essentially
meant being required to fight for him (but also—or perhaps especially—not to
fight against him).25 The markedly experimental character of this particular
period from a documentary perspective clearly shows that the problem of fidelity
was regarded as a crucial one for which notaries had to find empirical solutions
that varied depending on the area and specific context. Laying down the existence
of relations of this sort in writing meant bestowing additional cogency upon them
and further reinforcing them.
Some useful guidelines for a more concrete grasp of the interaction between
ritual and documentary practices are provided by the small dossier concerning
the properties owned by the archbishop of Ravenna in the diocese of Osimo.
These estates made up two extensive complexes: the massa Aternana and the
massa Osimana.26 We will be focusing on the latter. Its earliest attestations date
from the tenth century, when it was repeatedly given in emphyteusis—either as a
whole or in quotas—to members of the high aristocracy of the Pentapolis.27 These
contracts do not differ significantly from usual models and entail only the pay-
ment of an annual census on the concessionaires’ part. From the eleventh century
onwards the concessions we have only concern half of the massa Osimana (with
the other half fully remaining in the hands of the archbishop), which was regu-
larly confirmed as the possession of the members of the powerful Gislerii clan,
one of the most conspicuous families in the area. The concession now also expli
citly included half of the three castles erected at the leaseholders’ behest in the
late tenth century. In particular, in the first half of the twelfth century it seems
as though the emphyteutic contract was renewed whenever a new archbishop
of Ravenna was appointed, despite being in tertiam generationem (for three
generations).28 This practice made it possible to avoid getting too close to the
expiry of the contract, thereby safeguarding the concessionaires’ position. But it
also made it possible to solemnly reaffirm, with every new generation, the rela-
tion between the two parties through the redaction of a written deed and the
official ceremonies accompanying it.
The regularity and uniformity of this series of documents clashes with an unusual
deed, which may be dated to around 1124 and was redacted at Castelbaldo (one
of the castles of the massa Osimana) by a notary who was a member of archbishop
Gualtiero’s entourage.29 This fragmentary document appears to be a brevis
25 One example, among many others, is to be found in Le carte di S. Pietro di Perugia, n. 15
(a. 1130), p. 68–71.
26 Vasina, ‘Possessi ecclesiastici ravennati’.
27 Breviarium Ecclesiae Ravennatis, Appendice III, n. 17 (a. 958), pp. 220–3; n. 16 (a. 967), pp. 217–20;
n. 9 (a. 980), pp. 201–3.
28 Compagnoni, Memorie istorico-critiche, V, n. 5a (1124), pp. 19–20; n. 6 (1147), pp. 21–2.
29 Compagnoni, Memorie istorico-critiche, V, n. 5b (a. 1124 c.), pp. 20–1. A different interpretation
of the text and of its relation with the documentary dossier is offered by Castagnetti, ‘Feudalità e soci-
età comunale. II’, pp. 179–80.
describing the arrival of archbishop Gualtiero at Castelbaldo, an village he owned

in the Osimo area.30 As this is a highly interesting document, and a particularly
remarkable one given its early date, it is worth proving a succinct summary of it.
The prelate arrived on horseback, leading a large entourage of clerics and laymen,
to emphasize the twofold nature of the power he embodied. Upon arrival, he was
greeted by the members of the Gislerii clan, to whom he had granted half of the
castle in emphyteusis.31 These men placed their hands in those of the archbishop
and then immediately kissed him, first on a hand and then on the mouth, thereby
renewing their bond of fidelity to him as vassals. Subsequently, the members of
the family each placed their right hand on the gospel and publicly swore an oath
of fidelitas to the archbishop.32 Therefore, each vassal kissed his lord twice: a first
time on the hand, to show his own inferiority, and a second time on the mouth, as
an explicitly egalitarian gesture. This double gesture highlighted the simultan-
eously asymmetrical and egalitarian character typical of the relation of fidelitas
between vassals and their lord.33
One deposition, referring to events which took place in the immediately
following decades, allows us to fully grasp the social context of the document:
according to the witness, the oath would be solemnly renewed during the recur-
ring visits of the prelates of Ravenna to their estates in the Marche.34 It is possible
to conclude, then, that the personal relationship between a lord and his emphy-
teutic leaseholders was a distinctly feudal one, at any rate in the case of the massa
Osimana. The property granted constituted a remuneration for servitium and
fidelitas, similarly to the case of estates granted more feudale in northern Italy. The
example of archiepiscopal estates from the massa Osimana also clearly shows that
the bond of fidelity continued to be strictly oral and gestural in nature, and that as
late at the 1130s it was unlikely to be recorded in writing. The oath of fidelity
30 Compagnoni, Memorie istorico-critiche, V, n. 5b (a. 1124), pp. 20–1.

31 Compagnoni, Memorie istorico-critiche, V, n. 5a (a. 1124), pp. 19–20, where Gualtiero of Ravenna
renews the Gislerii’s emphyteutic lease on half of the castles of Montecerro and Castelbaldo.
32 Compagnoni, Memorie istorico-critiche, V, doc 5b (a. 1124 c.), p. 21: ‘venerunt Baroccius filium
quodam Galere et Rainerius et Rainaldus filii quodam Ubaldi, et Atto et Ugo filii quodam Gilerii et
Albertus filius quodam Marci et Ubaldo et Rodulfo filii quodam Gilerii ad dominum Gualterium
archiepiscopum sancte ecclesie Ravennatis et miserunt unusquisque manu sua in manibus predicti
Gualterii Archiepiscopi et osculaverunt manus et os eius et facti sunt fideles per manus et post hec
venerunt unusquisque ex eis et posuerunt manum suam dexteram super librum evangeliorum et
fecerunt fidelitatem supradicte sancte ecclesie Ravenne et predicto Gualterio archiepiscopo ad adiu-
vandum retinere per bonam et rectam fidem predicto castro Ubaldi et Montecerri cum tota massa
Auximana predicte ecclesie Ravenne et Gualterio archiepiscopo suisque successoribus contra omnis
hominis per bonam et rectam fidem sine fraude et malo ingenio’.
33 Le Goff, ‘Les gestes symboliques’.
34 Compagnoni, Memorie istorico-critiche, V, n. 14 (a. 1223), p. 33, Orlando’s testimony: ‘Dicta cas-
tra pertinebant ad dominium et signoriam Ecclesie Ravennatis pro medietate. Aliam medietatem
habebant nobiles et domini ipsorum locorum et pro ea iurabant fidelitatem Domino Archiepiscopo
Ravenne et quod ipse testis semel iuravit fidelitatem quidam Archiepiscopo de cuius nomine non
recordatur’. The witness, a very elderly nobleman, is discussing events which took place in his early
youth, plausibly in 1160s.
itself is not quoted in full but only in an extremely condensed form, which is
counterbalanced by the remarkably rich description provided for the ritual. The
text, therefore, stands as a record of highly formalized acts and gestures which
could not find any space in traditional munimina. Nevertheless, in a society
increasingly used to laying down contracts and obligations in writing the need
was felt to document even those aspects of the bond which, despite their crucial
importance, had hitherto been confined to the oral and gestural sphere.
This important text, so far largely ignored by historians investigating feudal
bonds and the granting of benefices in Italy, is particularly relevant in my view
because it provides an early and rich description of the homagium ceremony. The
text is all the more significant because it comes from what is considered to be a
completely marginal area as regards strictly feudal practices—not least in terms of
the forms of documentation that distinguish it. Even in recent times scholars
focusing on these issues—in relation to the period extending at least up to the
mid-twelfth century—have tended to downplay the ritual and gestural aspect of
such practices, which is seen to be lacking completely or at most to be only hinted
at, at any rate by comparison to the oath of fidelity, which of course is far better
documented.35 A text such as the one from the Osimo area, with its early yet
well-structured formalization of the homage ritual, shows that a more cautious
approach is required in evaluating the information from surviving documents.
Clearly, for obvious practical reasons, these are more interested in recording
oaths of fidelity than the gestures and actions accompanying them. It cannot be
ruled out that as early as the decades around 1100 homage rituals accompanied
many of the oaths of fidelity sworn in rural areas in central and northern Italy.36
Much the same applies to the bestowing of symbolic objects during the conces-
sion of estates: somewhat paradoxically, the first record we have for the granting
of jurisdictional property rights through the bestowing of a vexillum (in this
particular case, a spear)—a ceremony well attested in the last decades of the twelfth
century—is the granting of the populus of Cremona to the milites of Soncino, in
1118.37 At least in our period, then, the documentation for ceremonials and
actions revolving around fidelity would appear to consist of genuine ‘erratic boul-
ders’; as such, it should be approached with particular caution.
However, in acknowledging the differences between these social and docu-
mentary practices we should not overlook what in my view are the most signifi-
cant elements, which instead suggest that we interpret these developments with
35 See esp. Albertoni, Feudi, vassalli, pp. 172–88; from this perspective, the development of the rit-
ual of homage is chiefly connected to the flourishing of feudal rituals in the age of Frederick II, with
the adoption of models from beyond the Alps.
36 Besides, one of the oldest visual representations of the ritual of homage in Europe comes from
Latium, and dates to the years just after 1150. This is an image from the registry of the cathedral of
Tivoli, reproduced in Il Regesto della chiesa di Tivoli, pl. 4; see also the observations in Kosto, Making
Agreements, p. 284.
an eye to parallels and overlaps, particularly if we wish to approach them through

the lenses of fidelity. The first element is precisely the fact that, as the research
conducted over the past two decades has shown, all the relations in questions
were marked by fidelitas, which is to say by an oath of personal fidelity (whether
associated with a gesture of homage or not). The second element is that fidelitas
was largely linked to the granting of property (be it in the form of landed estates
or of jurisdictional rights), and had a markedly military character. The third
element is that all bonds of fidelity had the same structural function, namely to
establish relations (generally hierarchical ones) within the aristocratic world,
broadly understood as ranging from territorial princes to mere castle milites. The
last element is that in all regional contexts these relations would only appear to
have become widespread in the last two or three decades of the eleventh century.
However, we should not forget that, no matter how widespread and pervasive
bonds of fidelity may have been, they were far from being the only way of estab-
lishing relations within the ruling class. Bonds of kinship and affinity, spiritual
bonds and actual pacts were all alternative ways of creating networks of relations,
although they were marked by different features compared to relations based on
fidelitas.38 I will be focusing in detail on pacts, and the social and documentary
practices associated with them, later on. However, it is worth bearing in mind
that all these relations coexist and variously interact with bonds of fidelity,
providing the underlying context for them. They influence the way in which the
language of fidelity was used, enriching or nuancing its content. Within such a
complex framework, cases may also be found in which the senior and the fidelis
are essentially of the same rank, and in which the bond established is more of
an alliance than a relation of subordination—as in the case of the counts of
Biandrate and those of the Canavese, who were vassals and fideles of the bishops
of Vercelli and Novara.39 Moreover, it was not all that unusual, at any rate within
the seigniorial class, for a more powerful lord to become the fidelis of another, less
important lord after being granted a specific estate (generally one or more castles)
as a benefice, as in the case of the count of Savoy, who received Avigliana and Rivalta
from the bishop of Turin.40 Obviously, this cannot amount to the subordination
of the former to the latter; rather, it represents the establishment of a privileged
bond between the two parties that found a suitable means of expression in the
language of fidelity. In this respect, it is noteworthy that sworn pacts, however
stringent, were perceived to be less binding than fidelitas in the strict sense. Early
in 1081 count Ubaldo and his son Ugo, belonging to the family of the counts of
Imola, had a disagreement with the archbishop of Ravenna, Guiberto. They then
38 This was the case in Catalonia, which is discussed in this respect by Ruiz Doménec, L’estructura
feudal; Aurell, Les noces du comte.
39 Barbero, ‘Vassalli vescovili’; for similar examples from the Veneto area, see Castiglioni. L’altro
Feudalesimo.
visited the city’s chapterhouse and, in the presence of the prelate and of a large
crowd of witnesses, submitted themselves to Guiberto. They promised the arch-
bishop, his clerics, his successors, his nephews Guiberto and Ranierio, and the
faithful, that in future they would not engage in any action that might somehow
violate the rights or properties of the diocese of Ravenna. As a further guarantee
for this sworn commitment, they handed over part of their estates as a pledge.41
The pacts established, however, did not last long and armed conflict between the
two parties was resumed with even greater intensity. It finally came to an end
when the archbishop’s troops seized the large comital castle of Donigallia, capturing
count Ugolino. To regain his freedom, in 1097 he was forced to swear a solemn
oath of fidelity to archbishop Guiberto, ‘sicut vassallus solet iurare domino suo’.42
Clearly, for Guiberto and other lords of his day, fidelitas offered far greater
guarantees than the simple pacts established some fifteen years earlier. It may
therefore be assumed that in the case of the counts of Biandrate and Savoy, who
resorted to the language of fidelitas to define their alliance with the bishops of
Vercelli and Turin, this was a way for them to emphasize their relation with the
bishops by setting it within a more solid conceptual framework than that of pacts.
In other cases still, sworn pacts go hand in hand with bonds of fidelity, further
defining and clarifying their nature. This tendency is especially noticeable in cen-
tral Italy (and in particular Latium). The extensive Farfa cartulary provides good
documentary evidence in this respect.43 When Alberto di Bardone became the
homo of the monastery and was granted as a benefice an estate on which to build
a fortification, he promised the abbot of Farfa not to alienate the podium, not to
use it against the monastery—but to support the latter against its enemies—and
to make sure that after his death the melior of his sons and nephews would
become a man of Farfa.44 What is far more complex is the convenientia between
this monastery and a small group of its aristocratic fideles, which lays down in
detail the co-management of the castles of Luco and Catino.45 It is interesting to
note that in all these cases fidelitas is only mentioned in the texts of the sworn
oaths; while the actual oath of fidelity has not been preserved (it was probably
never written down at all), the sacramenta connected to it have been, because
they both testify to the bond of fidelity and record the concrete sworn commit-
ments it implies.
The agreements entailed by or accompanying the oath of fidelity chiefly clari-
fied political and military obligations. By contrast, in the case of the fidelitates of
41 Fantuzzi, Monumenti ravennati, II, p. 307. See Fasoli, ‘I conti e il comitato’, pp. 124–8.
42 Fantuzzi, Monumenti ravennati, IV, n. 41 (a. 1097), p. 229.
43 See Feller, ‘Elements de la problematique’; in addition to the texts mentioned in the following
notes, see Il Regesto di Farfa, IV, n. 810 (a. 1080 c.), p. 213; V, n. 1248 (a. 1096), p. 230; n. 1313 (a. 1104),
p. 299; for other similar examples, see Documenti per la storia di Arezzo, I, n. 309 (a. 1115), pp. 422–3;
Le carte di S. Pietro di Perugia, n. 15 (a. 1130), pp. 68–71.
44 Il Regesto di Farfa, V, n. 1178 (a. 1109), pp. 178–9.
45 Il Regesto di Farfa, V, n. 1012 (a. 1073), pp. 15–16.
laymen towards religious institutions—especially monasteries—it is interesting to

note that they were sometimes associated with the establishment of relations of a
spiritual nature. These concerned the right/obligation for any members of the
family who passed away to be buried in the church belonging to the institution in
question and to receive the monks’ prayers. In such a way, fidelity also acquired a
spiritual dimension that made it even deeper and more binding. In 1128, when a
vassal of the abbey of Santa Fiora residing in the castle of Vicione, near Arezzo,
died without leaving any heirs, his brothers Farolfo and Oderisio visited the abbot’s
court and swore fidelity to him in the presence of a large crowd of witnesses, in
exchange for the benefice formerly belonging to the deceased vassal. They also
agreed to have themselves and their relatives buried in the monastery’s church.46
Similarly, in receiving a fief from the monastery, the lambardi (petty lords) of
Dorna took the same obligations upon themselves.47 The fact that these commit-
ments made the bond of fidelity even more binding is significantly confirmed by
the querimonia submitted by the Farfa monks against the Gualcherii in the early
twelfth century.48 Its drafter was particularly outraged by the fact that the kinship
group in question, who had not just established a relation of fidelitas with the
monastery but had also accepted spiritual commitments of this sort, had then
gone to war against the monks, who prayed for the souls of their dead relatives on
a daily basis.
Nevertheless, it is worth stressing that in the vast majority of cases the language
of fidelity—in accordance with its intrinsic nature—was used to define and struc-
ture hierarchical and vertical relations in order to lend substance and content to
social and political superiority. From a qualitative perspective, one element worth
stressing is the fact that most people bound to a lord by a relation of fidelitas
belonged to the lower strata of the aristocracy. Practically every lord of a castle
was the personal dominus of a group of ‘knights’ to whom he had granted estates
or revenues as a concession. In exchange, these men were required to offer the
dominus military assistance and their form of dependence was interpreted pre-
cisely through the lenses of fidelitas, which gave it its meaning and structure.
Personal bonds of fidelity, therefore, were not only used to define and map out
relations between territorial lords, but were also (and especially) used to define
the relations binding the latter to the lower echelons of the aristocracy, i.e. the
military clientèle that constituted the essential local basis of their power: the het-
erogeneous world of milites, equites and boni homines which—as we have seen—
made up the elite of village societies. These men were granted not jurisdictional
rights but landed goods (as feudal benefices, emphyteutic leases, libella, precaria
46 Documenti per la storia di Arezzo, I, n. 324 (a. 1128), p. 443.

47 Documenti per la storia di Arezzo, I, n. 309 (a. 1115), pp. 422–3. Also, consider the case of Otto of
Calusco, who was buried in the abbey of San Benedetto di Leno, near Brescia, around 1150, precisely
as vasallus of the abbey; see Vecchio, ‘I testimoniali del processo di Leno’, n. 3 (a. 1195), p. 375.
48 Chronicon Farfense, II, pp. 272–3.
or partly even allodial grants), which included personal rights over the peasant
cultivating the land.
Research analysing the development of bonds of fidelity in the Padua area has
revealed that the bishop of Padua started assigning fiefs to milites in the closing
decades of the eleventh century. However, it is more than likely that a similar pro-
cess was also underway in the other bishoprics in this region, as is shown by the
cases of Treviso and Vicenza. The large and well-structured military clientele net-
work that is clearly evidenced by the extensive recording of fideles that began in
the second half of the twelfth century first emerged around the year 1100.49 Even
in the case of the abbey of Farfa, we have clear evidence of a steep rise in the
number of equites connected to the abbot by bonds of personal fidelity in the
same period.50 In other words, the militarization of local elites went hand in hand
with the use of the language of fidelity to redefine their relationship with lords.
This process is closely connected to the eruption of armed conflicts at the turn of
the 1100s. In order to assert their power in this magmatic and uncertain context,
lords needed an increasingly large clientele that could easily be mobilized; hence,
they were forced to invest a considerable share of their property. They established
links not just with influential families but also—and most notably—with a large
number of simple milites directly dependent on them, who could be mobilized
without the cumbersome intervention of vassals belonging to the capitaneal
class. An effective illustration of this is provided by the overall survey of the
vassals/fideles dependant on the bishop of Treviso that was made in 1171, but
which describes a structure first established in its general outline around 1100.51
Compared to the over 300 direct vassals bound to the bishop by oaths of fidelity,
the members of rural aristocratic families or prominent cives are very much in the
minority. The vast majority of vassals are mere rural knights, for the most part
from the villages under the bishop’s lordship.
The emphasis on the vertical and hierarchical nature of bonds of fidelity not-
withstanding, we should not overlook the elements of asymmetrical reciprocity
characterizing these relations. The fidelitas and military (or more generally social)
commitments defining them constituted a counterpart to the dominus/senior’s
granting of estates to his men. However, a lord’s commitment was not limited to
this, as it could also take the form of genuine oaths that, while technically not
constituting oaths of fidelity, still presented significant points of contact with the
latter. This further illustrates the synallagmatic nature of the relation established
between the two parties. While oaths of fidelity are quite rare in the period under
consideration, oaths sworn by a senior to his fidelis are rarer still. Particularly sig-
nificant from this perspective is the small dossier comprising two oaths exchanged
49 Castiglioni. L’altro Feudalesimo, pp. 411–45; Rando, ‘I vassalli del vescovo’.

50 Il Regesto di Farfa, IV, n. 1324 (aa. 1119–25 c.), pp. 317–25.
51 Rando, ‘I vassalli del vescovo’.
by the abbot of Subiaco and two domini loci (father and son), bound to him by
fidelity.52 One first interesting element is the fact that the language used in the
two texts is very similar, even though the one formulated by the two lords (which
is longer and more detailed) is a genuine oath of fidelitas, whereas that of the
abbot obviously is not. Moreover, it is noteworthy that each dominus swears to his
men that he will protect the estates granted to them (in this case, three castles),
that he will not attempt to regain control of them, and that he will defend them
against all enemies. As is usually the case, the dominus also commits himself to
preventing ‘in facto vel in consensu ut vitam perdas aut membra vel apprensus
sis’, provided that the two nobles respect their ‘fidelitatem [. . .] sicut modo iuras-
tis’. The oath taken by the two domini includes first of all a generic commitment to
behave ‘sicut bonus fidelis per directum observat fidelitatem suo domino’. A more
specific commitment is the obligation to provide military aid to the abbot in
order to defend all present and future monastic properties. The oath specifies that
the three castles that constitute the linchpin of the relation are the abbot’s prop-
erty and are managed by two lords—Ponza and Afile were probably only held in
wardship, whereas Collaltulo had certainly been granted as a fief (in fegu).
The pervasiveness of the language of fidelity is evident even outside the strictly
seigniorial context. Urban proto-communes made rather widespread use of it, at
least in northern Italy, to define relations of domination between urban political
communities and the lords of the surrounding countryside, as the former pro-
gressively extended their authority over the latter. As we have previously seen,
one of the tools used for this purpose was the oblate fief, which is particularly well
documented in relation to Piacenza and Genoa, and which was connected of
course to oaths of fidelitas.53 The urban community, therefore, acted in exactly the
same way as the great lords or princes with which it interacted in the rural con-
text. The proto-commune presented itself to those territorial lords who acknow-
ledged its territorial authority as a genuine collective senior. Thus in 1137 the lord
of the castle of Santa Margherita, in Emilia, swore on the Gospel before the con-
suls of Piacenza and the arengo (civic assembly) that from that moment onwards
it would be fidelis to ‘populum placentiunum, maiori et minori’, committing himself
to providing military aid to the latter and to upholding its rights over the castle.54
It is important to stress that the oath was sworn to the community as a whole
(and not just the consuls). The fact that the senior in this case is not an individual
52 The two documents in question have been published in Il regesto sublacense, n. 5 (a. 1109), p. 88
(the abbot’s oath, which was not actually sworn by the abbot himself, but rather by a monk acting on
his behalf); n. 206 (a. 1109), p. 246–7 (the oath of fidelity taken by the two lay lords). For some oaths
that are almost certainly analogous to the former, see the oath of protection taken by the abbot of
Farfa and some of his concessionaires in Il Regesto di Farfa, V, n. 1163 (a. 1103), p. 168, along with n.
1323 (a. 1120), pp. 316–17.
53 I Libri iurium di Genova, I,1, n. 41 (aa. 1132–3 c.), pp. 64–6 (Frascaro); nn. 48–50 (a. 1141),
pp. 81–6; Il Registrum Magnum, I, n. 53 (a. 1126), pp. 102–4; n. 153 (a. 1141), pp. 319–22.
54 Il Registrum Magnum, n. 60 (a. 1137), pp. 120–1; see too n. 50 (a. 1132), pp. 95–7.
but a community makes no difference even from a ceremonial perspective. The

ritual words and gestures are perfectly in line with those commonly used. In 1118
the representatives of Cremona granted the milites of Soncino rights over it per
feudum using a spear and ensign; in exchange, each miles swore fidelity to the
populus Cremonensis.55
The pervasiveness of the discourse of fidelity in the period under consideration
becomes even more evident in the light of its spread in a different sphere, that of
religious hierarchies. Of course, as we have seen, bishops and abbots had trad
itionally been at the head of complex clientele networks of lay fideles since the
Carolingian age. But this has to do with the civil, rather than spiritual and religious,
nature of their power: in this respect, a bishop was not all that different from a
count. What changed from the last decades of the eleventh century onwards was
the fact that fidelitas also started to be used in order to define hierarchical rela-
tions within religious structures themselves. Abbots and bishops started receiving
actual oaths of fidelity from church rectors and their men. The relation of subor-
dination between the two parties was interpreted through the prism of fidelitas,
which was evidently perceived as a suitable language to define relations of this
kind. One rather early example of these new practices is provided by a document
recording the oath of fidelity—formulated in an explicitly feudal language—which
the rector of the Umbrian monastery of San Pietro in Valle swore to his superior,
the abbot of Farfa, in the early years of the twelfth century.56 The rector of the
church swears to behave modo fidelis, to ensure that the abbot of Farfa ‘nec mem-
bra nec vita perdat’. He also promises to provide consilium whenever required.
This document clearly illustrates the spread of fidelitas even in the monastic con-
text, as a means to define the hierarchical relations between abbots, priors, and
monks. Even in the eyes of a markedly conservative figure such as Gregorio of
Catino, the redactor of the cartulary through which this text has reached us, a
practice of this sort would have appeared perfectly legitimate. Besides, the text
itself also includes another similar oath dating from the same years.57

56 Il Regesto di Farfa, V, n. 1197 (aa. 1099–1119 c.), p. 192: ‘Ipse vero predictus abbas Valentinus
firmavit hoc monasterium et dominum abbatem eiusque successores quod a modo fidelis foret nos-
trae ecclesiae et abbatibus, ut nec vitam nec membra perdant et consilium sibi creditum non prodat’.
A less complex oath, yet one still centred on personal fidelitas, was sworn by the priest (presbiter) of
the church of San Vincenzo di Celle to the same abbot of Farfa, Beraldo: see Il Regesto di Farfa, V,
n. 1164 (aa. 1099–1119 c.), p. 168. On Gregorio’s conservatism, see Longo, ‘Gregorio da Catino’. A very
similar text is the oath of fidelitas sworn, just after his appointment, by the new abbot of San Pietro in
Asso to the bishop of Arezzo, under whose direct jurisdiction the church fell: see Documenti per la
storia di Arezzo, I, n. 273 (a. 1087), pp. 373–4. A similar oath of fidelity was sworn by the deacon of the
church of Santi Gervasio e Protasio at Sesto to the bishop of Lodi, who had entrusted him with the
church in question: see Le carte della Mensa Vescovile di Lodi, n. 79 (a. 1156). These are not excep-
tional cases, as the documentary evidence for the following decades, which is more plentiful, shows
that these practices had become widespread: see Mordini, ‘Aspetti della disciplina del feudo’.
57 Il Regesto di Farfa, V, n. 1164 (aa. 1099–1119 c.), p. 168.
Only a few decades earlier things had been very different, as is shown by the
Chronicon Novalicensis, which was composed just after the middle of the eleventh
century. In recounting the misdeeds and sacrileges perpetrated by the impious
abbot Oddone around 1030–50, the anonymous author claims that ‘coegit ut
monachi iurarent sibi fidelitatem quomodo et laici faciunt’.58 This elicited the
monks’ indignation and one of the most highly esteemed among them was even
thrown into gaol for refusing to take the oath—that he regarded as being com-
pletely incompatible with his monastic status. He was only released after taking
the oath through a third party, unum ex famulis. So, while acts of this sort were
not a complete novelty, given that—at least in certain restricted contexts—they
had already been expected and implemented before the mid-eleventh century,
within a few decades the way in which they were interpreted and perceived in the
monastic sphere changed considerably.
A profound rift is nonetheless evident between these two texts. The turning
point can probably be set in the 1070s, when the very head of the Church, the
Roman pontiff, chose to change the nature of the oath sworn by bishops when
taking office. Clearly, this choice must be viewed within the framework of the
monarchical reform of papal power.59 The ancient promissory oath, whose forms
were laid out in the Liber Diurnus, chiefly entailed guarantees for the pontiff, as
the head of the Church, in matters of faith and devotion, whereas the new formu-
lation was largely modelled after the fidelitates which were becoming increasing
common in society. The earliest version of the new type of oath dates back to 1073,
and concerns Gregory VII’s ordination of the archbishop of Ravenna, Guiberto.60
Of the seven clauses that made up the oath sworn by the new prelate to the pon-
tiff, only the last three pertained to ecclesiastical obligations: the first four were of
a very different nature. The archbishop swore to be loyal to St Peter, to the Church,
and the pope himself (as well as to his successors); to refrain from acts of treason;
to respect the secrecy of the consilium; and to defend the papatus romanus and
regalia sancti Petri, which is to say the land and jurisdictional rights of the church
of Rome. It is evident that this section of the oath largely overlaps with the kind of
acts of fidelitas which were becoming increasingly common among lay people.
Therefore, the very moment in which a monarchical reform of the papacy was
taking place, it was the Pope himself who enshrined the full legitimacy of the use
of fidelity—provided, of course, it was well-directed—within the ecclesiastical
world, by using it to bind bishops to himself. From that moment onwards, any
58 For an account of abbot Oddone’s misdeeds, see La cronaca di Novalesa, pp. 334–9; the quote is
from p. 338.
59 Cantarella, Il sole e la luna.
60 Liber Censuum, I, n. 148 (a. 1073), p. 417; see too the similar oath of fidelity that the patriarch of
Aquileia swore to the pope in 1079, in Gregorii VII Registrum, VI,17a (a. 1079), p. 428. On this import
ant document and on the process it illustrates, see Kantorowicz, The King’s Two Bodies, pp. 183–6;
crucial reflections on this topic are also provided by Prodi, Il sacramento del potere, pp. 105–60.
doubt concerning the lawfulness of such practices on the part of churchmen was
(almost) completely overcome, not just with regard to relations with the lay aris-
tocracy—where the practices in question had long become standard—but also
when it came to defining and formalizing hierarchical relations within the eccle-
siastic sphere. Thus in 1119 the archbishop of Pisa Pietro, who had just been
appointed metropolitan archbishop of Corsica by the pontiff, visited the island to
receive the Corsican bishops’ obedientiam et fidelitatem.61
Overall, it may be argued that the language of fidelity was key to defining rela-
tions within aristocratic society: the idea of hierarchy it implied made it a perfect
means to lend shape and content to vertical relationships. Ceremonial actions,
and in particular oaths, which revolved around such language were widespread in
all sectors of the ruling class and lent shape to its internal relations. The process of
recomposition of power structures after the most acute moment of political frag-
mentation also involved the imposition of bonds of fidelity to the prince (or lord)
of an area on the part of the domini loci, who would acknowledge his hegemony.
Besides, much the same use of fidelity was made by urban communities. At the
same time, this language helped shape and structure the relation between individ-
ual lords and privileged (and militarized) sections of local communities. However,
the language of fidelitas did not only permeate relations within the ruling class—
in the broader sense of the term—but was also used to interpret the relations
between domini loci and their subjects as a whole. While in the former case
fidelity was expressed in more strictly personal terms, in the latter it acquired
somewhat different overtones, of a territorial nature. Moreover, as regards rela-
tions within the aristocratic context, the years around 1100 witnessed a rise in the
importance of personal bonds of fidelity and, in all likelihood, in their number as
well, as is suggested by the pronounced increase in the mention of such relations
in the documentary sources. However, compared to the previous historical phase,
the period in question shows a considerable degree of discontinuity in the use of
fidelitas as a means to define a lord’s relationship with his subjects. In the next
section we will explore this process and its implications for the very conception of
seigneurial power.
7.2 Subjects’ fidelity
In early thirteenth-century central and northern Italy, it was common for all male
adults of a subject community to swear an oath of fidelity to a given territorial
lord (or urban commune)—a practice which endured in the following centuries.
Numerous records of oaths survive from this period, along with the formulas
61 This is reported, with manifest pride, by the Gesta triumphalia, p. 20; it is worth recalling that
this work was in all likelihood written by a clerk (roughly in the same years).
used on such occasions by the representatives of dominus loci. We also have

depositions providing plenty of examples that clearly illustrate the extent to which
this practice was widespread in rural seigniories.62 These oaths were modelled
after those used for the granting of fiefs and benefices, in terms of both the for-
mulas and rituals adopted, yet the ways in which they were taken differ consider-
ably. Sometimes the oath would be sworn by some representatives on behalf of all
the members of a community, whereas at other times all male adults (except the
elderly) were required to take the oath. The latter might be repeated annually or
every five years; at other times, it was only sworn following the death of a lord and
the transfer of his power into the hands of a successor.63 But while the swearing of
oaths might take a variety of forms, in the eyes of both rulers and subjects it was a
practice which defined the exercising of jurisdictional powers at a local level.
However, if we shift our focus to the period at the turn of the 1100s, we find a very
different situation: the sources become far more sporadic and less well-structured.
It is important, therefore, not to project the picture we have for the following
period into this previous stage. Rather, we should reassess the documentary evi-
dence in an attempt to understand what it actually tells us about oaths of fidelity
sworn by subjects, so as to better determine whether—and to what extent—this
practice fits within the context of the restructuring of practices of local power and
its mechanisms of legitimation.
One first and important element worth stressing is the fact that roughly up
until 1070 we find no real traces of oaths of fidelity sworn by all members of a
rural community to the person of their lord, not even in those areas where the
dominus had acquired traditional public prerogatives in terms of the exercising of
authority and the administration of justice. What are missing are not just records
of fidelitas that were actually sworn, or the formulas used for them, but even
indirect mentions of such practices in other kinds of documents, such as pacts,
franchises, or trial records. The only somewhat comparable texts are the promis-
sory oaths (which our sources refer to as sacramenta firmitatis, firmitates, etc.) by
which the members of a community would swear to uphold a lord’s ownership of
the settlement they inhabited against any rivals and/or would acknowledge his
local rights. It is important to stress the fact that these oaths were taken in areas
where the districtus was actually in the lord’s hands; hence, they are closely con-
nected to the dominatus loci and not to other forms of lordship, whether personal
or land-based. One rather well-known and early example of this is the oath sworn
62 On Umbria and the Marche, see Fiore, Signori e sudditi, pp. 388–8; on Lombardy, Menant,
Campagnes lombardes, pp. 503–5; on Piedmont, Provero, Le parole dei sudditi, pp. 53–64.
63 For a revealing series of examples of periodical oaths, see the Archivio Capitolare di Ascoli
Piceno, F, libro IV, 11v (aa. 1230–4 c.), 24r-29r (a. 1234), 32r (a. 1230); G, 2, 2r (a. 1237); the formula
used in these cases has been preserved in G, 2, 2r (a. 1237). See Cameli, ‘Note di diplomatica vescov-
ile’; for further examples of oaths taken at different times, see e.g. Liber iurium, n. 99 (a. 1205), p. 208;
Menant, Campagnes lombardes, pp. 503–5.
by the inhabitants of Inzago, not far from Milan, to the abbot of the monastery of
Sant’Ambrogio in 1015.64 A rather similar case is the promise made to the bishop
of Pistoia by the men of the castle of Sambuca, then under construction. The 55
heads of families committed themselves to building the castle, to never dispute
the bishop’s ownership of it in any way, and to help him against anyone who
would threaten his rights.65
However, these are not genuine oaths of fidelity, even though contemporary
editors and scholars have defined them as such, interpreting them through the
lenses of subsequent events. The words fidelis and fidelitas are wholly absent
from the documents in question. These deeds, therefore, should rather be viewed
within the framework of the establishment of pacts, and of the mutual commit-
ments they involve, which—as we shall see in greater detail later on—are one of
the distinguishing features of the relation between lords and subjects in this
period. As further confirmation of this interpretation of the oaths in question,
one might refer to a well-known text, namely the agreement between the abbot of
Nonantola and the local community, dating from 1058. In this text, which takes
the form of a convenientia, which is to say a pact, in exchange for their lord’s con-
cessions the subjects commit themselves (among other things) to acknowledging
his rights over the area and to safeguard his power. The above-mentioned deeds
may therefore plausibly be interpreted as records of sworn commitments of
this sort.66
One feature of the aforementioned promissory oaths is that they would appear
to be occasional documents connected to key moments, such as the building of a
new castle, as in the case of Sambuca, or the redefinition of local power balances,
as in the case of Nonantola, or again the seizing of power by a new lord in a given
inhabited centre. The first genuine record of oaths of this sort taken by members
of an individual community, which is to say the first record we have which is not
merely contingent, comes from the Lucca plain in the twelfth century.67 The oaths
were sworn by a series of communities governed by the local bishop. These deeds
have partly survived in the original, and partly through later copies which, based
on a comparison with the original texts, would appear to be entirely reliable.
Although these were only some of the inhabited centres under the prelate’s
authority, it is more than likely that similar oaths were taken (and recorded) in all
his territorial lordships. Moreover, it is interesting to note that—as the original
document concerning Moriano shows—the oath was individually taken by all
local male adults, whom the document lists one by one: an element which also
64 Le carte private milanesi, I, n. 74 (a. 1015), p. 175.

65 Regesta chartarum Pistoriensium, II: Vescovado, n. 8 (a. 1055), pp. 7–8.
66 Muratori, Antiquitates Italicae, III, coll. 241–4.
67 Wickham, Community and clientele, pp. 101–3.
points to the symbolic importance of this practice.68 The extensive episcopal

archives in Lucca reveal that the recording of these deeds in writing was an
entirely new practice—we have no earlier examples of it, not even occasional
ones—which probably emerged in response to the threat posed to episcopal
power by the entrenchment of the urban commune and by the growing demands
made by the imperial margrave of Tuscany at the time. What is less clear is
whether the practices recorded in these texts were themselves new, or whether
they had originated a few decades before. While it is impossible to answer this
question, in the light of what has been argued so far it seems rather unlikely that
the oaths from the Lucca area could be traced back to the 1070s, when the prel-
ate’s lordship started acquiring a territorial character. Another significant element
is the fact that these texts explicitly refer to the need to periodically repeat the
oath. They stated that unless the oath was sworn to every single bishop after his
election, it would no longer be valid. Thus, while the intervals at which the oath
was taken were still rather long, we can detect a tendency to repeat this ritual
practice, with its strong symbolic implications. In other words, the need was felt
to repeat the act in order to reaffirm and confirm the bond between lords and
subjects, as later occurred with the use of genuine oaths of fidelity. The stabiliza-
tion and extension of the dominatus loci, therefore, went hand in hand with the
spread of such practices in the countryside, with their increasing recording in
writing, and with a tendency to periodically repeat them.
From the last decades of the eleventh century onwards, however, it seems as
though some new features emerged within the framework just outlined, in con-
nection to the introduction of the language of fidelity in this particular domain.
We should not underestimate this element: resorting to the concept and language
of fidelitas within the context of pledge-taking also meant—at least to some
extent—redefining and more clearly delineating the relation between lords and
subjects. Turning subjects into fideles meant reinforcing the cogency of their obli-
gations. As we have seen when examining relationships in the aristocratic world,
fidelitas was regarded as a more binding relation than the one simply based on
sworn pacts. Setting subjects’ sworn commitments within the framework of fidel-
ity meant strengthening them, significantly enhancing their personal bond with
their lord, and emphasizing its vertical and hierarchical nature to the detriment of
the pactional element, which was thereby weakened. It is important, therefore, to
ascertain when and how this redefinition took place, seeing that—for the afore-
mentioned reasons—it was destined to become so widespread.
To find any mention of a genuine oath of fidelitas imposed on subjects as such
we must wait until 1073, when pope Gregory VII wrote a letter concerning the
inhabitants of Imola, who in the immediately previous years had sworn fidelitas
68 The text of the oath has been published in Bertini, Memorie e documenti per servire all’istoria di
Lucca, IV, p. 241. On this text, see the analysis in Wickham, Community and clientele, pp. 98–104.
to the papacy.69 The archbishop of Ravenna Guiberto now expected these people
to swear sacramenta fidelitatis to himself, to the detriment of the honor of St Peter.
While this particular oath was mentioned because of the conflict it had led to, the
fidelitas required of the inhabitants of Imola can hardly have been an isolated
occurrence: it seems most likely that, in the same period, the newly appointed
archbishop of Ravenna demanded a similar oath from the inhabitants of the many
(rural and urban) centres he either controlled or—as in the case with Imola—lay
claim to, based on imperial charters and other privileges.70 It is interesting to note
how just before the imposition of these oaths of fidelity on subjects, pope Gregory
himself had redefined his superior standing vis-à-vis the prelate of Ravenna
through the typical language of fidelitas, as we have seen in the previous section.71
Indeed, it may be supposed that this redefinition served as a more or less direct
way to redefine even the relationship between the archbishop and his subjects. At
any rate, it is plausible to assume that this was merely a coincidence, due to the
increasing attractiveness of the fidelitas model as a means to define and formalize
vertical political and social relations.
From that moment onwards, indirect references and explicit testimonies to
‘territorial’ fidelitates became more and more numerous.72 By 1080 or thereabouts
the inhabitants of the castle of Gerano, in Latium, were already required to swear
fidelity to the lords who jointly ruled the area, namely the abbot of Subiaco and
the bishop of Tivoli.73 In the letters of privilege which the bishop of Fermo issued
to the major communities under his authority between the late eleventh and early
twelfth century, it is clearly stated that local residents were required to take an
oath of fidelity acknowledging his territorial rights.74 As early as the first decades
of the twelfth century, even in the rural settlements under the direct control of the
abbey of Farfa the whole populus was required to swear fidelity to the abbot, so
69 Register Gregors VII., I, n. 10 (a. 1073), pp. 16–17. See Cantarella, ‘Imola tra il papato e l’impero’.
70 Pallotti, Pubblici poteri, pp. 90–5. 71 Liber Censuum, I, n. 148 (a. 1073), p. 417.
72 Some examples from southern Umbria and Latium are mentioned in Carocci, ‘Feudo, vassal-
laggi’, pp. 51–2; for western Liguria we have the oath of fidelitas sworn to the men of Ceriana to the
bishop of Genoa and the clerics of San Lorenzo, the joint rulers of the area, around 1124, as
mentioned in Liber privilegiorum ecclesia ianuensis, n. 10 (a. 1124 c.), pp. 25–6; at Ostiglia (halfway
between Verona and Ferrara), already by the first decades of the twelfth century (and certainly
from the 1110s onwards), vicini were required to swear fidelitas to the local lord, the abbot of San
Zeno: see ‘Appendice’, to Castagnetti, Il processo per Ostiglia, n. 1 (ante a. 1151), pp. 317–69; among
other testimonies, see that by Giraldo Gastaldo, pp. 321–2: ‘Ego recordor quod quando abbas Silvester
intravit, venit Ostiliam et sonantibus campanis suscepimus eum et omnes nos vicini Ostilie fecimus
ei fidelitatem’.
73 Il regesto sublacense, n. 48 (aa. 1073–85 c.), p. 88: ‘homines eiusdem castri tam episcopo quam et
abbati fidelitatem iuraret’.
74 Liber iurium, n. 35 (a. 1115), pp. 65–8 (Montolmo); n. 15 (a. 1116), pp. 18–22 (Poggio San
Giuliano); n. 108 (a. 1128), pp. 231–3 (Montesanto); however, already before 1086 similar letters
of privilege had been issued to the two major centres of Civitanova and Agello: see n. 43 (a. 1086),
pp. 78–80. The surviving documents are explicitly modelled after the earlier letter of privilege issued
to Civitanova; therefore, it is likely (albeit not certain) that the two lost texts already contained a refer-
ence to fidelitas.
much so that when abbot Guido stepped down from office, around 1120, he
released all subjects de fidelitate vel sacramento they had sworn to him.75
Regrettably, judging from our present knowledge, there are no records of genu-
ine oaths of fidelitas sworn by subject to territorial lords before 1100, but only
mentions of such oaths in sources of a different nature. However, the ‘technical’
meaning and relevance of the term fidelitas in the political language of this age
suggests that the oaths in question at least partly differed from those previously
mentioned, and that the sworn commitments previously outlined were combined
with a promise of ‘fidelity’ to the person of the lord, as was to become standard by
1200. Besides, this impression is fully confirmed by one of the earliest collective
fidelitates, that sworn by the men of the castle of Vivaio to the archbishop of Pisa
in the years 1114-1115. The oath has been preserved in an original document,
which allows us to rule out any later interpolations.76 In terms of most of its con-
tent, this text does not significantly differ from those previously mentioned. The
castellani et habitatores committed themselves to defending the lord’s ownership
of the castle and to safeguarding his rights. Yet an element of novelty and discon-
tinuity is introduced in the first part of the oath: the inhabitants swore fidelitatem
to the prelate and committed themselves, in facto vel consilio, to ensuring that he
would not lose vitam vel membra (life or limbs), or be made prisoner. This section
of the text is unequivocally phrased in the same way as traditional aristocratic
oaths of fidelity, after which it would appear to have been modelled.
The oath of fidelity, therefore, did not replace the old promissory oaths but was
rather integrated with them, so as to enrich them and further define (and hence
make more binding) the relationship they established or confirmed. Moreover,
through this process of enrichment at least some of the rituals and gestures
developed for aristocratic oaths of fidelity were incorporated into collective
oath-taking ceremonies. This is the case with genuflection and the immixio manum,
or kissing of the hand, whereas those elements (such as the kissing of the mouth)
which suggested an equal status—and hence were unsuited to expressing the sub-
ordination of mere villains to a lord—were obviously eliminated.77 Be that as it
may, the process was a long and gradual one. As late as the 1120s, which is to say
half a century after the fidelitates that the archbishop of Ravenna required of his
75 Il Regesto di Farfa, IV, n. 1324 (aa. 1119–25 c.), p. 324: ‘Predictus Guido omni conventui nostro
abbatiam refutavit et virgam reddidit, omnesque nostros equites et populum abbatiae de fidelitate
vel sacramento sibi edito absolvit’. As the rest of the document in question suggests, the expression
populus abbatiae is clearly used to refer to the people living within the castra directly under the
abbey’s control.
76 Carte dell’archivio arcivescovile di Pisa, II, n. 28 (a. 1114–5), pp. 53–4.
77 Archivio di Stato di Ascoli Piceno, Archivio segreto anzianale, Q, I, 1 (a. 1279), testimony from
Paolo di Cengio: ‘nobiliores, facto sacramento fidelitatis, abbas dicti monasterii recipiebat eos ad
osculum, alii prestato sacramento osculabant eius manus’. Much the same ritual was performed by the
low-ranking subjects of the prior of Chiaravalle di Fiastra: ‘nunc mitto manus meas infra vestras
manus, vestras osculando [. . .] et tacto libro iuro per sancta dei evangelia predicta facere’; see Le carte
di Chiaravalle, VI, n. 121 (a. 1242), p. 222.
subjects, in the series of collective oaths taken by members of communities

under the political authority of the bishop of Lucca we find no trace of the
language of fidelity. Even a great lord of the period, who was perfectly familiar
with the bonds of fidelity and made wise use of them to manage his aristocratic
clientele, might not feel the need to redefine the traditional forms of oath-taking
for his ‘territorial’ subjects.78 Nonetheless, the road had been paved for the
increasing spread of the discourse of fidelitas. Over the following decades, the
complete crystallization of the model of seigniorial power was to lead to its
generalization. One section from the oldest part of the Libri feudorum, dating
from around 1140, clearly shows that in the Po Valley, in the period in question,
alongside the fidelitas associated with the holding of feudal estates a new kind
of fidelitas connected to territorial iurisdictio became established.79 As the sei-
gneurie lost its precarious nature and developed into a permanent institution,
fidelity—with the verticality it implied—gradually replaced the pactional dimension
even in oaths defining relations between subjects and lords. Besides, it is pre-
cisely in the years just after 1130 that we find the first oaths of territorial fidelity
sworn by the members of rural communities directly under the control of urban
communes. This clearly shows how the language of fidelitas had been extended
to relations of power in the countryside. Thus in 1144 the men of Montaldo, a
castle in the Appennines governed by Genoa (jointly with Tortona), swore that
they would be ‘fidelis comuni Ianue ut bonus vassallus suo domino et non ero
in consilio neque in facto neque in asensu ut comune Ianue perdat medietatem
Montis Altis’.80
Having ascertained the growing importance of this particular political lan-
guage within the framework of local territorial power, along with the reasons for
its success, we must now turn to consider its possible sources. In this respect, two
possible paths of enquiry are open to us: the first takes oaths of fidelity sworn to a
lord by military retainers as its starting point; the second, oaths sworn to a sover-
eign by his subjects. The first path is no doubt the more obvious one, and has
traditionally been the focus of the historiography. So let us set out from milites,
who (for various reasons) were granted benefices from a lord; as we have previ-
ously seen, they were bound to their local dominus by oaths of fidelity. The lord,
therefore, would expect an oath of fidelitas from the upper social echelons of
each village.
78 On the bishop of Lucca’s use of bonds of fidelity in relation to his aristocratic clientele, see
Savigni, ‘Rapporti vassallatico-beneficiari’.
79 Lehmann, Consuetudines Feudorum, VIII, 11: ‘Qualiter autem jurare debeat videamus: ‘Iuro ego
ad haec sancta evangelia quod a modo in antea ero fidelis huic, sicut debet esse vasallus domino, nec
id, quod mihi sub nomine fidelitatis commiserit, alii pandam me sciente ad ejus detrimentum’. Si vero
[. . .] fidelitatem jurat, non quia feudum habeat sed quia de iurisdictione ejus sit cui iurat, nominatim
vitam, mentem, membrum et illius rectum honorem iurabit’. On the textual stratification of the Libri
feudorum, see Di Renzo Villata, ‘La formazione dei Libri feudorum’.
Nevertheless, it is worth recalling that in northern Italy, in the first decades of

the twelfth century, even famuli (which is to say those retainers most closely
bound to their lords) would swear personal fidelity to their lords using formulas
that by and large were akin to those employed by vassals, at any rate judging from
the Libri feudorum.81 The idea of extending this kind of hierarchical relation to an
entire community—albeit no longer on the basis of the concession of property
and/or of a person bond, but rather simply based on the criterion of residence—
ought not to have struck the dominus loci as something implausible, at any rate
once seigniorial power had become entrenched in society. It was only a matter of
integrating the already widespread ‘territorial’ and collective promissory oaths
with the elements typical of personal fidelitas in order to further reinforce and
hierarchically define the lord’s relationship with local society as a whole.
Although this hypothesis may be enough to quite effectively explain the intro-
duction of the discourse of fidelity in sworn promissory oaths, in my view it is
important not to underestimate the other possible source, namely the traditional
oaths of fidelity sworn to a king by his subjects, even though this element has
generally been ignored by scholars investigating the topic.82 The earliest data
pertaining to these practices come from the early Carolingian age. As is widely
known, Charlemagne required all subjects in his empire to swear an oath of
fidelity to the person of the sovereign on repeated occasions. Despite current
scepticism concerning the degree to which this measure was actually applied, one
significant element is the fact that precisely in Italy we find an extensive list of
oath-takers from a small rural community.83 Obviously, this means that even
though the oath may not have been taken by all (adult male) inhabitants of the
empire, at least one effort was made to apply the decree.
As regards the subsequent period, we do not know whether—at least from time
to time—similar oaths were required and sworn on a wide scale, or whether they
were taken only occasionally and mostly by leading political actors. The first
hypothesis should not be ruled out a priori; we need only consider the fact that in
England, the most ‘Carolingian’ European kingdom of its day, such practices were
still being systematically applied in the very first decades after the Norman con-
quest, as is evident from some occasional references in the chronicles of the
81 Lehmann, Consuetudines Feudorum, VIII, 11, on famuli. Oaths of personal fidelity sworn by
low-ranking retainers are widely attested for the subsequent period, from the mid-twelfth century
onwards: see for instance, with reference to Umbria and the Marche, Fiore, Signori e sudditi, pp. 269–83.
See also the oaths made by the household servi of Santa Fiora, in Tuscany; Documenti per la storia
della città di Arezzo, I, n. 293, (a. 1100 c.), pp. 400–2: ‘Ex quo natus est Viventius, qui iuravit abbati
Rodulfo sicut servus domino’ (p. 401).
82 See e.g. Menant, Campagnes lombardes, pp. 503–7.
83 On these matters see, in general, Becher, Eid und Herrschaft, pp. 78–89. The Italian list, drafted
in the early decades of the ninth century and recording the names of no less than 174 oath-takers, has
been published in Capitularia Regum Francorum, I, n. 181 (early ninth century), pp. 377–8; the text is
discussed in McKitterick, Charlemagne, p. 269.
period and in the Domesday Book.84 As regards Italy, one first piece of evidence is
provided by an oath sworn to the papacy by the inhabitants of Imola in the late
1060s, on the occasion of the city’s annexation to the papal lands.85 Indeed, it is
likely that an oath of this sort did not concern Imola alone, but at least part of the
centres under the pope. Even the German kings, during their expeditions in
Italy, would receive collective oaths of fidelity on the subjects’ part; the narrative
sources sometimes explicitly refer to practices of this kind, at any rate in relation
to cities. For example, Ekkehard states that when Henry V visited Piacenza in 1110,
he received ‘munera copiosa et magnam fidelitatem a civibus’.86 In this respect, it
seems quite plausible to suppose that oaths of fidelity were taken by subjects in
many (if not all) of the centres visited by sovereigns during their travels, particu-
larly considering the systematic use of the terms fideles or fidelitas in charters
from the second half of the eleventh century, including ones issued to urban or
rural communities:87 Such practices must have provided a significant source of
inspiration for lords: just as the latter had appropriated the traditional preroga-
tives of royal power, enriching and restructuring them, they could look to oaths
of fidelity to the sovereign in order to remodel the forms of submission imposed
on their own subordinates.
These two possible sources for ‘territorial’ oaths of fidelity to a lord ought not
be seen as mutually exclusive. In my view, both provided significant elements
which, once reinterpreted and combined with the kind of promissory oaths taken
by subjects, probably gave rise to collective fidelitates. It was in any case at the
turn of the 1100 that, in parallel to the generalization of the seigniorial model and
its crystallization, a process of redefinition of subjects’ promissory oaths emerged
that affected the very way in which the relationship between a dominus and his
subjects was interpreted and represented at the symbolical and ceremonial level.
Fidelitas helped strengthen the personal bond between a lord and those under his
rule, but also to emphasize its vertical dimension to the detriment of the pac-
tional one, which was very widespread yet structurally more fragile and, by its
very nature, more likely to be challenged by subjects. The pactional dimension of
power, which represents one of the key elements for legitimation in the period
under consideration, will be the focus of the next chapter.
84 Werckmeister, ‘The political Ideology’. 85 Register Gregors VII., I.10 (a. 1073), pp. 16–7.
86 Ekkeard, Chronicon, p. 244.
87 See e.g. the grant issued to the inhabitants of Lazise, in Diplomata Henrici IV., n. 287 (a. 1077),
pp. 374–6.
8
Pacts
The Foundations of a New Legitimacy
The crisis of the model of legitimation founded upon royal authority paved the
way—as we have seen—to a phase of profound redefinition of the very system
of political communication and of the legitimation strategies adopted by local
authorities. Within a context marked, on the one hand, by the transformation of
the concrete administration of power and, on the other, by considerable military
competition, investing in relations with other political actors and with local com-
munities became a priority for any process of consolidation and legitimation of
royal power (but also other forms of power). Political balances, on various levels
(local, sub-regional, regional, etc.), were characterized by a high degree of fluidity
and were largely based on concrete power relations that were open to constant
redefinition. This inevitably made them fragile and exposed to constant threats,
both from within and from without. For a dominus loci, to act in a context of this
sort meant operating on two distinct yet equally crucial levels: on a horizontal
level, he needed to define his relations with any peers operating in the same area
and to mark out each actor’s field of action, but also—and most importantly—he
needed to establish himself as a worthy counterpart; on a vertical level—yet pro-
ceeding from the top-down, hence in an opposite direction compared to the old
channelling of legitimacy from the royal authorities—a lord needed to define his
relations to his subjects and, more concretely, to the individual local communities
within his domain, in such a way as to earn their support and establish himself as
the dominus loci. Within the context of this twofold effort by lords to strengthen
and entrench their hegemony over local societies—an effort directed both within
and without the territory to which they lay claim—the language of pacts played a
crucial role, for reasons that are all too obvious. First of all, the crisis of royal
power (and, in Latium, of pontifical power) made it impossible to rely on the
legitimacy stemming from an acknowledged political authority. Second, as noted
in the previous chapter, the language of fidelity, by virtue of the idea of hierarchy
it implied, could be used to define and map out only some of the many relations
between the various independent political actors operating in the same territory.
At the same time, the power exercised over local communities was often too
recent and fluid to be based exclusively on territorial fidelitas, which—as we
have just seen—was only fully developed and formalized around the year 1100.
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198825746.001.0001
Pacts: The Foundations of a New Legitimacy 179
Therefore, it was necessary to set the complex web of relations, duties and
demands that connected each dominus loci to his equals, but also to the local
communities subject to him, within a discourse capable of assigning it meaning
and of bestowing legitimacy upon the prerogatives the lord lay claim to, as well as
upon the concrete displays of power by the parties involved. This discourse was
the language of pacts.
Two small examples may help provide a rough outline of these horizontal and
vertical agreements, and of the language in which they were couched. The first
example concerns an agreement struck between two lords, the abbot of Subiaco
and the bishop of Tivoli, over their shared management of the castle of Gerano, in
the Tivoli area.1 Through the mediation of pope Gregory VII, the two sides drew
up a series of detailed pacts concerning their control and management of the
castrum, which was owned in equal portions by the abbot and the bishop. Any
violation of fidem entailed the paying of a substantial fine, half to the Pope, as the
mediator in the agreement, and half to the other contracting party.
The second example is instead more ‘vertical’ in nature. At Marzana, near
Verona, an agreement was struck in 1120—and recorded in the form of a specific
document (pactum)—between the canons of Verona, the lords of the village, and
the local vicini (the inhabitants of Marzana).2 The former committed themselves
to building first some walls and then a tower at their own expense, while the latter
specified the future modes of administration of justice and the main levies
imposed on their community (both of which they evidently sought to limit com-
pared to the previous period). Moreover, the two parts reached an agreement
concerning the possible influx of famuli into the village. In the event of a violation
of the contract, the guilty party would pay no less than 50 lire to the other.
Following an established practice, two identical copies of the breve were made,
one for each party: something that further stressed the reciprocal and synallag-
matic nature of the transaction. In this regard, however, it is worth noting that in
certain cases the obligations agreed to by each contracting party were recorded
as separate documents and that each of the two parties was given the document
recording the promise made by the other; in some cases, both parties would
receive a copy of either document.3
As these examples clearly illustrate, the language of pacts, with its distinctive
flexibility, was probably the best means within this complex context to redefine
1 Il regesto sublacense, n. 48 (a. 1073–85 c.), p. 88.

3 See, for example, the agreements between the abbot of Farfa and the Stablamonenses, in Il Regesto
di Farfa, V, nn. 1179–80 (a. 1113), p. 179. For obvious reasons, it is quite unlikely for both documents
to be available: we are more likely to have only the promise made to the ecclesiastical institution by the
other party in the agreement, via the institution’s archives. One example is Il Regesto di Farfa, V,
no. 1277 (not dated but a. 1100 c.), p. 251; another is Liber iurium, n. 206 (a. 1128), pp. 385–6.
the mutual relations between the many actors operating in a local context. Pacts
established a framework of reciprocity capable of assigning social meaning to a
wide range of power practices that might otherwise have seemed unconnected
and arbitrary, in such a way as to create a system of mutual legitimation ‘from
below’ between the various parts. In the following pages I will be discussing in
detail the use of this language and the documents connected to it, by focusing
first on the relations between lords and then on those between lords and
their subjects.4
8.1 Pacts between lords
The aspect I will be examining in the next pages is relationships among equals
in the seigneurial world. I wish to consider to what extent the language of pacts
constituted an actual novelty introduced in the decades around 1100, at any
rate in the specific context of the aristocracy. This is hardly an unexplored
topic. In fact, we can benefit here from certain regional analyses conducted in
recent years, which have chiefly focused on central Italy, and especially
Tuscany. As regards this region, the more or less marked dearth of written
sources on strictly feudal relations, by contrast to northern Italy, has led
scholars to focus on sources recording pacts, in an attempt to understand the
nature of the web of relations within the varied aristocratic world and its
concrete functioning.5
4 On these problems see also Fiore, ‘Refiguring local power’.

5 Brancoli Busdraghi, ‘Patti di assistenza giudiziaria’; Spicciani, ‘Concessioni livellarie’; Cortese,
Signori, castelli, pp. 113–52. In our period, a very partial list about central Italy comprehends: Il regesto
sublacense, n. 48 (a. 1073–85 c.), p. 88; Il Regesto di Farfa, IV, n. 810 (a. 1080 c.), p. 213; V, n. 1012
(a. 1073), pp. 15–16; n. 1067 (a. 1082), pp. 63–4; n. 1078 (a. 1083), pp. 73–4; n. 1248 (a. 1096), p. 230;
n. 1277 (not dated but a. 1100 c.), p. 251; n. 1313 (a. 1104), p. 299; n. 1178 (a. 1109), pp. 178–9; Liber
iurium, n. 43 (a. 1086), pp. 78–80; n. 274 (a. 1108), pp. 502–4; n. 65 (a. 1108), pp. 136–40; n. 284
(a. 1117), pp. 517–18; n. 206 (a. 1128), pp. 385–6; n. 80 (a. 1130), pp. 172–4; Le carte di Sassovivo, I, n.
28 (a. 1084), pp. 44–6; n. 29 (a. 1084), pp. 46–50; n. 56 (a. 1086), pp. 88–9; n. 139 (a. 1101), pp. 210–11; II,
n. 117 (a. 1143), pp. 142–3; Carte di Chiaravalle di Fiastra, I, n. 13 (a. 1098), pp. 37–40; Codice diplo-
matico di Gubbio, n. 67 (a. 1097), pp. 212–13; n. 1076 (a. 1083), pp. 71–2; Le carte di Santa Maria, I,
n. 74 (a. 1120), pp. 132–3; I regesti di S. Vittore n. 88–89 (a. 1105), pp. 46–7; Le carte di San Pietro, n. 15
(a. 1130), pp. 68–71; Le carte dell’archivio arcivescovile di Pisa, II, n. 3 (a. 1104), pp. 6–7; Documenti per
la storia di Arezzo, I, n. 324 (a. 1128), p. 443; ‘Appendice’ to, Annales camaldulenses, III, n. 68 (a. 1090,
but a. 1092), col. 99; Archivio di Stato di Firenze, Diplomatico, Coltibuono, S. Lorenzo, n. 290 (a. 1115);
n. 547 (end eleventh century); Archivio di Stato di Firenze, Diplomatico, Santa Trinita (pergamene
della badia di S. Fedele di Poppi già a Strumi, acquisto), 1108 February. In northern Italy such texts are
(for reasons that I will discuss below, at the end of this paragraph) later and less numerous; we can
remember: Le carte di S. Ambrogio di Milano, III/1, n. 7 (a. 1105); a document from Piedmont edited
in Un’antica cronaca, pp. 83–4 (a. 1114); Le carte del capitolo di Verona, I, n. 46 (a. 1120), pp. 93–5; Le
pergamene del secolo XII della Chiesa Maggiore di Milano, n. 6 (a. 1120); Documenti cremonesi, II,
n. 247 (a. 1102), pp. 62–3; Libro verde, n. 110 (a. 1117), pp. 247–9; Le carte della Mensa Vescovile di
Lodi, n. 39 (a. 1126); Le carte del monastero di S. Sepolcro di Astino, II, n. 13 (a. 1120); n. 32 (a. 1123);
‘Appendice’ to, Ansani, ‘Appunti sui brevia’, n. 2 (a. 1127), pp. 151–2.
As far as Tuscany is concerned, researchers have ascertained that the first

ritten pacts regarding mutual judicial and military aid—de placito et besonnio—
w
between lords had already started circulating by the mid-eleventh century. These
acts reveal the mounting uncertainty of the political context, the increasing mili-
tarization of conflicts, as well as a growing awareness within the aristocratic world
of how crucial and strategic relations with vicini and equals had become to pre-
serve (or increase) local power.6 While the central authorities, particularly in an
area such as Tuscany, where the structures of margravial power remained very
solid up until 1080 at least, preserved a considerable capacity to act, local contexts
were becoming more and more central to the definition of power balances:
these texts clearly reveal the need to establish increasingly formalized and cogent
networks and ties of solidarity, as also witnessed by a parallel increase in the
sources of references to relations based on vassalage and personal fealty.7 It
seems as though to some extent the increased weakness of the relation with the
central authorities was balanced by a greater investment in relations with
equals. The moment in which margravial power started tottering, in 1070, the
number of these documents increased significantly. They became even more
common after 1080 and remained very frequent throughout the first half of the
twelfth century.8
In Umbria and the Marche the boom in written pacts between noblemen and
lords operating in the countryside can clearly be dated to the mid-1070s, which is
to say to roughly the same period as in the march of Tuscany. Within this context,
the social function exercised by documents de placito et besonnio in Tuscany
would appear to have been taken over by convenientiae, agreements recorded in a
brevis by which the two social actors (often high-ranking ones, at any rate in the
sources from this area) lay out their mutual relations, commitments, obligations,
and duties. These very flexible documents were ideally suited to recording com-
plex agreements that could vary significantly depending on the context:9 from the
recording of alliances to the division of assets, from the definition of boundaries
to the acknowledgement of certain prerogatives over things or individuals.10
Many convenientiae from this area deal with the powers of a lord over his subor-
dinates in an area under the political control of another lord—something which
6 Brancoli Busdraghi, ‘Patti di assistenza giudiziaria’.

7 On the case of the territory of Firenze, see Cortese, Signori, castelli, pp. 113–52.
8 Brancoli Busdraghi, ‘Patti di assistenza giudiziaria’.
9 On this, see Fiore, Sudditi e signori, pp. 148–51. On the origins of this documentary typology, see
Kosto, ‘The convenientia’.
10 Other examples from the Marche and Umbria: Liber iurium, n. 43 (a. 1086), pp. 78–80; n. 274
(a. 1108), pp. 502–4; n. 65 (a. 1108), pp. 136–40; n. 284 (a. 1117), pp. 517–18; n. 51 (a. 1146), pp. 103–5; Il
Regesto di Farfa, IV, n. 900 (a. 1059), p. 294 ; V, n. 1067 (1082), pp. 63–4 ; Le carte di Sassovivo, I, n. 29
(a. 1084), I, pp. 46–50; n. 28 (a. 1084), pp. 44–6; I, n. 56 (a. 1086), pp. 88–9; I, n. 139 (a. 1101), pp. 210–11;
II, n. 117 (a. 1143), pp. 142–3; n. 167 (a. 1153), p. 195; Carte di Chiaravalle di Fiastra, I, n. 13 (a. 1098),
pp. 37–40.
also reveals the close connection between the process of seigneurialization and
the increase in written pacts. One typical example is the 1075 text by which a
small group of aristocrats from the Piceno area, the Aldonenses, committed them-
selves not to launch any military attacks against the settlement of Civitanova,
controlled by the bishop of Fermo. In return, the latter committed himself to safe-
guarding the rights that the Aldonenses exercised per consuetudinem over the
local inhabitants.11
A largely similar agreement was struck between the Monaldi counts and the
chapterhouse of San Feliciano, concerning those individuals working for the
church who resided in the territory of Pisenti, in Umbria, which was governed by
the counts.12 Clearly, this problem must have been especially felt in a context in
which the entrenchment of territorial powers was starting to heavily influence
traditional forms of dependence and control based on land ownership. Another
two concerns that find prominent place in many of these texts are the relations
between lords jointly governing a rural centre and those between lords governing
adjacent areas: the agreement regulating the relations between the bishop of
Fermo and the lords controlling two-thirds of the castle of Servigliano falls within
the first category;13 the second category is instead illustrated by the pacts drawn
up in 1115 between the abbot of Farfa and the powerful Rapizoni family, by which
the two social actors laid out their fields of influence and struck military aid
agreements for the area to the south of Todi, in Umbria.14 Clearly, these situations
needed to be defined with greatest accuracy, to avoid the outbreak or flaring up
of conflicts, once again within the context of the spread of the dominatus loci in
the countryside.
In this respect, it is no coincidence that the use of these kinds of documents
rose sharply in the area precisely from the 1080 onwards, in parallel to the con-
flict between Matilda of Canossa and Henry IV. This conflict had a strong impact
on the region, which up until 1080 was at least formally subject to the authority of

12 Le carte di S. Croce di Sassovivo, I, n. 56 (a. 1086), pp. 88–9; the text edited in Le carte di S. Croce
di Sassovivo, II, n. 117 (a. 1143), p. 142, is about the curia of Uppello (the agreement is between lay
lords). Similar texts are Liber iurium, n. 242 (a. 1066), pp. 447–9; and Le carte dell’abbazia di
Chiaravalle di Fiastra, I, n. 13 (a. 1098), pp. 37–40 (territory of Camerino). An analogue text from
northern Italy is Le carte di S. Ambrogio di Milano, III/1, n. 7 (a. 1105), a pact between the abbot of
Sant’Ambrogio of Milan and the Visdomini of Como, about the land of the church located in Valtellina
(a territory ruled by the Visdomini).
13 Liber iurium, n. 65 (a. 1108), pp. 136–40, and n. 274 (a. 1108); the pact between the abbot of San
Vittore delle Chiuse and the count Buccus son of Siffredus, focused on the castle of Pietrafitta, in the
territory of Camerino (Marche), is edited in I regesti di S. Vittore nn. 88–89 (a. 1105), pp. 46–7;
another example, from Umbria, is Le carte di San Pietro, n. 15 (a. 1130), pp. 68–71 (about the castle of
Monte Vergnano).
14 Il Regesto di Farfa, V, n. 1182 (a. 1115), pp. 181–2. A text about an agreement between the bishop
of Fermo and some lords is edited in Liber iurium, n. 29 (a. 1108), pp. 51–3; see also the agreements
between the church of San Mariano of Gubbio and the Marchiones, in Codice diplomatico di Gubbio,
n. 67 (a. 1097), pp. 212–13.
Matilda as duchess of Spoleto.15 In other words, the material and ideological crisis
of central power led local actors to significantly invest in the relation with other
members of the aristocratic-seigneurial milieu. By this time, lords turned to the
other political actors operating on the local stage to legitimize their local suprem-
acy, which had become increasingly connected to the exercising of jurisdictional
powers. It is with these potential allies or enemies that lords needed to engage
and negotiate in order to reinforce their position, within an unstable and deeply
conflict-ridden context.
Compared to this situation, the documents pertaining to Latium display—
along with unquestionable similarities (not just from a structural standpoint, but
also in terms of chronology)—a significant peculiarity: as already noted in the
previous chapter, in this region we find a particularly close connection between
fidelitas and convenientiae. The latter often appear to be associated with bonds of
fidelity, whose practical implications they further defined—whether these con-
sisted in the joint management of a castle or in military obligations.16 However, in
this area we also find simple pacts between lords, which are clearly ‘horizontal’ in
nature and do not resort to the language of fidelity: for example, the aforemen-
tioned agreement between the bishop of Tivoli and the abbot of Subiaco concerning
the castle of Gerano.17 As this document shows, while up until 1080 central power
(in this case the pontiff) was capable of acting as an intermediary and guarantor
in the agreements between local social actors, in later years—at least up to 1130—it
lost this role, clearing the field for independent political games between local
centres of power.
Over the last two years, the research has focused on central Italy: the North has
largely been overlooked as far as this specific aspect is concerned. Certainly, this
does not mean that there are no sources of such kind from the Po Valley: on the
contrary, they are quite plentiful, although they are somewhat fewer compared to
those from central Italy.18 Another significant element is that in northern Italy
agreements between aristocrats only become more numerous from the mid-1110s
onwards, whereas in the previous period they occur far more sporadically.19 One
15 Fiore, Signori e sudditi, p. 48.

16 On this, see Feller, ‘Elements de la problematique’; see Il Regesto di Farfa, IV, n. 810 (a. 1080 c.),
p. 213; V, n. 1012 (a. 1073), pp. 15–16; n. 1248 (a. 1096), p. 230; n. 1313 (a. 1104), p. 299; n. 1178
(a. 1109), pp. 178–9.
17 Il regesto sublacense, n. 48 (a. 1073–85 c.), p. 88 (the agreement was brokered by Gregor VII).
18 In addition to the documents mentioned in the next notes, see Le pergamene del secolo XII della
Chiesa Maggiore di Milano, n. 6 (a. 1120); Documenti cremonesi, II, n. 247 (a. 1102), pp. 62–3.
19 Some agreements between lords since 1110s: the document from Piedmont published in
Un’antica cronaca, pp. 83–4 (a. 1114), an concerning an agreement between a seigneurial family and
the abbot of Fruttuaria; Libro verde, n. 110 (a. 1117), pp. 247–9 (agreement between the bishop of Asti
and the lords of Govone about the seigneurial rights over Priocca and Monticello); Le carte del capi-
tolo di Verona, I, n. 46 (a. 1120), pp. 93–5 (agreement between two lay lords and the chapter of Verona
about the rights of justice over the men of Bionde); Le carte della Mensa Vescovile di Lodi, n. 39
(a. 1126), a breve conventionis et concordiae between the bishop of Lodi and two lesser lords about
the rights over the castle of Castiglione. See also Le carte del monastero di S. Sepolcro di Astino, II, n. 13
of the earliest texts of this sort is the agreement struck between the Visdomini of
Como and the monks of the Milanese monastery of Sant’Ambrogio in 1105.20
Compared to central Italy, where agreements of this sort are already very frequent
in the last two decades of the eleventh century, we note a more gradual tendency
to record pacts between lords in writing.21 This evident delay cannot be attributed
to a slower development of the dominatus loci, which—as we have seen in the case
of central Italy—was closely connected to the proliferation of the language of
pacts as a means to define relations within the aristocratic world. Indeed, in the
Po area the evidence for agreements between domini and local communities is
earlier and more plentiful than that for agreements between lords. This is illus-
trated for instance by the pacts between the bishop of Pavia and the men of
Casorate in 1103, or those between the abbess of San Sisto and the inhabitants of
Guastalla in 1102.22
To explain the delay in question, therefore, we must consider the overall sys-
tem of political discourses in the North, which—as already noted in the previous
chapter—was marked by certain peculiarities. From this perspective, it is possible
that the greater spread of the language of fealty in the area, which was due to a
more consolidated and structural presence of feudal institutions, led to the use of
fidelitas to define even a fair number of horizontal relations, according to the
dynamics we have already discussed.23 This would have translated into a belated
development of the language of pacts and of the documentation associated with it
as regards relations between aristocrats. In central Italy, by contrast, the language
of pacts would have developed more easily also thanks to the more limited com-
petition from the language of fidelity, which here preserved its vertical and hier-
archical nature to a higher degree. Be that as it may, these are only hypotheses
that will have to be put to the test, if possible, through a more systematic investi-
gation of the available sources.
From a general perspective, it is important to stress the fact that, aside from the
undeniable regional differences, the central and north-Italian scenarios display a
significant degree of homogeneity. Written pacts make their appearance in largely
(a. 1120); n. 32 (a. 1123), two convenientiae between domini loci and milites/land-lords in two different
villages between Bergamo and Cremona, in Lombardy.
20 Le carte del monastero di S. Ambrogio di Milano, III, n. 7 (a. 1105).

21 See for example Il regesto sublacense, n. 48 (a. 1073–85 c.), p. 88 (agreement between the bishop
of Tivoli and the abbot of Subiaco about the common control of the castle of Gerano); Le carte di
S. Croce di Sassovivo, I, n. 56 (a. 1086), pp. 88–9 (Umbria); I regesti di S. Vittore nn. 88–9 (a. 1105),
pp. 46–7 (Marche).
22 Some examples of agreements between lords and local communities in the Po Valley, before
1100: Archivio Storico Diocesano di Pavia, Mensa vescovile, cart. 20, b. 74, edited in Le carte del
vescovo di Pavia, n. 15 (a. 1103), about Casorate; Le carte cremonesi, II, n. 248 (a. 1102), pp. 64–6
(Guastalla); Le carte del capitolo di Verona, I, n. 13 (a. 1107), pp. 28–9 (pact between the chapter of
Verona and the vicini of Castelrotto).
23 See section 7.1.
the same years: in particular, the spread of these kinds of documents appears to
be closely associated with the civil war crisis that broke out after 1080. Moreover,
these deeds all serve the same purpose, namely to define and lay out the relations
between influential actors on the local (and regional) political stage. They
undoubtedly served a practical function, and it is evident that many of the texts in
questions are specifically connected to problems that have to do with the func-
tioning of the dominatus loci, which by that stage had become widespread and
entrenched. It was a matter of settling issues such as the rights of a lord in an area
under the jurisdictional control of another dominus, of regulating the relation
between the joint rulers of an area, and of drawing the boundaries between
two centres of power. To these strictly practical and empirical reasons, we should
perhaps add a more important, if more general, one: mutual acknowledgement
between the actors involved. Striking an agreement with another party meant
acknowledging it as a legitimate political actor. Aside from the concrete object of
an agreement, therefore, what mattered was also (or perhaps especially) the very
fact of drawing up a pact with a counter-party.
The context of (largely) military conflict in which the language of pacts was
incubated is often explicitly revealed by our texts. Many of these agreements—
whatever their specific content—represent the outcome of a dispute. In other
words, they record the moment in which two sides reached an agreement, settling
their contrasts and redefining their mutual relations with respect to a particular
issue.24 Alternatively, these documents may include an explicit reference to a
third actor, against whom the pact is more or less explicitly directed, as in the case
of the agreement struck between the bishop of Fermo and an aristocratic family
in 1117, which is directed against the abbey of Farfa.25 In other cases still, the
context of conflict only constitutes the generic background to the agreement, be it
a completely new one or merely the recording of pre-existent agreements that the
actors involved felt the need to reaffirm and formalize in writing.
As regards the close links between the language of pacts and conflict, it is
important to emphasize that the former also emerges in a rather evident way in
what upon a superficial reading might seem like purely unilateral deeds, namely
waivers. These are documents produced at the end of a dispute, in which one of
the two parties forgoes the rights it had previously laid claim to over an asset,
such as a church or a castle, or simply a plot of land. Many of these texts specify
that the renunciants are to receive a sum of money (which might be large or
small) from the other party, or a more or less valuable object, such as a ring, a
sword, a cloak, or even a horse. Thus, count Rodilando, in relinquishing the mala
24 Like the (lost) pacts between the abbey of Farfa and the Gualcherii, after a period of bloody wars
between the two actors, remembered in the monastic querimonia edited in Il Regesto di Farfa, V,
n. 1213 (a. 1099–1119 c.), pp. 204–5 (on this specific conflict see section 10.3).
25 Liber iurium, n. 284 (a. 1117), pp. 517–18; see also n. 80 (a. 1130), pp. 172–4.
consuetudo he had been exercising over the church of Santa Maria di Minione was
given in meritum a sword by the abbot of Farfa.26 A ceremony of this kind was
intended precisely to establish a form of reciprocity even in these unbalanced
contexts, allowing the side that was thereby relinquishing its rights to ‘save face’.
The rights in question were symbolically balanced by the object (or money)
donated, thereby re-establishing the formal balance between the two sides. In
actual convenientiae this was unnecessary because, even in the most evident cases
of asymmetry, the transaction still occurred between social actors who acknow
ledged each other as equals. By contrast, in other cases a symbolic gift constituted
an essential formal corrective, which was required even in the case of an essen-
tially unilateral deed such as a waiver, within the framework of a pact-centred
discourse based on reciprocity between the two sides.27
The pactional culture underlying convenientiae and conventiones must there-
fore be regarded as the most typical expression of a headless society, which is to
say one lacking an operational centre of power acknowledged as such by all polit
ical actors. The incapacity of the monarchy to maintain a stable presence and
operate effectively made it necessary to resort to bilateral agreements. In central
and northern Italy, therefore, at least from the mid-twelfth century onwards, soci-
ety came to comprise a series of autonomous seigneurial centres revolving around
an array of larger centres of power (lay and religious principalities, proto-
communes), which were nonetheless incapable of bestowing a stable and fully
acknowledged order upon the territories they governed. Within this context, to
safeguard his own prerogatives, each dominus loci was forced to strike agreements
with the other forces operating in the area, or areas, where his lands were located.
The concrete exercising of power depended on each lord’s capacity to engage with
the other political and social actors, in such a way that they could define their
respective fields of competence and, most importantly, acknowledge one another
as members of the local political class. The language of pacts lent expression to
the lords’ drive towards horizontal modes of organization and ordering of the
political and social framework, which were crucial to avoid a situation of cease-
less conflict and instability.28 Besides, close parallels for this situation are to be
found in other European contexts, such as England during the phase of ‘anarchy’
during Stephen’s reign.29
26 Il Regesto di Farfa, V, n. 1078 (a. 1083), pp. 73–4; and also n. 1076 (a. 1083), pp. 71–2; see also the
texts edited in: Le carte della chiesa di Santa Maria, I, n. 74 (a. 1120), pp. 132–3; Le carte dell’archivio
arcivescovile di Pisa, II, n. 3 (a. 1104), pp. 6–7 (ring); ‘Appendice’ to, Ansani, ‘Appunti sui brevia’, n. 2
(a. 1127), pp. 151–2 (crosna, a mantle).
27 The issue is discussed in Faini, Firenze nell’età romanica, pp. 177–8.
28 On these processes in seigneurial world, see Barthélemy, L’ordre seigneurial; Provero, L’Italia dei
poteri locali, pp. 151–82.
29 Crouch, ‘A Norman “conventio” ’; and idemCE: Please replace this abbreviation with a consistent
short title., The Reign of King Stephen; see also Kosto, Making Agreements (on Catalonia).
In the face of a stall in traditional processes of legitimation, a strong investment

in relations with one’s peers constituted a key, yet not quite decisive, element.
When legitimacy ceased to be channelled down from the royal authorities to
political actors, the latter did not merely strive to make the most of (relatively)
horizontal relations, but also strongly relied on the relations with their subjects.
Legitimacy, therefore, was partly built from below, through the relations with
those who were concretely subjected to the power exercised by the lords at a local
level. We shall see how in the following section.
8.2 The idea of reciprocity in the relation

between subjects and lords
Analysing the overall picture that emerges from Italian letters of privilege, a few
years ago Francois Menant stressed the profoundly different nature of these docu
ments compared to coeval ones from France.30 The Italian documents only rarely
take the form of ‘spontaneous’ grants made by a lord to his subjects, featuring
more or less flowery praises of the dominus’ benevolence and generosity in the
arenga of the documents. Rather, they present themselves—more or less expli
citly, depending on the context—as genuine pacts between a lord and his subjects,
formulated in a far more succinct manner. Besides, in relation to Italy this has led
to a ‘weak’ historiographical use of the expression ‘charter of franchise’ to describe
any act regulating the mutual relations between subjects and lords, including
written pacts.31 The Italian counterpart to the French franchise, then, is often a
deed recording a pact between two parties that, at least in principle, find them-
selves on an equal footing. Besides, many of these texts are formally convenien-
tiae, brevia of a particular sort that record the mutual obligations between two
parties. As we have seen, such documents were used in dealings between territor
ial lords, or between the latter and other autonomous political actors, such as
urban communities. However, it is worth noting right from the start that the for-
mal parity between the two parties in texts pertaining to the pact between a domi-
nus and a community under his control only partially concealed an evident
asymmetry between the two sides: an asymmetry that reflected the actual power
relations between the lord and his subjects. Documents such as the previously
discussed one from Marzana or the well-known texts pertaining to Guastalla and
Biandrate show an evident degree of disparity between the dominus and his sub-
jects, with the former having a clearly superior status to the latter.32
30 Menant, ‘Pourquoi les chartes de franchise’.

31 This issue is discussed in Provero, Le parole dei sudditi, pp. 5–12, who uses ‘franchigia’ in the
weak meaning of ‘atti che sanciscono un accordo tra comunità e signore’ (p. 12).
32 I Biscioni, I/2, nn. 279–80 (a. 1093), pp. 120–2 (Biandrate); Le carte cremonesi cit., II, n. 248
(a. 1102), pp. 64–6 (Guastalla).
However, this element notwithstanding, it is undeniable that the language of

pacts is central to the countless ‘charters of franchise’ (in a broad sense) that con-
stitute the best source of information on the concrete power relations within the
context of territorial lordships at the turn of the 1100s. The services which the
subjects owe their domini fall within the framework of a marked reciprocity. They
constitute the counterpart to the services which the lord owes his subjects, start-
ing from military protection, but also the use of fortifications, of infrastructures
such as mills or warehouses, and of uncultivated land.33 Thus at Antignano, in
central Umbria, the agreement (convenientia) between count Monaldo and the
local homines required the latter, among other things, to furnish the counts with a
military contingent for forty days, while the former were required to ensure the
protection of their subjects against all enemies. In addition, the inhabitants of
Antignano were expected to pay their lords an annual census in kind; in return,
the counts gave the men access to uncultivated land (in this case, woods and
meadows) for the gathering of timber and hay.34
Before embarking on a more detailed discussion of the structural reasons
behind this centrality of the language of pacts, it is necessary to provide an
overview of these documentary sources, in order to understand their features,
formal structure, and chronology. First of all, it is possible to identify two main
types of texts, which sometimes overlap and are deeply shaped by the language
of pacts. The first group includes those documents that take the form of genuine
pacts (pacta, conventiones, convenientiae) drawn between lords and their sub-
jects. A typical example would be the (double) document from Biandrate,
which lays out the mutual obligations between the counts and their subjects
(milites and peasants).35
The second group instead comprises jurors’ statements concerning local cus-
toms, associated with the commitment of the local lord (who was either person-
ally present at the ceremony or represented by a delegate) to safeguard these
customs.36 Such documents, therefore, recorded oral norms generally regulating
the relations between domini loci and a local community, and which in most cases
reflected the same logic of reciprocity underlying written pacts in the strict sense
of the term. The subjects’ services were, at least symbolically, counterbalanced by
those of the lords. In some cases the consuetudo was explicitly traced back to a
pact (conventio, convenientia, pactum) struck between the two sides, as in the
aforementioned case of Antignano. In this text, drafted in the early twelfth
33 See for example Archivio Storico del Comune di Todi, Fondo Trinci, n. 1 (a. 1100 c.); Le carte del
capitolo di Verona, I, n. 13 (a. 1107), pp. 28–9; Le carte dell’archivio capitolare di S. Maria di Novara, II,
n. 366 (a. 1150), pp. 269–70 (written record of a decades-older pact).
34 Archivio Storico del Comune di Todi, Fondo Trinci, n. 1 (a. 1100 c.).
35 I Biscioni, I/2, nn. 279–80 (a. 1093), pp. 120–2.
36 On the sharp increase of pacts between lords and subject in this period, see Cammarosano,
‘Comunità rurali e signori’, connecting it with the redefinition of the fabric of local power; quite simi-
lar the analysis proposed by Menant, ‘Les chartes de franchise de l’Italie’.
century, the bonus usus governing the relations between the inhabitants of the
castle and their lords found its origin in the convenientia between the two parties
laid out at the time of count Monaldo, which is to say a few decades earlier.37
In the next chapter I will be exploring the relation between the culture of pacts
and the language of consuetudo in greater detail; suffice it to say here that this
connection was a close and widespread one.38 Naturally, ceremonies (and docu-
ments) of this kind often amounted to much more than the mere transcription of
a pre-existing usus; in certain cases it is quite clear that the appeal to tradition and
custom was only a way to ensure a redefinition of local balances; something that
from a concrete perspective—albeit not formally—brings these documents even
closer to genuine written pacts.39 These redefinitions frequently sprung from
more or less violent conflicts between lords and communities, echoes of which
are sometimes to be found in the texts.40
As already noted, what are far rarer are franchises in the strict sense of the
term, that is to say documents formulated as spontaneous concessions freely
made by a dominus loci to his subjects, and often featuring an elaborate arenga.41
While the first document of this kind (from Lunigiana) dates from as early as the
end of the 1040s, the other charters of franchise (merely a handful) date from
period between the end of the eleventh century and the beginning of the twelfth,
and are mostly concentrated in the southern Marche.42
It is important to note that pacts with communities and ceremonies revolving
around the public affirmation of local law were not an innovation introduced in
the last two decades of the eleventh century within the system of local political
communication in central and northern Italy. Rather, these were well-established
social and documentary practices, especially—yet not exclusively—in communi-
ties of freemen traditionally dependent upon the monarchy, and hence governed
by public officials, such as Tenda and Susa.43 The earliest written pacts between
communities and lords date from the first decades of the tenth century (Cerea,
Trentino) and texts of this sort are also sporadically attested throughout the first
37 Archivio Storico del Comune di Todi, Fondo Trinci, n. 1 (a. 1100 c.). The case of Dogliani (south-
ern Piedmont), several decades later but very similar, is discussed in Provero, ‘Le trasformazioni del
prelievo’.
38 On this issue, see Fiore, ‘Giurare la consuetudine’; I will discuss in detail the topic in the next
chapter of this book.
39 As in the case of Moriano, near Lucca, discussed in Fiore, ‘Bonus et malus usus’. On Moriano,
more in general, see Wickham, Community and Clientele, pp. 82–132.
40 A particularly striking example is Le carte del capitolo di Verona, I, n. 93 (a. 1139), pp. 173–9;
even in the case of Terracina, the grant of charters of franchise is in the frame of a long-term (and
harsh) conflict between lords and local community; I will discuss Terracina below, in section10.2.
41 As noted by Menant, ‘Pourquoi les chartes de franchise’.
42 Il regesto del codice Pelavicino, n. 488 (a. 1039), pp. 506–8; Liber iurium, n. 35 (a. 1115), pp. 65–8;
n. 15 (a. 1116), pp. 18–22; and the three lost charters of franchise for Civitanova (ante a. 1086), Agello
(ante a. 1086), and Offida (a. 1100 c.), on which, see Fiore, Signori e sudditi, pp. 250–3.
43 Fiore, ‘Bonus et malus usus’.
eight decades of the eleventh century.44 However, it is especially the sacramenta

pertaining to local customs that illustrate how it was only from the mid-eleventh
century that communities started recording in writing long-standing ceremonial
practices which had hitherto been confined to the sphere of orality and ritual
action. The charter issued by Henry IV to the Pisans, just like the Ligurian brevia
on mid-eleventh-century customs, show that the sacramenta pertaining to local
consuetudines were in all likelihood well-established practices in centres part of
the public fisc or directly ruled by central power. In particular, they were associ-
ated with the general placitum held between one and three times a year.45 On this
occasion, a panel of jurors (chiefly appointed from within the group of free allodi-
aries) would recite the norms and customs regulating their village society upon
request of a royal official and before the local assembly.46
Analysing the evidence for written pacts as a whole (also including sacra-
menta), we discover that in the first decades of the eleventh century documents
of this sort continue to be exceedingly rare. Two good examples from this
period come from Inzago, near Milan, and Montaldo, near Asti.47 However, the
recording of agreements in writing appears to have become more common
already from the mid-eleventh century. The aforementioned documents from
Sacco and Montecchio date from those years, as does a complex text such as
the agreement between the abbot of Nonantola and the populus of the local
village.48 The last of these documents, drafted in 1058, lays out the mutual obli-
gations between the two parties: the subjects acknowledged the seigneurial
power of the abbot, but the rights he lay claim to are clearly defined and limited.
Also dating from the same period is the Tenda document, a complex text that is
difficult to interpret. It attests to the counts of Ventimiglia’s acknowledgement
of local customs, which were no doubt recorded on the basis of oral depositions
by local jurors. This document, while being of a different nature, illustrates the
language of pacts that, in a more or less marked way, characterizes transcrip-
tions of local usus.49
44 The pact between the chapter of Verona and the liberi homines of Cerea was made in 923; the
text is edited in the ‘Appendice’, to Castagnetti, Fra i vassalli, n. 4 (a. 923), pp. 206–8. On the pact
between the men of Inzago and the abbot of Sant’Ambrogio of Milan, see Gli atti privati milanesi, I,
n. 75 (a. 1015), pp. 173–5; in 1039 the bishop of Luni granted a charter of franchise to his men of
Trebbiano, Il regesto del codice Pelavicino, n. 488 (a. 1039), pp. 506–8.
45 On this, see Fiore, ‘Giurare la consuetudine’.
46 I will discuss more closely these practices (and the relevant documents) below, in the next chap-
ter of this book.
47 Le più antiche carte dell’archivio capitolare di Asti, n. 162 (a. 1029), pp. 318–19.
48 Published in Muratori, Antiquitates Italicae, III, col. 241; the text is discussed in Cammarosano,
Le campagne nell’età comunale, pp. 34–6.
49 Daviso, ‘La carta di Tenda’. Just slightly later the agreement between the lords of Calusco
and the men of the same locality, edited in Le pergamene degli archivi di Bergamo, n. 37 (a. 1068),
pp. 68–9.
Texts of this kind were written records of ceremonial practices that had
become increasingly important in a phase in which growing competition
between political actors was accompanied by increasingly limited and sporadic
intervention by the royal authorities. Moreover, compared to the ceremonies
connected to relations between a lord and his vassals, and more generally to
relations within the aristocratic world, these ritual actions must have been
more frequent and recurrent, given the closer interaction between the two par-
ties involved. Local rituals helped strengthen and legitimize the exercising of
lordship within a context of competition; but they did so within a cultural and
ideological horizon where the obtaining of a royal charter still represented the
ultimate goal, as the only means to fully legitimize (property or, more rarely,
jurisdictional) rights exercised at a local level. In this case the period after 1080
witnessed a marked acceleration in processes already underway. Up until the
1070s written pacts and documents recording customs are rare to come by in
the countryside. By contrast, in the years immediately following they become
far more common.
A brief overview of some documents of this kind from the years 1080–1120—
some well-known, other less so, but all equally significant—may prove useful.
Between the last days of 1079 and the beginning of 1080 the bishop of Padua and
the men of the Saccisica area defined, through a complex range of transactions,
their mutual relations with respect to the use of uncultivated lands and the control
of thoroughfares.50 The well-known pact between the men of Bionde and the
bishop of Verona was struck in 1091.51 In 1093 the famous Biandrate document
was drafted, regulating the relations between the counts of Biandrate and the
milites of this centre. This document was followed, probably shortly afterwards,
by a similar one in which the count’s counterparts are the peasants of the village.52
Around 1100 a document was produced recording the bonus usus regulating
the relations between the counts of Foligno and the homines of Antignano, in
Umbria.53 In 1102 the well-known agreement between the abbess of San Sisto and
the men of Guastalla was drafted.54 Finally, the document recording the state-
ments by the jurors of Bientina with regard to the local rights of the archbishop of
Pisa dates from 1120.55 In addition to these texts we have at least twice as many
50 Codice Diplomatico Padovano, I, n. 261 (a. 1079); n. 261b (a. 1079); n. 261c (a. 1080); n. 262
(a. 1080), pp. 285–91.
51 Castagnetti, Le comunità rurali, pp. 23–32; the text is edited in the ‘Appendice’, n. 14 (a. 1091),
pp. 101–2.
52 I Biscioni, I/2, nn. 279–280 (a. 1093), pp. 120–2. On these two documents and their political
framework, see Andenna, ‘Formazione, strutture e processi’, pp. 154–8.
53 Archivio Storico del Comune di Todi, Fondo Trinci, n. 1 (a. 1100 c.); on this document see Fiore,
Signori e sudditi, pp. 248–50, with a partial edition of the text.
54 On this, Cammarosano, Le campagne nell’età comunale, pp. 36–7.
55 Le carte dell’archivio arcivescovile di Pisa. Fondo arcivescovile, 2, n. 56 (a. 1120), pp. 108–11.
more,56 along with many more or less direct mentions of agreements and pacts
between communities and lords, and records of local customs.57
The chronology for the process in the period 980–1120 is quite clear, then, and
can be summed up as follows: we have only a few, isolated texts up until the mid-
dle of the century (three or four cases); a relative increase starting around 1050
(half a dozen documents within thirty years); and a sharp rise after 1080 (over
twenty documents in the period running up to 1120).58 Therefore, even though
what we find is not the ex nihilo creation of ceremonies and written agreements,
but the redevelopment of pre-existing social and documentary practices, we are
still dealing with some crucial changes. What changed was the weight carried by
such practices vis-à-vis the legitimization of local power. Public rituals which
previously had probably only played an accessory, secondary role compared to
the conferral or acknowledgement of authority from the central authorities,
now acquired primary importance. Practices and documents which had hith-
erto been only of accessory value (despite their local importance) now became
absolutely crucial.
With regard to this specific problem, it might be useful to consider a document
produced in the Verona area in the early years of the thirteenth century. In this
brevis, drafted in 1107, some of the inhabitants of the village of Castelrotto, repre-
senting the community as a whole, publicly proclaimed a pre-existing pactum
that had been recorded several years before concerning some exemptions enjoyed
by one of the local hamlets, the one de Pino.59 This agreement, struck between
the vicini of Castelrotto and the canons of Verona, made the hamlet (casalis)
exempt from any publica functio (public right), because of an exchange of landed
property between the canons and the inhabitants of Castelrotto. As stated in the
56 Among these documents: the pact between the bishop of Tortona, in Piedmont, and the rural
community of Bagnolo, in Piedmont, edited in Le carte dell’archivio comunale di Voghera, n. 2 (a. 1090),
pp. 3–4; the charter of franchise granted by the bishop of Luni to the community of Monte Leone, in Il
regesto del codice Pelavicino, n. 267 (a. 1096), pp. 246–7; the agreements between Matilda of Canossa
and some Lombard communities, published in Die Urkunden und Briefe der Markgrafin Mathilde,
n. 109 (a. 1108), pp. 290–2; n. 132 (a. 1114), pp. 338–40; the pact between the abbey of San Sisto and
the men of Guastalla, in Le carte cremonesi, II, n. 248 (a. 1102), pp. 64–6; the agreements between the
bishop of Pavia and the men Casorate, made in 1103, renewed in 1118, and preserved in the Archivio
Storico Diocesano di Pavia, Mensa vescovile, cart. 20, b. 74 (published in Le carte del vescovo di Pavia,
nn. 15 and 20); the agreement between the abbot of Farfa and the men of the village of Stablamone, in
southern Umbria, in Il Regesto di Farfa, V, n. 1180 (a. 1113), p. 179; two franchises released by the
bishop of Fermo, published in Liber iurium, n. 35 (a. 1115), pp. 65–8 (Montolmo) e n. 15 (a. 1116),
pp. 18–22 (Poggio San Giuliano); the pact between the bishop of Asti and his subjects of Vico, in
southern Piedmont, Il Libro verde della chiesa di Asti, I, n. 23 (a. 1118), pp. 67–8. It should be noted
that in 1120s the number of these documents rise sharply even compared to the previous decade.
57 See, for example, the charter of franchise granted by the bishop of Fermo to the community of
Agello about 1086, and that granted by the abbot of Farfa to the men of Offida, both in southern
Marche: Fiore, Signori e sudditi, pp. 250–3.
58 Numbers are approximate because the charter of Tenda dates from between 1041 and 1080:
see Ripart, ‘Le comté de Tende’, pp. 146–7, who prefers a late date but does not give a compelling
argument.
document, this pact had been struck antiquitus, but it was now proclaimed and
recorded in writing by joint decision of the two parties involved. This text is a
significant one in at least three respects. First of all, it clearly reveals the synallag-
matic and reciprocal nature of the pactum: the spokesmen of the vicini explicitly
state that exemption was granted to the hamlet in exchange for a property trans-
action with the canons. The actions performed by the local actors were therefore
read out, envisaged and set within a context of exchange. Secondly, the document
points to the need to record in writing older, oral pacts, so as to confirm and
reinforce them. Another interesting element is the fact that the pact, which had
certainly been struck at least a few decades earlier (antiquitus), was clearly a ‘non-
seigneurial’ agreement. This is revealed by the mention of the publica functio,
which was recorded in a document within the context of the entrenchment of the
dominatus loci, and of the appropriation of traditionally public rights by the local
lords, in this case the canons. In other words, the document clearly illustrates the
new social relevance of pacts, as witnessed by the upsurge in such documentary
sources. Nor is this an exceptional case: a comparable one, for instance, concerns
the castle of Mosezzo, not far from Novara, in Piedmont.60
It is not enough, however, to merely acknowledge the presence and spread of
the language of pacts in central and northern Italy in the decades at the turn of
the year 1100. Rather, we should examine the underlying reasons why local actors
chose to resort to this particular discourse. After all, as the case of France sug-
gests, this was far from an inevitable choice. Furthermore, it is necessary to dis-
cuss its implications, on the level both of political culture and of local power
practices. To do so, we must first of all return to the general political context.
As we have seen, the crisis of royal (and, in Latium, pontifical) legitimation went
hand in hand with a profound redefinition of the ways in which power was
exercised at a local level, even in those contexts in which the dominatus loci
was already present.61 Given the de facto impossibility of finding any higher legit
imation in this new context, legitimation was sought by the parties involved at a
strictly local level. Lords needed their own subjects to acknowledge their power
as legitimate, if they were to reinforce it from an ideological as well as practical
standpoint. At the same time, from the point of view of the subjects this amounted
to an acknowledgement that their position vis-à-vis the dominus loci was not one
of utter and complete subordination. No matter how asymmetric the relation
between the two parties may have been, and how unbalanced the actual power
relations at a local level (although the situation varied significantly from case to
case), the subjects asserted themselves as a community bound to its lord not just
by obligations, but also by rights and prerogatives. Building consensus with
60 Le carte dell’archivio di S. Maria di Novara, II, n. 366 (a. 1150), pp. 269–70, a pact between the
men of Mosezzo and the chapter of Novara, lord of the locality.
61 I’ve discussed this issue above, in Chapter 3.
regard to the exercising of local power meant acknowledging that one’s subjects
played more than merely a subordinate role.
Only very few lords (such as the bishops of Luni and Fermo) exercised rights
over certain communities so long-established and traditional that they could
afford to issue genuinely ‘spontaneous’ charters of franchise. Moreover, it must
be stressed that even in texts of this kind the language of pacts is far from
absent, as is clearly illustrated by the franchises issued by the prelate of Fermo,
where the concessions granted are to some extent counterbalanced by a series
of obligations imposed on the subjects, thereby giving rise to a rather explicit
discourse of reciprocity akin to the one present in actual written pacts.62 On the
other hand, while the well-known document from Guastalla presents certain
features typical of franchises—including the praises of the lords—is formally
presented as a pactum et convencionem between the abbess of San Sisto and the
local homines. Ultimately, though, it is the abbess who grants, gives and bestows
something, while the counterpart offered by the subjects is only implied by the
text.63 A document of this sort clearly reveals the pressure exerted by the gen-
eral context, dominated by bilateral agreements, which at least formally imbued
with the language of pacts a deed which, from a structural perspective, was a
unilateral concession.
These rather rare exceptions aside, most other lords, whose local power was far
more recent and ideological weak, tended to define their relationship with their
subjects in an openly pactional manner, through pacta, convenciones or convenie-
tiae. Still, it is important to note that during our period, among those centres in
which relations between the domini and local communities were (also) based on
written pacts, more demographically significant communities (such as Biandrate,
Antignano, and Marzana) are far better represented in the sources compared to
minor centres (such as Casorate and Monte Leone)—although these are still vis
ible in the documentary record. In other words, large castra are far more numer-
ous in the sources than smaller ones, which in reality were far more numerous
than the former.
One might assume that the use of the language of pacts in relation to local
power was mostly a defining feature of larger centres, whose capacities (including
military capacities) must have given the local community greater contractual power,
making it capable of actually striking an agreement with its lord. However, hints
in the later documentary evidence quite clearly suggest that pact-centred prac-
tices and rituals could also take place in minor centres, without being recorded
in writing, precisely on account of the fact that they were less important. This
was the case, for instance, at Diano and Guarene, two villages controlled by the
62 Liber iurium, n. 35 (a. 1115), pp. 65–8 (Montolmo) and n. 15 (a. 1116), pp. 18–22 (Poggio San
Giuliano).
bishop of Alba.64 Besides, even the aforementioned cases of Mosezzo and

Marzana show a gap of several decades between the actual drawing of a pact
between the lords and their subjects and its recording in writing. This is a sig-
nificant element, which suggests that the language of pacts was widely, albeit
not universally, employed to define the relation between lords and their sub-
jects, but that the practice of recording such agreements in writing was chiefly
reserved for more substantial communities, or for cases in which specific local
contingencies made it important to have a written document. This helps explain
the altogether hazy content of these texts, except when it comes to what must
have been regarded as thorny issues (and likely sources of conflict) at the time
of the drawing of the pact—for instance, when and how the walls were to be
built or the general placitum to be held in the case of Marzana, or the definition
of the military obligations and of the fictum for the use of uncultivated land in
the case of Antignano.65
In any case, the new importance acquired by the relation between the lords and
their subjects had to be solemnized; in this respect, the drafting of documents
recording the sacramenta pertaining to local customs was probably intended to
highlight and symbolically express the new importance acquired by such practices.
These symbolically charged documents bore witness to the new political relevance
of the community and of these ceremonies.66 They did not simply certify given
rights, but through their very drafting highlighted the importance of those actions
and practices centred on the relation between subjects and lords, much like the
pacts and oaths that bound together lords.
The discourse in question assigned these practices one possible meaning.
At the same time, it provided a conceptual framework for the conflict over the
distribution of power among local political actors. It must be added that the latter
were not limited to the relation between a lord and a community: there might be
many lords, with different prerogatives; and the community, as already noted,
could be divided along various lines. Moreover, we should take account of inter-
ferences from actors such as urban communities, principalities, and (in certain
periods) the central authorities. Within this complex and fluid scenario, lords
wielded undeniable power.67 Local communities accepted—or, rather, were
forced to accept—a whole range of impositions and levies from aristocrats, by
setting them within the framework of this fictional reciprocity, which largely,
albeit not entirely, reflected the lords’ point of view: this range of services, which
64 Il ‘Rigestum comunis Albe’, n. 179 (aa. 1200–1 c.), pp. 285–8.
65 Le carte del capitolo di Verona, I, n. 48 (a. 1121), pp. 96–9; Archivio Storico del Comune di Todi,
Fondo Trinci, n. 1 (a. 1100 c).
66 The strong symbolic value of the production of written texts in judicial frameworks, is under-
lined by Sergi, ‘L’esercizio del potere’, p. 336.
67 On these issues an important guide is Scott, Weapons of the weak, pp. 304–50.
the community regarded as legitimate, were often referred to as bonus usus,

thereby reinforcing the language of pacts by drawing upon that of customs.68
The very fact that the language usually adopted to define this range of practices
was that of reciprocity, rather than another language closer to the lords’ perspec-
tive, also reveals the limits of seigneurial hegemony. The choice of this language
made it possible to regard at least some of the services required by a lord as unjus-
tified abuses and to criticize, if not seigneurial power as a means to define social
and political relations, at least the way in which it could be concretely exercised
by a dominus loci. Reciprocity implies a two-way flow of services (if only fictional
ones), rather than the wielding of arbitrary and absolute power by a lord.69 A dis-
course of this kind reflects not just the power of the lords—insofar as they felt
confident enough to employ it, despite the risks it entailed—but also the capacity
of peasant communities to resist such power. These communities did not passively
adopt their lords’ perspective, but left some room, however little, for criticism and
the challenging of power. The peculiar spread of the language of pacts in central
and northern Italy as a means to define relations between lords and their subjects—
a language which, differently from those of fidelity or (as we shall see in the next
chapter) consuetudo, was not significantly associated with the tradition of royal
power—constitutes an important indicator of the emergence of these forms of
power in the context we are investigating.70
In France, the pact had a minor role compared to ‘true’ charter of franchise,
because the political framework was well different; here (but also in other areas of
Europe) the seigneurie chiefly emerged when aristocratic castellans started pri-
vately asserting their rights as leaders, in (northern and central) Italy it was the
outcome of a far more complex process: it was not merely a hyper-localized ver-
sion of the traditional system of power, but rather a new structure that encom-
passed a variety of elements within a largely new local context.71 Owing to this at
least partial novelty, in order to legitimize their position lords found themselves
having to engage with their subjects; and the language most widely used to struc-
ture and lend shape to this relation was that of the pact between ruler and ruled,
which continued to distinguish political communication in the central and north
68 The fictitious and discoursual nature of reciprocity in the relationship between lords and sub-
jects has been underlined (with great force) by Algazi, Lords ask, discussing the (albeit peculiar) case
of late medieval Germany.
69 On the manipulation of the pactional language by the subject, to challenge seigneurial power,
see Gamberini, Clash of Legitimacies, pp. 158–81; and Cengarle, ‘La comunità di Pecetto’. The case
discussed by Cengarle shows well that the lords could use other legitimating languages, less
manipulable by their subjects; on these issues see also Della Misericordia, ‘Per non privarci de
nostre raxone’.
70 On the absence of pactional discourse in royal diplomas (in Salian and also in Staufen age) in
contrast to what happen with the languages of fidelity and custom see Fiore, ‘La dimensione locale’;
I will return on this issue, focusing on custom, in the next chapter.
71 For the classic Gerges Duby’s model of the ‘privatization of royal bannus’, see Duby, La société
aux XIe et XIIe siècles, pp. 200–78.
Italian countryside even in years when the territorial lordship had become an
entrenched and traditional institution.72
As regards power relations in the countryside, therefore, in the years around
1100 there was a real boom in the use of the language of pacts, which appears to
be closely connected to the spread and entrenchment of the dominatus loci. We
witness a sharp rise in this kind of discourse in the written documents, which is
almost certainly related to two parallel and interconnected phenomena: the first
is the tendency to record these practices in writing, so as to give them further
validation at a time in which they carried far greater practical and symbolic
weight than in the past, owing to the lack of royal legitimation; the second phe-
nomenon is the rise of these pactional practices even in quantitative terms, within
a context of redefinition and instability of local balances that required a frequent
engagement between subjects and their lords in order to establish and lay out the
modes of exercising power, solve any problematic issues, and remove any causes
of friction. The very fact that all, or almost all, the written pacts we have focus on
a few specific points, leaving everything else pertaining to local power balances
and structures in the shadows, is indicative precisely of a situation of this sort.
Pacts were used to solve thorny issues connected to the local management of power
in solemn fashion—while also further reaffirming these issues, precisely through
the drafting and signing of the document. Inevitably, these specific points were
far more numerous, and encompassed a much broader field of problems, than
those dealt with only a few decades earlier; hence the sharp rise in pactional prac-
tices and in the texts associated with them. The spread of the territorial lordship
model had entailed a marked extension of aristocratic power in the countryside,
from both a quantitative and qualitative perspective, and hence an inevitable
increase in the need to regulate it.
From this perspective, drawing upon the logic of pacts meant moving beyond
the imposition of power and levies by force—what we might term ‘internal preda-
tion’—in order to build a significant degree of local consensus, not limited to the
military elites closest to the domini loci.73 For a lord, this meant getting subjects to
acknowledge his role; for subjects, it meant becoming an effective counterpart to
the dominus, as opposed to merely the object of the practices of certain domini.
Pacts, with their capacity to frame power practices within a logic of reciprocity,
albeit of an asymmetric sort, proved to be the most suitable language to express
this mutual acknowledgement.
What also emerges within this framework is the limited number of actual fran-
chises (understood as ‘spontaneous’ concessions that a lord made to his subjects),
72 It must be emphasized that in the fifteenth century it was mainly the subjects who used the pac-
tional discourse, whereas the lords tried to use other (and for them less penalizing) languages; see for
example Cengarle, ‘La comunità di Pecetto’; e Della Misericordia, ‘Per non privarci de nostre raxone’.
73 On the predatory nature of seigneurial power, see the seminal reflections in Duby, The Three
Orders, pp. 190–205.
even though the first ones occur very early on—in the first half of the eleventh
century, in Lunigiana.74 The contrast with northern France is significant in this
respect: there the charter of franchise is the predominant kind of document,
whereas the use of the language of pact seems to play no role in relations between
lords and subjects. In Picardy, from as early as the late eleventh century, domini
defined their relations with subjects chiefly through the use of franchises, which
is to say through ‘spontaneous’ grants.75 This difference is due to the different
genesis of seigneurial powers in the two regions. In northern France, the use of
franchises no doubt reflects the structural stability of the lordship, not so much
from a practical standpoint, as from an ideological one; the dominatus loci simply
constituted the outcome of marked, long-term aristocratic domination.76 By con-
trast, in central and northern Italy the territorial lordship often displayed a degree
of ideological weakness, connected to the fact that to some extent it had subverted
the previous order; and this led to the use of the language of pacts—often fictional
pacts—as a means of legitimation.77
In the next chapter we will be exploring these problems from a different angle,
by analysing a language closely connected to that of pacts: the language of cus-
tom. The latter has repeatedly been mentioned in the last few pages precisely on
account of this close link; however, given its crucial importance in the delineating
and structuring of relations between domini loci and their subjects, it deserves
separate treatment. Besides, the language of custom is an ideal avenue to approach
not just the more strictly verbal aspect of the languages of power, which is what
we have been forced to focus on so far, but also its association with specific prac-
tices and gestures, something which the very nature of the available documents
tends to conceal.
74 Il regesto del codice Pelavicino, n. 488 (a. 1039), pp. 506–8.
75 Fossier, Chartes de Coutume.
76 Mazel, Féodalités. I will discuss this topic in more depth in the final chapter of this book
(Conclusions).
77 In southern Italy, where the seigneurie was backed by Norman central power, the situation was
clearly different; see Carocci, Lordships, pp. 167–76.
9
Custom
Rituals of Memory
Expressions such as bonus (and malus) usus, usantia, and consuetudo are well
known to anyone studying lordship in the central centuries of the Middle Ages.
The very concept of custom is regarded as key to understanding the creation and
ongoing social reproduction of a lord’s power over peasant communities. It is
widely believed that prior to the drafting of letters of privilege the relations
between communities and lords were managed on the basis of oral customs: a
view also shared—albeit with certain nuances—even by those who stress the
importance of force and arbitrariness in the construction of the dominatus loci.1
However, this general acknowledgement—with some significant exceptions—
has not been accompanied by any specific attention to mechanisms for the
development, preservation, and transformation of local customs.2
The aim of this chapter is precisely to emphasize the element of custom, and in
particular those social and ceremonial practices connected with the public mem
ory of local customs. It is a thorny matter, since our knowledge of it is inevitably
filtered through the lenses of the written texts recording such customs. It is neces
sary, therefore, to carefully examine the relation between orality and writing in
this specific context, steering clear of both hermeneutical naivety and interpret
ative impasses.3 We will see how the custom (often accompanied in the sources by
the adjective ‘good’) which regulated the relation between lords and communities
were not something fluid and indefinite, but rather a highly structured, albeit far
from immutable, set of norms. Local customs, moreover, stood at the centre of a
series of ritual practices, the most important of which—as we have seen—entailed
the solemn and public sacramentum of the local usus (or some of its parts) by the
members of the community. The latter were bound by an oath to the community
and the lord, and were thus known as sacramentales or iurati. It was the members
themselves, therefore, who were required to define the obligations of their com
munity towards the local lord. I will be focusing my attention precisely on these
rituals, which are perfectly analogous to the late-medieval Weisungen dear to
German historiography, or to the rapports des droits of eastern France. I will also
1 See for example Bisson, The Crisis. 2 As underlined in Ascheri, ‘Statuti e consuetudini’.
3 On the relationship between orality and writing a forceful discussion in these documents, see
Teuscher, Lords’ Rights. In a wider perspective, see Provero, Le parole dei sudditi, pp. 24–32.
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198825746.001.0001
be discussing the complex relation between these ceremonials and the sources on
pacts with which they appear to be closely connected.4 In any case, it is important
to emphasize that from a chronological perspective the Italian situation differs
from that beyond the Alps, as it developed much earlier, as regards both its emer
gence and its final stage. In Lorraine, for example, the earliest mentions of peasant
jurors date from the mid-twelfth century, and we only sporadically find written
recordings of these oaths from the thirteenth onwards; sources of this sort only
become plentiful in the fourteenth century, with an unbroken record extending to
the early seventeenth century, if not later.5 The chronology is much the same for
the German area. By contrast, in the regnum Italiae the first attestations date from
as early as the 1070s, while the last ones occur no later than the second half of the
thirteenth century.6
9.1 Chronologies and contexts
In the following pages, I will be focusing on the countryside, where this kind of
ceremonial action appears to be more widely attested and more continuously
practised. However, it must be noted that some of the first mentions of practices
associated with the recollection of local customs on the part of jurors come from
urban milieus.7 We must therefore set out from these texts in order to correctly
reconstruct the cultural matrices and political contexts of the sacramentum
(which is how, for the sake of brevity, I will be referring to the ritual of swearing
a custom). We will then consider how the transformation of balances of power
at the turn of the 1100s contributed to altering its function, in accordance with
the new structure of local society. The document I would like to start from is a
quite well-known one: the charter by which margrave Alberto of the Obertenghi
family acknowledged the consuetudo of Genoa. This is one of the rare texts at
least partially recording the norms constituting this city’s custom.8 It is worth
summing up the content of the transcribed norms, in which a central role is
played by the management of patrimonial assets and transactions. Norms were
laid out for verifying the authenticity of documents and for acknowledging
property and ownership rights, formalities associated with the transfer of assets,
and peculiarities governing the granting of ecclesiastical properties. By contrast,
some generally accepted practices were locally forbidden, such as recourse to
4 Scholarship about these texts has a strong tradition (especially in Germany), since the seminal
work of Jacob Grimm in the early nineteenth century. For a recent discussion of Weistumsforschung
(with a critical view of traditional scholarship), see Teuscher, Lords’ Rights.
5 On Lorraine see the classic Perrin, ‘Le chartes de franchises’, pp. 20–5. On the French-speaking
world see in general Poudret, ‘Le rôle des plaids généraux’.
6 On German world see Morsel, ‘Le prélèvement seigneurial’.
7 A thicker analysis of this documentary dossier in Fiore, ‘Norma della città’, pp. 51–66.
8 I libri iurium di Genova, I/1, n. 2 (a. 1056), pp. 6–9.
Custom: Rituals of Memory 201
judicial duels or the interrogatio parentum typical of Lombard law, which limited
the patrimonial independence of women. We then find exemptions from the
royal fodrum and albergaria for the rural dependants of Genoese citizens.
A text of this sort inevitably raises a series of questions. What mechanisms kept
the custom referred to alive? How was the authenticity of these norms ensured
and how could one resort to it, in case of need? In order to answer these questions
it will be useful to take a look at nearby Savona. The sources we must turn to
are the grants issued by Aleramic margraves to the cives of Savona between the
late 1050s and the early 1060s, which is to say only a few years after the issuing
of the Genoese document.9 These texts present significant overlaps with this
document, but also certain differences. Besides, the two documents from Savona
are not identical: as regards the issue we are interested in, namely the consuetudo,
the 1059 text is far more explicit. Therefore, it is on this source that I will be focusing.
The content of the document in question is quite clear: the margrave, who
acknowledges limits attached to their power on Savona and its inhabitants, claims
that in the eventuality of controversies over ownership rights and patrimonial
issues between the inhabitants of the city and those living in its environs, the mat
ter must be settled by three sacramentales (jurors) from Savona. Moreover, and
more generally, in the case of disputes between cives, they were expected to turn
to three sacramentales in order to ascertain what the custom was and resolve the
dispute on its basis. In the other text, instead, the passage concerning this issue is
far more elliptical and the procedure involving the three jurors is not mentioned.
By contrast, what seems interesting to me is the fact that in this document the
local customs mentioned are not confined to Savona, but are associated with a
broader geographical and political context. Reference is made to the customs in
force in other ‘maritime cities’ of the Aleramic march (plausibly Vado and Noli).
Precisely in the light of these significant data, it is important to note that in the
document pertaining to the Genoese consuetudo just mentioned, the validation of
the custom itself was achieved through the oath (sacramentum in the text) sworn
by three boni homines.10 If we remain in Liguria, but shift from an urban to a
rural context, we can observe how similar procedures—with three sacramentales
and the public recitation of the local custom, as a means to solve local conflicts—
are recorded for the county of Ventimiglia, and more specifically the high Roya
Valley around 1065, in the document known as the ‘charter of Tenda’.11 The text
in question, which confirms the usages and customs in force in settlements in the
high Roya Valley (Tenda, Briga and Saorgio), presents some significant analogies
9 Registri della Catena del Comune di Savona, I, n. 33 (a. 1059), pp. 57–8 (Guglielmo); Pergamene
medievali savonesi, I, n. 6 (a. 1062), pp. 6–7 (Manfredo).
10 I libri iurium di Genova, I/1, n. 3 (a. 1056), p. 9: ‘breve de consuetudine quam fecit dominus
Albertus marchio filius Opizonis itemque marchionis et firmavit per sacramentum per tres bonos
homines’.
11 Daviso, ‘La carta di Tenda’. For a discussion of this text see also Ripart, ‘Le comté de Tende’.
with the letter of privilege from Savona, especially as regards sacramentales and
their role in recalling the consuetudo and resolving disputes. In the light of this
evidence, the letter of privilege from Genoa might be seen to record what a panel
of jurors (labelled as boni homines in the document) declared with regard to
certain aspects of the Genoese consuetudo, evidently in order to solve a tension
or conflict that had pitted the cives against the marquis in relation to the modes
of expropriation and administration of justice. This pronouncement would have
been transcribed into a specific document on account of its local relevance.
Moving beyond Liguria, we find similar procedures based on the public recall
ing of a consuetudo at work, only a few years later, in the countryside around Pisa,
Lucca and Florence, almost invariably in relation to rural centres governed by
public authorities.12 Thus in the charter issued by Henry IV to the Pisans, refer
ence is made to three jurors (scariones) selected among the meliores homines of
each of the villages of the county of Pisa. These men were to swear to the imperial
representatives that ‘eorum consuetudo fuit tempore suprascripti Ugonis’, which
is to say that the local custom in force at the time of margrave Ugo (†1001) had
been restored and guaranteed by royal officials, after the abuses committed under
Bonifacio of Canossa.13 If, for some reason, the appointed men refused to take this
oath, they would be compelled to do so by force.14 As early as the years 1074–80,
a ritual of this sort was carried out in a village near Lucca, Moriano, to confirm
the jurisdictional rights of the local lord (the bishop of Lucca).15 By around 1080,
then, it had become an established practice in the area for jurors to publicly and
solemnly recall the good custom regulating the exercising of local power in indi
vidual rural centres (so much so that this practice was officially laid out in an
imperial document).
The form and content of these declarations are illustrated in greater detail in
the document on the bonus usus of Rosignano (a village south of Pisa). This 1125
document records an oath taken by some inhabitants of Rosignano with regard to
the ‘dericto uso de castello de Rasignano et de curte que fuit in tempore Gotifredi
marchioni et Beatrice comitissa’.16 This sworn deposition was solemnly taken in
the presence of the archbishop of Pisa—who had just been appointed lord of the
village—and of his retinue and, in all likelihood, of the assembly of local men.
The jurors listed the services that each inhabitant owed the local lord in virtue
of the properties he owned, along with his public prerogatives, pertaining in
12 For a more detailed analysis of these documents see Fiore, ‘Bonus et malus usus’.
13 MGH, Diplomata Henrici IV., n. 336 (a. 1081), pp. 442–3. A new (and better) edition of this
diploma in Rossetti, ‘Pisa e l’Impero’, pp. 165–7.
14 A little bit later the text says that ‘Mascalciam [tax in kind for the feeding of king’s horses] in
villis comitatus eorum fieri non sinemus nisi secundum consuetudinem tempore Ugonis sacramentis,
sicut supra scriptum est, diffinitam’; Rossetti, ‘Pisa e l’Impero’, p. 166.
15 A partial edition of the text in ‘Appendice’, to Bertini, Memorie e documenti per servire alla storia
di Lucca, IV.2, n. 84 (aa. 1074–80 c.), pp. 111–12.
16 Carte dell’archivio arcivescovile di Pisa, II, n. 68 (a. 1125), pp. 134–5.
particular to the administration of justice. The reference to margrave Godfrey

and Beatrice of Canossa is significant. Rosignano, which had become part of the
bishop of Pisa’s patrimony only a few years before, was a curtis that had previously
been one of the estates of margravial fisc.17 The good custom recalled by the
jurors was therefore explicitly linked to the old powerholders, and the bishop of
Pisa sought to present himself as their legitimate successor.
Around 1100 we find a document recording the sacramentum sworn by some
jurors about the bonum usum at Antignano, an Umbrian village governed by the
Monaldi, counts of Foligno.18 Other evidence from the same period is provided
by the areas controlled by Matilda of Canossa north of the Appennines.19 As far
as the Veneto is concerned, the first text to clearly mention a ritual based on the
recalling of a local custom on the part of peasant jurors instead dates from 1109
and comes from the village of Coriano near Verona.20 More generally, the very
first years of the twelfth century witnessed a real flood of attestations. While in
some cases, as in the Milan area, the ritual is only mentioned, in other cases, such
as the text from Antignano or the similar one from Rosignano (which we have
already examined), in the Pisa area, the outcomes of this ritual are recorded.
Between 1060 and 1125, therefore, the ceremonial is attested in Liguria, the Veneto,
the subalpine area, Lombardy, Emilia, Tuscany, and Umbria. In other words, this
social practice emerges in much the same form throughout the kingdom of Italy.
However, it should be noted that after the very first urban attestations, from the
1080s onwards the practice is only recorded in a rural context.21 In the following
period, at least up until the early decades of the thirteenth century, attestations of
the ceremonial continue to be relatively frequent in all regional contexts, although
they are more highly concentrated in certain areas. It is only in the age of rural
statutes, starting from the second half of the thirteenth century, with the recording
of (almost) all norms, that ceremonials associated with jurors’ memory fall into
disuse and are replaced by other practices, such as rituals revolving around the
periodical reading of written texts.22
Before ending this section, I would like to get back to the earliest stage at which
the sacramentum is attested in order to reflect on its origins. This is a crucial
17 See Ceccarelli Lemut, ‘Terre pubbliche’.

18 Archivio Storico del Comune di Todi, Fondo Trinci, n. 1 (a. 1100 c.). A partial edition (with
discussion) of the text in Fiore, Signori e sudditi, pp. 248–50.
19 Die Urkunden und Briefe der Markgräfin Mathilde, n. 109 (a. 1108), pp. 290–2; n. 116 (a. 1109),
pp. 307; n. 132 (a. 1114), pp. 338–40.
20 Biancolini, Notizie storiche delle Chiese di Verona, II, n. 32 (a. 1109), pp. 72–3.
21 A partial but important exception is the semi-urban settlement of Susa, controlled by the counts
of Savoy; the traces of these practices are evident in the formulation of the first charter of franchise,
granted by the counts in 1198, edited in Statuta et privilegia civitatis Secusiae, coll. 5–8; on the right
date of the text see Sergi, Potere e territorio, p. 191. In the confirmation issued in 1233 these traces are
entirely disappeared: Statuta et privilegia civitatis Secusiae, coll. 8–17; on this Sergi, Potere e territorio,
pp. 193–4.
22 See section 9.4.
operation if we wish to fully understand the function of this practice (and of its
recording in writing) within the turbulent political context of the turn of the 1100s.
As I have argued in greater detail elsewhere, I believe that the sacramentum on
the local usus is to be viewed within the framework of traditional ways of exercising
local power on the part of public officials: a thesis very different from those gener
ally adduced to explain the origin of similar rituals in France or Germany.23
However, this hypothesis is supported by some significant and essentially conver
gent pieces of evidence. First of all, almost all attestations of the ceremonial prior
to 1125 centre on jurors either from communities subject to public office holders
(or ones to which public officers make a claim), as in the case of Antignano,
Coriano and Tenda, or from fiscal estates that had fallen under the control of
other lords, as in the case of Rosignano.24
A second element is the close connection to be observed between the general
placitum and the swearing of an oath on the usus, which confirms the link with
traditional (royal) ways of exercising local power. This connection is particularly
(yet not exclusively) visible in twelfth-century sources from the Verona area,
which for various reasons shows a marked conservatism with regard to the exer
cising of local power. As we will see in greater detail later on, further evidence
comes from the crucial role played by allodiaries in the ceremonial, which is to
say by the members of a social stratum that in the past had been closely associated
with royal power and placed under its protection.25
According to this view, then, the sacramentum falls among the many social prac
tices associated with the holding of the general placitum in the post-Carolingian
(or possibly even Carolingian) age. This context is essentially invisible in our
sources up until the mid-eleventh century, when the process of localization and
fragmentation of power, and the new political climate, made it necessary to start
transcribing actions of this sort. The public nature of these ceremonies would also
explain why they occur, in essentially the same form, throughout the regnum
Italiae in the twelfth century, whereas they are completely absent from southern
Italy, an area characterized by different ways of exercising public power, and
where the institution of the general placitum was unknown.26
Given these premises, it is important to consider the reason why these ritual
actions, which had hitherto been largely invisible, acquired visibility precisely
in the last decades of the eleventh century, when royal power entered into crisis
from both a material and ideological perspective. As we have seen, the written
23 Current scholarship connects the rituals of custom with local lordship, rather than with public
power. For what concerns French-speaking Alps the strong link between (seigneurial) general placitum
and sacramenta of local custom has been underlined by Poudret, ‘Le rôle des plaids generaux’, from
the middle of the twelfth century to the late fifteenth.
24 The case of Moriano is not fundamentally different, even if peculiar; it was an estate of the
bishop of Lucca, but (until 1060s) the margraves of Tuscany had the full local jurisdiction.
25 A general overview in Tabacco, I liberi del re.
26 On Lombard southern Italy, see Delogu, ‘La giustizia’.
recording of rituals associated with the custom, which had previously been
transmitted orally, falls within the broader context of the recording of pacts. It is
within this constellation of texts that we must view written sacramenta.27 Through
the ritual enunciation of the custom, jurors could attempt to dispute some of the
duties imposed upon them, as we have seen; yet the very act of responding in
such a way was proof of their subordination and of the fact that they were subject
to duties and obligations.28 Precisely for this reason, the recording of the cere
monial was a way to confirm not just the legitimacy of this or that request made
by a lord but, more generally, the legitimacy of the very power exercised by the
dominus loci. From this perspective, I feel it is important to stress the fact that
the discourse of consuetudo and the public rituals connected with it were modelled
after practices typical of the traditional modes of exercising public power—
although these were of course adapted to suit the new seigneurial context. The
construction of the dominatus loci witnessed, along with the imposition of new
forms of expropriation, the privatizing of old public rights, through an operation
of ‘bricolage’ that took a range of different forms.29 Within this context, the idea
of consuetudo no doubt recalled more traditional ways of exercising power, and it
is no coincidence that this language was chiefly used by those lordships deriving
from more traditional political groups active in the first half of the eleventh cen
tury, such as the families of royal high officials and some religious institutions to
which royal jurisdictional rights had been transferred.30
In order to better understand the sacramentum ceremonial, the ritual context
in which it occurred, the reasons why it was recorded, and the mostly partial
account provided by these texts with respect to what occurred in the sphere of
actions and orality, I would like to start with a brief analysis of a small nucleus
of documents pertaining to Cerea, an important rural centre in the Verona area
which has produced two texts of this sort, drafted a few decades apart from one
another.31 The earlier one dates from 1139 and focuses on the albergaria owed to
the local canons and their retinue by the inhabitants of the rural centre. I will be
examining this text in detail, as it is an excellent guide to the sacramentum cere
monial and the problems related to it.32 That year, on the occasion of the general
placitum, the local lord, the archpriest of the chapter of the Verona cathedral,
arrived in the village along with his retinue in order to mete out justice. This was
a particularly delicate moment, as the general placitum was the first one ever held
27 On this documentary framework, see Cammarosano, ‘Comunità rurali e signori’.

28 On this issue, very important considerations in Algazi, ‘Lords Ask’, based on German Weistümer;
for a more general overview Algazi, Herrengewalt und Gewalt der Herren.
29 See Chapter 3.
30 See for example Statuta et privilegia civitatis Secusiae, coll. 5–8 (counts of Savoy); Le carte del
capitolo di Verona, I, n. 93 (a. 1139), pp. 173–9 (chapter of Verona).
31 Le carte del capitolo di Verona, I, n. 93 (a. 1139), pp. 173–9; Le carte del capitolo di Verona, II,
n. 113 (a. 1182), pp. 204–7.
by the new lord, who had just taken the place of the San Bonifacio counts. The
lord, therefore, arrived with a vast entourage of over twenty-five people, including
seventeen milites: a show of strength evidently designed to impress (and intimi
date) his subjects by making it clear that he intended to exercise his rights in full.
The archpriest asked the vicini to maintain his impressive retinue throughout the
duration of the placitum by providing two meals a day for them, according to
custom. The vicini replied that the local custom with regard to hospitality was to
provide only one meal a day. This claim brought the planned ceremonial to a halt,
creating a fraught impasse. To solve the conflict, the archpriest summoned the
four local sacramentales so that they dicerent veritatem on the obligation. The
sacramentales, rather surprisingly disproving the vicini, claimed that the custom
called for two meals a day, to which everyone was required to contribute except
for the local milites (a group which, as we shall see in greater detail later on, did
not include the jurors in question). The community abided by this decision, sol
emnly asking the lord for his pardon, which was granted. This made it possible to
resume the range of practices and rituals associated with the placitum.
The conflict surrounding the sacramentum in this case clearly explains why the
choice was made to at least partially record what had occurred, in order to sol
emnly reaffirm the pre-existing balance after the crisis. The need was felt not just
to record the part of the consuetudo which had been the focus of the conflict, but
also the way in which the consuetudo had been affirmed, so as to provide some
additional certification and prevent new tensions. The other norms, which were
perceived as being less at risk at the time, continued to be committed to the jurors’
memory and to public ceremonials.
The 1182 text, instead, is chiefly centred on the content of the oath of fidelity
that the local inhabitants were required to periodically swear to their lord, and
lists the points to be mentioned in detail. In addition, we find a reference to the
albergaria, albeit a cursory and vague one. Equally cursory and general is the
reference to the lord’s rights in terms of the administration of justice. The shift
compared to forty years before is quite evident, at any rate in the written docu
mentation, and reflects the new concerns which had emerged. At this stage, in
which local society—whose elites were becoming increasingly attached to the
commune of Verona—had started challenging the very authority of the canons,
the oath of fidelity acquired crucial relevance, whereas the albergaria, the focus of
the previous document, now only played a marginal role.33 A comparative ana
lysis of these two texts, therefore, reveals the partial nature of the recording of
the oath of consuetudo and perhaps (but we will be getting back to this point later
on) also that of the very sacramentum made by the jurors. In addition, further
documents pertaining to the lordship exercised by the canons over Cerea inform
33 The chapter had rising difficulties in controlling the local society of Cerea, since the late twelfth
century; see Varanini, ‘Società e istituzioni a Cerea’, esp. pp. 74–6.
us that the range of seigniorial powers they held in the village were much
broader and more complex than the ones recorded in the two documents (and
possibly in the two rituals), which thus emerge as partial sources designed to
meet contingent needs.34
The documentary evidence from Verona as a whole allows us to view sacra-
menta in what would appear to be their natural context, namely the range of
rituals and practices of power carried out on the occasion of the solemn general
placitum.35 In addition to the documents pertaining to Cerea, then, I would like
to draw attention to some texts from the second half of the century, in which the
recording of the ritual appears to be quite unrelated to any conflict surrounding
specific jurisdictional rights, and would rather seem to have occurred as a means
to certify in more general terms the full jurisdiction exercised by a lord over the
village in question. In this case, the link with the general placitum and the rituals
associated with it (the albergaria, the free meal offered to the lord’s retinue, the
oath of fidelity, etc.) emerges in full. Precisely because of its confirmatory value,
the text is designed to record, if not all, at least the most relevant power cere
monials concentrated in those highly significant days.36 It was in that context that
the local power balances were solemnly confirmed by the actors involved. While
accepting the local lord as a judge was in itself a way of acknowledging his role
and power, other more symbolic practices were performed alongside the actual
placitum, thereby reinforcing its significance as an act of submission, with a
cumulative effect.
This, then, was a particularly intense moment, in which the accumulated ten
sions between the lord and his subjects could sometimes explode in a dramatic
fashion. Clearly, a solemn and confirmatory context of this sort also offered an
ideal stage to publicly lay claim to rights and prerogatives, to reject obligations
and burdens, and to reaffirm or attempt to redefine the status quo. In the case of
more or less open conflict, the public recollection of the usus could become a
crucial moment in the match played out between a lord and a community, as
is particularly evident in the 1139 case from Cerea, but also in that which had
occurred—thirty years before—at Coriano, where the lords’ claims with regard to
the albergaria had run up against the barrier of the jurors’ sacramenta.37 However,
it is important to stress that these were tensions occurring within the lord-subjects
dynamics, and not ones due to the action of external actors. The sacramentum
ceremonial, in other words, was one way to solve both big and small local con
flicts, to ensure the smooth running of apparatuses of power, and to ensure their
34 See especially Le carte del capitolo di Verona, I, n. 120 (a. 1145), pp. 220–9, with a long list of
judicial testimonies.
35 Simeoni, ‘Antichi patti’; Simeoni, ‘Comuni rurali veronesi’; Simeoni, ‘Il comune rurale’.
36 This happened in the recording of general placita of Cerea held in 1212, 1215, and 1217: see
Simeoni, ‘Il comune rurale’, p. 246.
37 Biancolini, Notizie storiche delle Chiese di Verona, n. 32 (a. 1109), pp. 72–3.
delicate balance. In all likelihood, then, this was not an entirely exceptional
procedure, but rather an (at least) relatively frequent one used to safeguard (or at
least feign to safeguard) the preservation and immutability of the range of oral
norms ensuring local order.
9.2 The jurors between lord and community
One first interesting element, of course, is represented by the jurors themselves.

The problem is in fact twofold. On the one hand, it is a matter of ascertaining who
was in charge, in each particular case, of appointing these figures; on the other, it
is a matter of understanding what their position was within local society, which is
to say what interests they represented.
As a preliminary remark, it is worth noting the very close bond between jurors
and local society: a connection that clearly emerges from the documentary evidence
examined thus far. The sacramentales are almost invariably the representatives of
a village community, of which they are members. This is always the case in the
Verona area and throughout most of Italy. The only area in which jurors represent
a broader, supra-local institution is in Alpine Piedmont—where they represent a
valley community. While already the Tenda document (pertaining to the three
communities of the high Roya Valley, that is Tenda, Briga and Saorgio) adumbrates
a situation of this sort for the second half of the eleventh century, some thirteenth-
century texts from Piedmont clearly illustrate the presentation of a ‘valley’ usus
made by a panel of jurors from various different settlements.38
The other apparent exception to this model is represented by a 1108 document
concerning the village of Santa Maria di Castello, near Modena.39 In order to
solve the dispute between the local community and Matilda of Canossa, a hearing
was made of three men described as iuratores ipsius comitatus. This expression
might be taken to refer to jurors responsible for the whole county. While intri
guing, this is a rather unlikely hypothesis for purely practical reasons: such a
small group could hardly have retained the memory of all the rights in force in all
the various centres of the county, or even only of those directly governed by the
comital authorities. Rather, it is reasonable to suppose that these iuratores comitatus
were not jurors appointed for the whole county, but simply the jurors of the local
community, acknowledged by the comital authority (in this case Matilda)—i.e.
figures of exactly the same sort as those attested elsewhere.
38 See esp. Manuel di San Giovanni, Memorie storiche di Dronero e della Val Maira, III, n. 3
(aa. 1254–6 c.), pp. 8–10 (Maira Valley); Cartario delle valli Stura e Grana, n. 17 (a. 1231), pp. 24–7
(Stura Valley). Quite similar the case of Gesso Valley, on which see Marro, ‘Valdieri, Andonno’,
with edition of a 1262 text. A forceful analysis of these documents is provided by Provero, Le parole
dei sudditi, pp. 42–8.
39 Die Urkunden und Briefe der Markgräfin Mathilde, n. 109 (a. 1108), pp. 290–2.
Having solved this problem, we must now focus on the key issue of the ways in
which the panel of jurors was appointed. In most cases, the sources do not specify
who is responsible for selecting the sacramentales. In almost all cases in which the
mode of selection of the jurors is recalled, the latter are never independently
appointed by the community. In some cases from the Verona area the appoint
ment would appear to be a prerequisite of the lord, whereas in other cases the
local community plays a role, at any rate at the consultative level.40 Clear informa
tion is provided by a source pertaining to Altichiero, near Padua: it suggests that
in the second half of the twelfth century, the jurors were chosen by the local lord
or his envoys cum consilio vicinorum. The community, therefore, played a merely
consultative role. However, shortly before 1180 the vicini entered into conflict
with the lord, after seeking to strengthen their prerogatives in this field and to be
made jointly responsible for the choice and appointment of jurors.41 We do not
know how the conflict was resolved, but it is noteworthy that as early as 1129, in
Montebelluna near Treviso, the agreements struck between the local lord, the
bishop of Treviso, and the vicini made the community exclusively responsible for
appointing the iurati.42 This is an important and early concession, which is to be
viewed within the context of an extremely advantageous agreement for the com
munity, confirmed by another pact sealed in 1170. However, it remains a completely
isolated case in the twelfth-century Treviso area, an area in which local customs
must not have led to any marked tensions between domini and subjects.43
The other local communities who struck agreements with their lords (including
the bishop) were not officially granted the right to appoint jurors, which apparently
remained the lords’ prerequisite. Very different situations, then, could coexist in
the same area. Nevertheless, it may be hypothesized that communities became
increasingly responsible for the choice of sacramentales, as they acquired a more
prominent political role. Starting from a situation in which the lord alone had
the right to appoint jurors, communities first acquired a consultative role and
then came to share the dominus’ right to appoint them. By contrast, cases in
which the community was made exclusively responsible for appointing the jurors
would appear to have been rather few and far between. This right was of strategic
importance for controlling local power balances, and it was quite unthinkable for
40 See Simeoni, ‘Comuni rurali veronesi’, pp. 116, 146, 158–9 (several example of seigneurial
choice), p. 190 (example of shared choice).
41 As is apparent from Codice diplomatico padovano, II, n. 1427 (a. 1181), pp. 449–51; see especially
the witness of Folbertus of Sant’Angelo (p. 450), who said that ‘missi Dalismiani [lord of Altichiero]
veniebant Vicoltikerio et cum consilio vicinorum ponebant decanos [petty seigneurial officers] et
iuratos’. The same witness said that later a discordia raised ‘de ponendis decanis et iuratis’ (about the
choice of officers and jurors).
42 On this agreement, see Collodo, ‘I vicini e i comuni di contado’, esp. p. 144.
43 The text of 1170 (repeating the former) is edited in ‘Appendice’, to Verci, Storia della Marca
Trivigiana, I, n. 18 (a. 1170), pp. 21–2. For the comparison with another agreement between lord and
community, n. 13 (a. 1122), pp. 15–16.
a lord to casually transfer it to his subjects. The case of Montebelluna shows how
this concession falls within a local context in which the lords’ prerogatives were
growing weaker, owing to political calculations on a broader level; as such, it
should be regarded as an exception.
The second problem concerns the social profile of the jurors: considering their
crucial role, it would be interesting to reconstruct their exact place within the
hierarchy of their community. Unsurprisingly, the evidence pertaining to the
earliest cases is rather scanty in this respect; however, in a couple of cases, Cerea
and Rosignano, it allows us to at least formulate some hypotheses based on con
crete data. As concerns the community near Verona, the (partial) data pertaining
to milites holding fiefs from the lord shows that the list of jurors and that of
knights known to us did not overlap at all.44 The social background of the jurors,
therefore, ought to be sought outside the military group closest to the dominus
loci. This model would appear to be confirmed by the available data for Rosignano,
in the Pisa area. The only juror whose name survives (the others—probably two—
are illegible) would not appear to have been a holder of any feuda.45 Not only that,
but he would not even appear to have been among the peasant leaseholders of
seigniorial land. It thus seems as though we can rule out the higher and lower
social strata of the village community from the group of iuratores. In the light of
such evidence, it may be useful to return to the usus of Tenda. According to it, the
jurors were to be chosen among the local holders of alodia, whereas manentes,
which is is to say propertyless tenants, would appear to have been excluded
completely, along with the holders of benefices.46 Besides, a social profile of this
sort is perfectly consistent with the mention of meliores homines (best men) as the
group out of which jurors were to be selected according to the charter issued to
the Pisans by Henry IV.47
The evidence would thus appear to suggest that, at least up until the mid-twelfth
century, the jurors were chosen from the middle-upper stratum of village society,
ruling out both wealthy military figures (who were probably regarded as being
too close to the lord) and economically weaker ones (whose social and personal
status was too low to represent the community as a whole). In other words, the
jurors must have essentially coincided with the group of wealthy peasants: the
very group that in the subsequent period was to gain control of the government
of rural communes.48 The milites, in particular, on account of their personal
bond of fealty to the dominus and their role as ‘watchdogs’ of his power, were
44 A list of fief-holders in Cerea is edited in Le carte del capitolo di Verona, I, n. 78 (a. 1137),
pp. 153–4; another local vassal is mentioned in n. 81 (a. 1138), p. 158; and others in n. 92 (a. 1139),
pp. 172–3.
45 Le carte dell’archivio arcivescovile di Pisa, II, n. 68 (a. 1125), pp. 134–6. The document about the
bonus usus of Rosignano comprehends a list of military vassals and local leaseholders of the archbishop,
comparable with the list of the jurors.
46 Daviso, ‘La carta di Tenda’. 47 Rossetti, ‘Pisa e l’impero’, p. 165.
48 On this, see Wickham, Community and Clientele, pp. 243–53.
evidently perceived as unfit to represent the community as a whole, from which

they were often cut off from an institutional perspective as well.49 Their acquies
cence to the lord’s wishes, and to his view of social relations, could be taken for
granted; this was not the case with the acquiescence shown by wealthy peasants,
which was all the more precious for this reason. It was this segment of local
society that needed to be co-opted in some way in order to stabilize and consolidate
the lord’s power. Unlike peasants with no land of their own and a low personal
status, freeholders enjoyed greater independence vis-à-vis their lord.50 In this
respect, they could represent their community as a social reality at least partly
independent from its lord. The fact that it was individuals from this social stratum
who were expected to iurare the usus fulfilled different, albeit interconnected,
functions. The sacramentum ceremonial provided the opportunity to symbolically
express the central, representative role played by this group within their com
munity (and the local lord’s acknowledgement of this social reality), but also to
ritualize the community’s subjection to the lord’s power. As we have seen, it was
the dominus himself who questioned the jurors; the very fact that the latter
replied, if only to deny this or that seigneurial right, confirmed the lord’s juris
diction as a whole, symbolized by his right to interrogate his subjects.51
Significantly, between the twelfth and thirteenth century, the members of this
social group were to gain control of the institution of consulship within rural
communities. And in the period following the formal establishment of consulship,
these rural consuls acquired the role previously played by jurors with respect to
the reproduction of local custom.
9.3 Time, memory, and custom
One of the core problems which has emerged in these last pages concerns the
relation between custom, time, and memory. This relation is less obvious than it
might seem, and must therefore be carefully discussed. The very idea of custom
is closely related to time: the term usus describes precisely a practice that is
regularly repeated over time. One first possible approach, then, is to reflect on
the chronological and temporal element in public attestations of the bonus usus.
Frequently, in documents centred on the recording of sacramenta we find rather
49 From this standpoint the case of San Giorgio di Valpolicella—where two of the three jurors
mentioned in the general placitum of 1187 are high aristocrats (even if in that period there is no proof
of their vassallic relationship with the local lord, the bishop of Verona); see the ‘Appendice’ to
Castagnetti, La Valpolicella, n. 7 (a. 1187), pp. 181–2. On the local lordship of the bishop, see Brugnoli,
‘Il castrum e il territorio di San Giorgio’; and Castagnetti, La Valpolicella, pp. 60–7 (esp. pp. 65–6 on
local sacramentum and its contents).
50 On the crucial role of this group in medieval peasant communities, see Wickham, Framing,
esp. pp. 475–623.
51 On these issues see Algazi, ‘Lords Ask’; e Morsel, ‘Le prélèvement seigneurial’.
detailed temporal references to the origin of the usus which is being recalled,
references which go hand in hand with a recollection of the lord—or, rather,
public official—in power at the time when the local custom was established.
Sometimes this figure is recalled precisely as the source of the range of norms
transmitted by the custom. Thus the jurors of Antignano, around 1100, traced the
origin of their local bonum usum back to the convenientia established some fifty
years before between count Monaldo and the members of their community.52
Likewise, when in the mid-eleventh century the men from the high Roya Valley
communities and the counts of Ventimiglia agreed on the usus regulating their
mutual relations, a reference was made to the ‘usu et consuetudo huius terre que
dedit et investivit domnus Ardoinus marchio’: the agreement was thus traced
back to some seventy years earlier, which is to say to the ultimate limits of the
direct memory of the individuals involved in the pact.53
Roughly the same time distance between the present day and the time in which
the custom was established is evoked by diploma that Henry IV issued to the
Pisans in 1081. Here the emperor announces that, with regard to the exercising of
public power over the castles in the comitatus of Pisa, he wishes to re-establish the
consuetudo in force at the time of margrave Ugo, who had died in 1001, which is
to say eighty years earlier.54 In each rural centre, three scariones (jurors) chosen
from among its meliores homines would swear to the imperial representatives
‘quod eorum consuetudo fuit tempore suprascripti Ugonis’.55
Almost all other known cases present a chronological gap between the present
day and the age to which the custom is traced back similar to the one found in
these three examples, namely a period of between forty and seventy years. The
past that was referred to, then, was neither so distant as to prove unfamiliar nor
too vague, yet it was distant enough to lend the consuetudo a reassuring veneer of
antiquity.56 Time represents a fundamental element for confirming the practices
and rights publicly expressed by the jurors. What this means, of course, is that the
prevailing tendency was to project more recent (or even new) situations into the
past, so as to lend them additional legitimacy. Already in the case of Tenda it
seems most likely that we are dealing with a phenomenon of this sort, at least as
regards certain specific aspects of the usus. However, in this respect a clearer
example would appear to be provided by Moriano, in the Lucca area. In the wake
of the conflict that broke out between the bishop of Lucca and the lords of Mammoli
concerning rights over a border area between the two lordships, between 1074
and 1080 some local jurors swore their sacramenta, claiming that the bishop had
52 On the datation of this text, see Fiore, Signori e sudditi, p. 248, n. 28.
53 Daviso, ‘La carta di Tenda’. 54 Rossetti, ‘Pisa e l’impero’, p. 165.
55 Rossetti, ‘Pisa e l’impero’, p. 165.
56 Similar chronological gaps: Cartario delle valli Stura e Grana, n. 17 (a. 1231), pp. 24–7; Carte
dell’archivio arcivescovile di Pisa, II, n. 68 (a. 1125), pp. 134–6. On this issue important considerations
in Vansina, Oral Tradition, esp. pp. 147–85. See also Welzer, ‘Communicative memory’.
enjoyed the right to administer justice at the local level since time immemorial.57
Through the plentiful local documentation, however, we know that this claim was
at least partly false: only fifteen years earlier these prerogatives had been firmly in
the hands of the margraves of Tuscany.58 The sacramentales of Moriano had
instead felt the need to reinforce the bishop’s position by clearly backdating the
(rather recent) origins of his power. This evident interest in projecting political
realities and social practices into the past suggests that caution must be exercised
when approaching the chronological references in jurors’ attestations, which is
not to say that they have no validity at all.
This emphatic reference to the past further suggests that we should consider
the relation between the depositions made by local jurors and local social memory.
In most cases, in their sacramentum the local jurors promise not to say what
they have personally witnessed, but rather to express local norms and rights, by
contrast to what occurred in the examination of texts during judicial enquiries.
In one other case, the jurors asked to attest to the local consuetudo significantly
refer to memory; not the recollection of the practices under discussion, but rather
the memory of what they themselves have heard from previous jurors over time:
‘de hoc quod scit ex visione vel ex auditu quorum maiorum iuratorum’.59 De facto,
it may legitimately be argued that the usus publicly expressed by local jurors was
based not so much on the collective memory of concrete practices of power, as on
the memory of the ceremonial practices devoted to the recollection of local law.
Precisely with regard to this point, it is possible to identify one of the most
crucial differences between sacramenta and witness statements produced at trials.
The latter were also sworn depositions made by members of a community who
were required to answer specific questions. Witness statements, however, centred
on the description of local practices, and on the reality of social and power
relations.60 This description was based on the memory of the witnesses themselves
and, more generally, on the community’s collective memory. The texts were
expected to recall facts and situations; the jurors swearing the sacramenta, by
contrast, had to publicly affirm norms and rights.
This ceremonial was aimed to reaffirm not just the role of the dominus, but also
that of the community. The acknowledgement was mutual, with each side legit
imizing the other. Not only that, but in manifesting the existence of the community
as a unitary political body, the ceremonial also reaffirmed its fractures, pointing
57 ‘Appendice’, to Bertini, Memorie e documenti per servire alla storia di Lucca, IV.2, n. 84
(aa. 1074–80 c.), pp. 111–12.
58 Wickham, Community and Clientele, pp. 90–3.
59 Le carte del capitolo di Verona, II, n. 73 (a. 1176), p. 128; the text is about the village of Porcile,
in Veneto. It’s very similar the expression used in anothe document, about the village of Bionde
(but written by the very same notary Ademaro); see Le carte del capitolo di Verona, II, n. 99 (a. 1181),
pp. 170–1.
60 See the many testimonies analysed in Provero, ‘Conflitti di potere’.
to the hierarchy existing between its various social components.61 As we have

seen, the role of jurors was reserved for the group of peasant notables; it thus
expressed an acknowledgement of this component, which was distinguished from
that of humbler leaseholders or milites. The latter’s sense of belonging to a group
manifested itself (at least in the case of Cerea) in the fact that they were exempt
from paying the albergaria to their lord. The sacramentum, and more generally
the range of rituals it encompassed, therefore served as an occasion for the vari
ous social actors to confirm (or try to renegotiate) their reciprocal status. With
the sacramentum the jurors reminded the lord (and other vicini) who they were,
what rules they were expected to follow, to whom they owed obedience, and who
owned what. Collective and individual identity was thus reformulated and newly
confirmed before the assembly of vicini and the lord, and with their approval:
the ceremonial of memory expressed the ‘official’ and acknowledged meaning
of everyday practices and, indirectly, determined the identity of the people
performing them.62
In this sense, the regular repetition of the ritual was important because,
in the eyes of the lord convening the assembly, it prevented (or at any rate dis
couraged) subjects from ‘forgetting’ their duties and loosening their ties of
dependence on the dominus. More generally, as already noted, it represented a
periodical moment of expression (and renegotiation) of local social balances.
The main element in support of the idea of the periodic nature of the ritual is
the ceremonial context in which it took place. The preferred (albeit not exclu
sive) framework of the sacramentum was the general placitum, which almost
invariably occurred on a yearly basis (or even three times a year). It is not com
pletely unlikely, therefore, that—at any rate at an early stage—on the occasion
of every general placitum a public enunciation of the local usus was made by the
jurors, partly by analogy with similar ceremonials attested beyond the Alps. In
any case, this is only a hypothesis, which our sources do not allow us to either
confirm or refute.
What deserves a separate treatment is the issue of the sources at our disposal.
The records of oaths that have reached us tend to reflect particular moments
in the relation between a lord and his community. When we are able to recon
struct the political context of an individual text we find that the recording of
the oath coincides with a moment of conflict or of discontinuity with respect to
seigneurial power. There is no doubt that at such moments the need to perform
the sacramentum ceremonial was felt with particular urgency; this was combined
with a pressing need to record the ritual (either entirely or partially) in writing.
Conflict (or merely tension) led lords to seek for additional confirmation of their
prerogatives, which found expression in the drafting of documents. In certain
61 Torre, Il consumo di devozioni, pp. 63–75.

62 On social ‘self-memory’, see Algazi, ‘Sich selbst Vergessen’.
cases such documents do not even present any traces of the ritual context within
which they originated and take the form of a straightforward list of rights,
patrimonies, and/or lands.63
9.4 Custom and franchises: complementarity and overlaps
The cases examined so far also reveal another fundamental characteristic of the
orality regulating usus: the fact that it was not written made it flexible, allowing
both lords and subjects to adapt it to suit new power balances at the local level.
A written pact or letter of privilege—but also the written recording of a sworn
declaration—constituted a stronger guarantee of the immutability of the relations
it described (even though this immutability was not absolute).64 A written text
laying down each side’s obligations was not just a guarantee for the community
against any new claims its lord might wish to make in the future: it could also
spring from the lord’s desire to exploit his own (temporary) position of strength
to determine future long-term balances in his relation with his subjects.65
The fixed nature of written norms, therefore, was counterbalanced by the (at
least relative) flexibility of oral norms. This intrinsic characteristic of the oral usus
probably explains why even in the case of many rural centres where letters of
privilege or written pacts had been drafted between the community and its lord,
consuetudo continued to play a leading role. An analysis of these acts shows that
they regulated a range of matters, often in great detail, while completely overlook
ing other areas of crucial importance for local society. In some cases, they touched
upon such areas only with general enunciations (e.g. ‘the community must help
the lord’), without specifying the actual ways in which these norms were to be put
into practice. So while the aforementioned ‘charter of Tenda’ established the duty
of certain communities to provide military aid to their lords, it did not specify
either the size of the contingents to be provided or the number of days in which
this service took place each year. It is only from some thirteenth-century witness
statements that we learn that at the time from Tenda alone fifty men were to be
conscripted for fifteen days.66 The duty of communities to provide military
63 Two lists of rights and lands with the mention of jurors, but without indication of the ritual
framework, in Le carte del monastero di S. Ambrogio, III/1, nn. 101–2 (a. 1174). An example from
Fermo with a plain list of rights without mention of jurors in Liber iurium, n. 31 (a. 1130 c.), pp. 56–8;
another similar example (from the territory of Padua) in Codice diplomatico padovano, II, n. 74
(a. 1116 c.), p. 61.
64 On the charters of franchise, see section 8.1.
65 Carocci, Baroni di Roma, pp. 199–204, suggests not reading the existence of statutes as diagnostic
signs of strength of local communities.
66 On this, see Ascheri, ‘I conti di Ventimiglia’, p. 10, note 2. Even in Ripatransone, in the south
ern Marche, the effective military dues were not specified in the charter of franchise (where they
were just mentioned), but were codified by local oral custom. See the witnesses in Fermo città
egemone, n. 20 (a. 1253), p. 106, testimony of Marco di Giovanni: ‘pactum fuit inter predictum
c ontingents to their lords was thus established in writing, whereas the specific
form of this service was transmitted orally and hence was (possibly) open to peri
odic renegotiation between the people of the valley and the counts of Ventimiglia.
Likewise, in the Marche and in Umbria we only know about a relevant aspect of
the relation between subjects and their lords, namely the banalities (the use of the
lord’s mills, kiln, etc.) through witness statements, since it systematically goes
unmentioned in letters of privilege, with only one exception: the letter of privilege
issued to the community of Marano, in the southern Marche.67
While this kind of indeterminateness and incompleteness characterizes—to
varying degrees—more or less all written agreements and charters of franchises,
the situation seems more pronounced in the early period, between the ninth and
twelfth century. At this stage, it is evident that orality was still of central import
ance, and that the written documentation was intended not so much to replace as
to complement it, insofar as it was employed to solemnize particularly significant
moments in the relation between a lord and his community.68 The two sides con
sciously chose, on the one hand, to commit to writing the memory of the existence
of a reciprocal agreement, and, on the other hand, to continue to rely on orality for
the actual regulation of their mutual relations—or at any rate of many of these
relations. Particularly revealing evidence for this attitude is provided by those acts
in which the lord merely promises the community to respect its bonus usus, as the
abbot of Farfa did with the Stablamonenses in 1113.69
However, even an analysis of a series of genuine letters of privilege, such as
those issued by the bishop of Fermo to some centres subject to his power in
the decades around 1100 points to essentially the same conclusions. In all
these texts the actual relations between the subjects and their bishop remain
extremely vague.70 The discussion only touches upon a more concrete level when
it comes to the issue of granting the local consuls the right to exercise low justice
and forego certain seigneurial dues (in particular, the siliquaticum, a tax on
markets). No mention is made of other seigneurial levies, of the use of public
resources, of military services or even of the banalities—to limit ourselves to
dominum Adenulfum et homines Ripetransonis quod predicti homines Ripetransonis non debent
transire flumen Clenti occasione exercitus neque stare in exercitu ultra VIII dies nec stare in exercitu
minus tribus diebus’.
67 On the importance of seigneurial mills (and of their income), see the witnesses in Fermo città
egemone, n. 20 (a. 1253), pp. 64–141, and more in general, Fiore, Signori e sudditi, pp. 327–8. The char
ter of franchise of Marano is edited in Liber iurium, n. 102 (a. 1200), pp. 212–14.
68 On complementarity between writing and orality, and on ritual and ceremonial meanings of
writing, see Morsel, Ce qu’écrire veut dire.
69 Il Regesto di Farfa, V, n. 1180 (a. 1113), p. 179.
70 See Liber iurium, n. 35 (a. 1115), pp. 65–8 (Montolmo), where a lost franchise to Civitanova
(granted in 1075) is mentioned; n. 15 (a. 1116), pp. 18–22 (Poggio San Giuliano); n. 108 (a. 1128),
pp. 231–3 (Montesanto); another early franchise (now lost) for the castle of Agello is mentioned in
Liber iurium, n. 43 (a. 1086), pp. 78–80: see Fiore, Signori e sudditi, p. 253.
unquestionably important elements, which we know of from other, later documents

pertaining to the same centres.71
In order to better understand the interaction between letters of privilege and
written pacts, on the one hand, and (oral) swearing of custom, on the other, it
will be useful to more closely examine a couple of dossiers from the Verona
area. The first centres on San Giorgio di Valpolicella, which in the early twelfth
century was governed by a nobleman, Erzone, who held the village in benefice
half from the bishop and half from the counts of Verona.72 In 1139 the descend
ants of Erzone made a rather detailed agreement with their vicini of San Giorgio,
to regulate their mutual relations. Three years later, the pact was renewed with
some slight adjustments.73 After that date, we have no other documentary evi
dence concerning power relations within the village until 1187, a particularly
important date in its history. That year the bishop of Verona, through a series of
legal transactions, acquired direct sovereignty over the whole rural centre. On
27 October, to solemnize the new role he played at the local level, the bishop
visited the village to hold the general placitum, escorted by a large retinue.
On the same occasion, he asked the jurors to dicere et manifestare, under oath,
the ‘usus atque consuetudines domini’ in the name of the whole community,
assembled before the parish church.74 The set of norms that the local iurati
publicly recalled largely overlapped with the one mentioned in the 1139 docu
ment, although it would appear to have been broader, insofar as it touched
upon some issues that were utterly absent from the written pact laid down half
a century earlier.
A similar model, in which the presence of a written pact did not rule out the
periodical attestation of the lords’ right on the part of the sacramentales, is also
found at Bionde, a possession of the chapter of Verona. The relations between
subjects and lords at a local level had been defined through a covenant as early as
1091. In this case the text of the agreement is also very succinct and focuses on
a few specific points. However, a century later the local jurors were still required
to periodically list the lords’ rights before the representatives of the chapter, as
attested by a 1186 document which contains a transcription of the oaths sworn on
15 June.75 This is a far more broad-ranging text than that of 1091, which clearly
shows how, even after the redaction of the pact, local law largely continued to be
committed to orality and public ceremonials. In this case, we do not know the
reason that led to the (exceptional) transcription of the ritual; however, it is likely
71 Fiore, Signori e sudditi.

72 On the local lordship, see Brugnoli, ‘Il castrum e il territorio di S. Giorgio’, and Castagnetti, La
Valpolicella, pp. 60–7.
73 The two documents are edited in ‘Appendice’, to Castagnetti, La Valpolicella, n. 5 (a. 1139),
pp. 180–1; n. 7 (a. 1187), pp. 181–2; see pp. 65–6 on sacramentum and its contents.
74 Simeoni, ‘Comuni rurali veronesi’, pp. 112–14.
75 See the ‘Appendice’, to Simeoni, ‘Il comune rurale’, p. 240.
that the canons felt the need to certify their power in a moment of increasing
difficulty and conflict with many subject communities.
It is quite evident that oral and written norms were not in conflict, but rather
harmoniously coexisted, integrating each other. Charters of franchise or pacts
broadly outlined the relation between lords and their subjects, and recorded some
specific points which were perceived as being particularly significant at the time.
With regard to any issue not touched upon in the text, it was oral norms and cus
toms that defined the forms and modes of relation between the two sides. Even
when a charta libertatis or convenientia between a lord and his community was
available, it was necessary to preserve a ceremonial designed to periodically recall
the local bonus usus. Besides, it was only with the development of genuine written
statutes in rural communities that the sacramentum ceremonial involving jurors
finally fell out of use.76
Before turning our attention elsewhere, it is worth highlighting another
complex element in the relation between writing and orality. The attestations of
the sacramentum ritual known to us are often either complete or partial written
records of this ceremonial. As such, they bear witness to situations in which the
need was felt to transcribe this specific action in order to certify it, strengthen
its value, and preserve its memory. What we must (also) envisage, then, are
complex local realities, in which practices of power acquired legitimacy from
different sources that partly overlapped and partly stood in potential conflict to
one another: written pacts (and, to a lesser extent, charters of franchise), oral
agreements, jurors’ oral attestations, and partial records of one or more of these
attestations.77 Getting back to the specific case of San Giorgio, what is exceptional
about it is not so much the public enunciation of all the lord’s rights on the part of
his subjects, as the documentary recording of the ceremony. The general placitum
may well have entailed a ceremony of this sort. The decision to transcribe the
whole ritual (and not just a list of the lord’s prerogatives) would instead appear to
spring from the bishop’s desire to solemnize and certify in writing the new power
he wielded over the community. This (relative) discontinuity in terms of power
and the inevitable need to relegitimize the latter thus led to the creation of a
written document that represents a faithful (if exceptional) transcription of
a periodical ceremonial action.
Committing to orality the preservation of the sum of duties, rights, and pre
rogatives defining the complex relation between lords and their subjects did
not mean committing it to a kind of informal social memory. The documents
which have reached us instead reveal a high degree of formalization, of the
sort one would expect to find when dealing with issues so crucial for local
76 Fiore, ‘Dal prestito al feudo’.

77 On the relationship between the different sources of right in medieval society, see Ascheri,
‘Statuti e consuetudini’, pp. 21–31.
dynamics.78 The fact that, as previously noted, oral norms had a certain degree of
flexibility (not unlike written ones, in fact) does not mean that such norms were
not in force or were not binding. In a ‘face-to-face’ society such as that of the rural
communities analysed here, the act of speaking constituted the main form of the
social circulation of meaning. So it is hardly surprising that the norms regulating
this process were entrusted to orality.79 However, precisely the centrality of usus
and the need to ensure its (relative) stability detached its recollection from every
day life, framing it within a ceremonial and ritual context capable of lending it a
higher legitimation; memory lost its fluidity and pliability, turning into a codified
and ritual memory. Only gradually did the growing pervasiveness and social
prestige of writing lead to the obliteration of these ceremonials, after a long phase
of coexistence between oral and written norms that is evident in the thirteenth-
century cases from the valleys of Piedmont and Valcamonica, in Lombardy.80
In order to fully understand the peculiar relation between local customs and
the sacramentum, it must be stressed that the latter was not necessarily the only
possible solution for the public affirmation, in a ceremonial form, of the rights of
local lords and of local power balances. Some rarer documents illustrate a different
social practice, whereby a lord’s official would publicly proclaim the lord’s rights
over a community before the representatives and members of the community
itself. It is noteworthy that it was not the lord himself but a local representative of
his who would publicly affirm these rights: only someone concretely operating
on the local level could have the knowledge and practical know-how required to
perform an operation of this kind. At least in principle, the members of the com
munity could object to this list of rights, whereas their silence amounted to an
acceptance of the rights illustrated by the lord’s representative. Let us consider
now an example of this second model pertaining to the village of Nuvolera,
owned by the abbey of Santa Giulia in Brescia. In January 1154 Guido, the dean
‘de Nuvlarie’ on behalf of the convent, ‘fecit manifestationem de iuriis et redditu
quod Sancta Iulia habet in Nuvlarie’. This is followed by the usual, detailed list
of rents, albergarie, and services. At the end of the manifestatio, Fr. Brusiado, the
nuns’ representative, ‘in publica visinancia’, which is to say before the solemn
assembly of the local vicini, stated that this list had been drawn up by the dean
and that if anyone had anything to object, he should do so now, before the assem
bly.81 No one spoke up, which confirmed the validity of the rights listed by the
lord’s representative. While the subjects’ role was not completely eclipsed, it was
78 On the strong formalization of oral norms, see Assman, Das Kulturelle Gedächtnis, pp. 30–43.
79 On the central role of orality, see Vollrath, ‘Das Mittelalter in der Typik oraler Gesellschaften’.
80 On Piedmont, see Provero, Le parole dei sudditi, pp. 42–8. On Valcamonica, see Archivio
Vescovile di Brescia, Sezione mensa, Registro 5, ff. 28–56, with the sacramenta of the local communities
subject to the lordship of the bishop of Brescia, recorded in 1234; on this see Valetti Bonini, Le
comunità di valle, pp. 21–30.
81 Le carte di S. Giulia di Brescia, I, n. 103 (a. 1154). A similar text is Le carte del monastero di
S. Ambrogio, III/2, n. 91 (a. 1199).
very limited by comparison to the sacramentum. This ritual was genuinely

alternative to the sacramentum sworn by peasant jurors; it was a ceremonial much
closer to the lord’s perspective, one which could be controlled more directly and
which made it much more difficult for the subjects to make the procedures work
in their favour. It seems to me that a ritual of this sort would have been more suit
able as a way to affirm the rights of a lord in places where subjects had very
limited leeway for action and where the lord exercised a more stringent control.
However, this is only a hypothesis which cannot as yet be confirmed, given the
little evidence collected so far.82 What I would like to emphasize is that, at least
from a practical standpoint, the sacramentum ritual was not completely inevit
able. Alternatives were available that better safeguarded the role of the lord, to the
detriment of the subjects’ role. Besides, it must be noted that, at least to some
extent, the sacramentum constituted a show of power for lords, who could afford
the luxury of (at least formally) entrusting their subjects with a crucial responsi
bility such as the recollection of local customs, without having to fear the mishaps
and problems that an acknowledgement of this sort might lead to.
9.5 When custom turns bad: the malus usus
In the previous pages I have discussed custom as the range of shared (and usually
oral) norms establishing local power relations, in particular with regard to the
relation between a lord and a community; I have further noted how this reality
was chiefly described using the expression bonus usus (or equivalent ones).
However, in analysing social practices associated with consuetudo, I have also
repeatedly noted cases in which the local usus was disputed, with conflicts emer
ging between the two sides with regard to the content of practices established by
custom. These situations of conflict and friction offer a key to better understand
the nature of local custom, and the mechanisms regulating the establishment and
reproduction of the social order. To perform this operation, it is worth focusing
our attention on a different kind of custom, with a fully negative connotation:
the malus usus (or, to use an equivalent label, the malae consuetudines). In recent
studies published in Italy (as well as elsewhere), this expression is generally
interpreted as valuable evidence for the imposition of new forms of seigneurial
expropriation, and are said to occur especially in the period between the late
eleventh century and the first half of the twelfth.83 First of all, we will endeavour
to ascertain, and investigate, the meaning given to this expression in surviving
82 In addition to the texts above mentioned, see also the case, quite similar, of Ceriana, a lordship of
the bishop of Genoa: I Libri iurium di Genova, II/2, n. 116 (a. 1156), pp. 411–13.
83 A discussion of malus usus attentive to the rethoric devices of the texts is Sassier, ‘Seigneuries
d’eglises’.
documents. We will then reconstruct the practices with which it was associated,
the rhetorical and discursive strategies of which it was part, and its ambiguous
relation to the bonus usus. In other words, we will be using this expression as a
key to better define the development of political languages in the countryside.
First of all, it is interesting to note the nature of the documents featuring
the expression in question. Malus usus and equivalent expressions occur rather
frequently within deeds of relinquishment, in particular ones by which a lord
relinquished a series of rights he had previously (unjustly) exercised on the sub
jects and subordinates of another lord, or more rarely on his own subjects. One
typical example is provided by the document in which in 1077 count Ranieri of
the Aldobrandeschi family relinquished the ‘male consuetudines et usitationes’
he had exercised on the peasants living on the estates belonging to the abbey of
Monte Amiata.84 However, a lord could also relinquish a malus usus he had exer
cised even in documents addressed to the community that had been the victim of
his abuses, as in the case of charters, contracts, and brevia. One typical case is the
waiver which Matilda of Canossa issued to the men of Monticulo, in the Parma
area, for the ‘malos et iniustos usos’ locally exercised by her ‘ministeriales’.85
Leaving our rural context aside for a moment, it may be recalled that emperor
Henry IV himself, with the aforementioned charter from Lucca, had abolished
the ‘consuetudines perversas’ introduced by margrave Bonifacio of Canossa with
regard to the governing of the city.86
These examples make it quite clear that the expression malus usus (like its
equivalents) is used to describe a range of services and provisions that were
regarded as illegitimate and abusive by those expected to provide them: a view
that at the time of the drafting of the deed was (at least formally) shared even by
the holder of the prerogatives, who thereby sought to relinquish them. At times
in these texts the expression malus usus is replaced by wordier paraphrases
through which the lord acknowledges that the provisions in question (albergaria,
fodder tax, colta, etc.) had been imposed by him iniuste and/o per vim.87 In any
case, it must be stressed that the expression first of all reflects the point of view
84 Codex diplomaticus Amiatinus, II, n. 303 (1077), p. 251. Good examples are also: Le carte della
canonica della cattedrale di Firenze, n. 156 (a. 1108), p. 379 (pravum usum); Le più antiche carte di
S. Maria di Val di Ponte, I, n. 78 (a. 1157), pp. 137–8 (malum usum); Archivio Vescovile di Città
di Castello, Registro I, f. 11 (a. 1114) (malum usum).
85 Die Urkunden und Briefe der Markgräfin Matilda, n. 132 (a. 1114), pp. 338–40; see also the
waiver made in 1171 by the abbot of Passignano, concerning the malus usus on his men of Matraia, in
northern Tuscany, partially edited in Conti, La formazione della struttura agraria, I, p. 282. Similar
waivers by the bishop of Luni are: Il regesto del codice Pelavicino, n. 488 (a. 1039), pp. 506–8; n. 267
(a. 1096), pp. 246–7.
86 Rossetti, ‘Il diploma di Enrico’. On the reference to the custom in imperial (and margravial)
diplomas to cities see Bordone, La società cittadina, pp. 101–16.
87 Some examples of waivers and pacts with such expressions: Regesto della Chiesa cattedrale
di Modena, I, n. 310 (a. 1108), pp. 276 (deeds exercised iniuste by the lord); Le pergamene degli archivi
di Bergamo, n. 37 (a. 1068), pp. 68–9 (the lord of Calusco promises his homines to not collect several
levies per vim).
of those on whom power is being exercised, rather than of those exercising
such power. In other words, whereas the bonus usus, at least to some extent, is the
product of a shared view of power relations, the malus usus reveals a break between
those in power and those forced to obey: to be more precise, a conflict between the
two sides over the legitimacy of certain specific practices of power.
The origin of the expression is probably to be sought within peasant communities
subject to the power of lords, and who used it to voice their rejection of certain
impositions.88 Its origin notwithstanding, the expression also found its way into
the language of lords, who employed it to describe some of the services they
expected from their subjects. The fact that the expression first occurs in docu
ments concerning relations between lords and communities is hardly surprising;
what is less obvious is its usage in contexts in which the subjects did not play a
leading role, but were merely the object of a transaction. Expressions such as ‘cum
omne uso, bono sive malo’ (with each custom, good or bad) are not all infrequent
in the transfers of ownership (of an estate as property, as a fief, etc.) by one lord to
another, and entailing the transfer of jurisdictional rights over certain areas or
groups of individuals.89 It is obvious that in such cases the adjective malus is
used to refer to those customary forms of expropriation the legitimacy of which
was affirmed by the lord himself but not acknowledged by his subjects. The very
formula used probably points to the existence of a dispute between the former
lord and his subject with regard to certain services: a conflict inherited by the
new dominus.
Given these premises, it is worth shifting our attention to some concrete cases
that provide further food for thought. In addition to Henry IV’s grant, the Pisa
area offers other important texts pertaining to this topic. What is particularly
helpful in elucidating the dynamics leading to the development of the so-called
‘negative’ consuetudo is a well-known document with which we have already
dealt: the querimonia submitted by the inhabitants of Casciavola against the
Longubardi de Sancto Cassiano.90 The account which the former produced for the
Pisan judges of their relations with their meddlesome neighbours, and the very
terminology they employed, must carefully be reassessed in the light of what has
been argued so far.
The inhabitants of Casciavola start off by claiming that they are free and have
some warehouses (cellae) in the castle of San Casciano, where they enjoy the
right of shelter. In listing the obligations deriving from this, the inhabitants of
88 Freedman, The Origins of Peasant Servitude, argues for a peasant origin. But in the same years
the expression was used also (with the same meaning) by ‘reformed’ monks; see Sassier, ‘Seigneuries
d’eglises’.
89 Le più antiche carte dell’abbazia di S. Maria di Valdiponte, I, n. 78 (a. 1157), pp. 137–8; II, n. 117
(a. 1176), pp. 28–9; Cenci, Codice diplomatico di Gubbio, n. 339 (a. 1173), pp. 392–3; n. 439 (a. 1195),
p. 475; Archivio Vescovile di Città di Castello, Registro I, f. 11 (a. 1114).
90 Lettere originali, I, n. 18 (aa. 1098–1106 c.), p. 156. The text is discussed by Wickham, ‘La signoria
rurale’, pp. 365–7.
Casciavola state that ‘Usus autem noster, quem nos faciebamus ad opus castellis
talis fuit’.91 Initially this usus consisted in their having to stand guard in the castle
and provide two cartloads of wood for every cella they owned within its walls.
These services were also repaid through the protection that the San Casciano
offered. Later, the lords of San Casciano chose to turn the payment in timber into
one in money: 16 denarii for every cella. Thus far, the relation between the two
sides would appear to have been a harmonious one, so much so that when,
shortly afterwards, the San Casciano—with what the document (retrospectively)
describes as ‘falsis precibus et cum inganno’—requested an additional contribution
of three cartloads of wood from the Casciavola community, the latter complied.
This section of the document ends as it had begun, with the formula ‘iste fuit
n
ostrum usum’.92 From this moment onwards, the relations between the two
sides rapidly deteriorated. After the destruction of their castle, the lords started
imposing increasingly burdensome forms of expropriation on the small commu
nity, an act perceived by now as a real form of extortion. Precisely in stressing the
predatory nature of the power exercised by the lords, the document states that
this exaction occurred ‘non per usum, nec per posturam neque per nostram
voluntatem’.93 In this case, therefore, usus would appear to refer to the seigneurial
(or, rather, proto-seigneurial) services provided by the Casciavolesi. The range of
these services is clearly defined through a detailed yet not unalterable agreement
between the two sides. The services fall within the framework of a relationship
that was perceived (at any rate by the peasants) as being based on reciprocity,
since the payments and services were counterbalanced by the possibility to make
use of the castle’s defences and by the military protection provided by the lords.
What we have, then, is not a fixed picture but one subject to developments and
changes, as reflected precisely by the flexibility of the usus. When this dynamic
balance is broken, the services required, which no longer meet the voluntatem
(will) of the community, degenerated in the eyes of its members into mere rapinam
(robbery): something that the inhabitants of Casciavola were only able to free
themselves of after much effort, through the help of a higher authority (first
margravine Beatrix, and then the commune of Pisa).
As already noted, the most peculiar aspect of this specific event lies precisely in
its conclusion. In most cases, the rapinae must have been regularized and must
have rapidly evolved into a genuine malus usus. While disputed by significant
segments of local society, customs of this sort could endure for several decades
without losing their negative connotation as arbitrary acts. This was the case at
Montecchio, near Parma.94 In 1114 the men of this village, with the support of the

94 Die Urkunden und Briefe der Markgräfin Matilda, n. 132 (a. 1114), pp. 338–40.
bishop of Parma (who almost certainly exercised his lordship over the area),
lodged a complaint with countess Matilda of Canossa for ‘quondam malos et
iniustos usos’ imposed by her officers. The inhabitants referred in particular to
albergarie, expropriations and other demands. The homines claimed that their
forebears had nunquam (never) been subjected to such impositions.95 Having
heard these complaints and looked into the matter, Matilda finally accepted to
abolish the ‘malos et iniustos usos quos a tempore bone memorie Beatricis matris
nostre habuerunt’. The disputed impositions, therefore, were not new—contrary
to what the querimonia submitted by the community appears to suggest—but
rather constituted a consolidated element within the framework of local power
dynamics, since it had been established a few decades earlier. This did not prevent
the local community from interpreting the impositions as dangerous and harmful
innovations, compared to even earlier times. The members of the community, in
other words, looked back to a past (be it a real or imaginary one) in which the
consuetudo at the centre of the conflict had not existed, something which allowed
them to dispute its legitimacy in the present, through the rhetoric of malus usus.
From the surviving evidence, of course, it is impossible to tell whether the hom-
ines of Montecchio had continued to regard these claims as illegitimate since their
first imposition and had only submitted to them under duress, or whether their
choice to dispute them was a recent occurrence, which emerged with the change
of local balances (evidenced by the intervention of the bishop of Parma in support
of the community).96
What is noteworthy is the fact that the repetition of a practice (and hence its
establishment as an usus) over several decades did not automatically lend legit
imacy to it if the subjects did not perceive it as something just. Moreover, the
attitude of the local community could change over the years, shifting from rejec
tion to acceptance, only to eventually revert to the initial opposition. It is difficult
to imagine that the Montecchio community uninterruptedly disputed specific
seigniorial expropriations for over forty years. It is more likely, instead, that periods
of rejection alternated with moments of acquiescence on the subjects’ part. In this
respect, the difference between bonus usus and malus usus should be seen not
as a fixed and immutable line, but rather as a shifting and flexible one: in other
words, the two semantic fields must have been constantly redefined over time.
As local power balances changed, given social practices could shift—in the eyes of
one of the two sides (or both)—from the field of bonus usus to that of malus usus,
and vice-versa. The discourse of consuetudo, then, was used by local actors to
interpret social practices and acts of power, to either legitimize or delegitimize
95 Die Urkunden und Briefe der Markgräfin Matilda, n. 132 (a. 1114), p. 339: ‘venerunt homines de
Monticulo conquerentes malos et iniustos usos per nostros ministeriales sibi fieri qui nunquam
antecessores illorum fuerunt impositi’.
96 The bishop of Parma, who had backed the pleas of the homines de Monticulo to Matilda, promised,
for his part, to not collect levies and corveés to ‘nostris [i.e. Matilda’s] arimannis de Monticulo’.
them: the memory of the usus, and hence of the past, was constantly redefined
and manipulated on the basis of the present in an effort to determine the future.
Precisely the rhetoric of malus usus reveals that the discourses of fidelity, pacts
and (good) custom, however widespread they may have been, did not account for
all the actions through which dominici loci exercised their power over their sub
jects on a daily basis. While all these relations revolve around an idea of consent,
albeit with sometimes almost opposite characteristics (horizontality vs verticality,
innovation vs memory), malus usus is the label used to define actions that fall
outside of a shared horizon, and which in fact express the desire of one side (the
lords) to affirm its interests to the detriment of the other side (the mass of sub
jects). This raises a crucial question: to what extent can oaths of fidelity, records
of customs, and pacts, be taken to represent the actual balances of power in the
countryside? The available documentary evidence might well provide a distorted
picture of the society of this period, by emphasizing the weight of those situations
and realities characterized by pactional relations, while neglecting those dynamics
more prominently marked by coercion and the imposition of power by force, and
which are more closely connected with praxis than with the production of texts.
It is essential to correctly answer this question in order to fully understand those
processes associated with the emergence and social reproduction of seigneurial
power. In the following chapter I will therefore be discussing the more properly
and genuinely seigneurial language of violence and arbitrary power.
10
Violence
A Pragmatic Language
In recent decades, in reaction to those theses overemphasizing violence and

subjugation as central elements in the development and consolidation of rural
lordship—theses particularly entrenched in France—Italian research has justifiably
tended to downplay this aspect by drawing attention to the elements of the system
associated with stability, consensus, and the reciprocity of the relation between
lords and their subjects.1 This important rereading, while certainly due, has led
scholars to minimize to some extent the more brutal aspects of the exercise of
power in the rural context, and to regard them as ultimately secondary and
peripheral. Over the last few years, however, some studies have started focusing
on violence once again, by stressing the structural role it played not just in the
early stage of development of seigneurial power but even at a later period.2 For
the documented reasons I have previously analysed, the language connected to
reciprocity and pacts as the basis of power, as well as the related idea of ‘good
custom’, might be assigned a centrality—at any rate in the surviving sources—
which does not reflect actual power relations in the countryside. Besides, up until
the thirteenth century, almost all the information we have about the relation
between subjects and lords comes precisely from written pacts, customary oaths
and agreements, and hence from texts that, as we have seen, obey an intrinsically
consensual logic, highlighting the shared aspect of the relation.3
The first step in order to discuss the crucial topic of violence, then, is to con-
sider what texts are available and how representative they are. Although sources
pertaining to violence are far less numerous compared to franchises and written
pacts, especially before 1130, they certainly exist. The most obvious example is
querimoniae, which is to say those complaints filed with a higher authority by a
1 On the decreasing importance attributed to seigneurial violence, with a focus on Italy, see from
different points of view, Sergi, ‘L’esercizio del potere giudiziario’ (very important for our topic the
discussion with Chris Wickham, pp. 343–4); Wickham, Courts and Conflicts, pp. 352–61; Provero,
L’Italia dei poteri locali, pp. 151–82.
2 See esp. Collavini, ‘Sviluppo signorile’; Collavini, ‘I poteri signorili’. But see also the earlier
Carocci, ‘La signoria rurale nel Lazio’. The subject has been relaunched by the great book of
T. N. Bisson, The Crisis. The important studies of Gadi Algazi, are instead focused on late medieval
Germany, and underline the structural role of violence in the reproduction of seigneurial power; see
esp. Algazi,‘Pruning peasants’.
3 See above, Chapters 8 and 9.
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198825746.001.0001
Violence: A Pragmatic Language 227
party (generally, owing to the nature of the surviving sources, a religious institution,
or more rarely, a layman or community) who believed they had been damaged
by the actions of a rival party.4 By chiefly drawing upon these sources, with the
support of other (documentary, narrative, and epistolary) sources, in the follow-
ing pages I will trace a trajectory that in many ways stands as a counterpart to the
investigation I have previously conducted into pacts and customs.
10.1 Violent practices in the documentary evidence
First of all, it must be emphasized that by comparison to other European contexts,

such as Catalonia for instance, where a wealth of sources have been very carefully
analysed by Thomas N. Bisson, the case of Italy is marked by the dearth of queri-
moniae.5 The reasons for this are rather obvious: the increasing ineffectiveness of
central power, in particular in the phase after 1080, made it very difficult to find a
higher institution to which a complaint might be submitted. The problem was
worsened by the collapse of great power structures and by the relative horizontal-
ity of the seigneurial world in this period. Moreover, it was precisely the most
powerful lords (or their vassals), often the descendants of public officials, who
resorted to violence in order to turn the pre-existing balance of power to their
advantage, or to impose new levies upon their subjects.
One classic example of this process is provided by the Aldobrandeschi, who
exercised comital power over an extensive area of southern Tuscany. A well-
known complaint produced by the abbey of Monte Amiata clearly shows how the
counts were the main source of turmoil, even though they were formally entrusted
with maintaining order in the area.6 Only the presence of the sovereign in the
area shortly after 1080 allowed the monks to find an avenue for their complaints
to be heard. In the text, the monks complain about the occupation of castles, the
levying of new taxes on the inhabitants previously under their monastery, and the
systematic use of force and violence on the counts’ part to impose their new rule.
It is evident from this example that the local political authority which in theory
ought to have addressed the complaint coincided with (or at any rate protected)
the accused party. By contrast, only fifty years earlier, when the public authorities
were still in control, the same monks had turned to the margrave of Tuscany to
complain about the infringements committed against them by the bishop of
Chiusi. The monks’ querimonia of 1084 is therefore also highly revealing because
of its addressee, namely the sovereign—more precisely, Henry IV. Many of the
4 On this documentary typology, see Cammarosano, ‘Carte di querela’.

5 Bisson, Tormented Voices.
6 This text is Codex diplomaticus Amiatinus, II, n. 309 (a. 1084), pp. 261–6. The text is discussed
and contextualized in Collavini, Honorabilis domus, pp. 133–42.
sources of this kind that have reached us were addressed to the king/emperor at a
time in which he found himself in Italy and was capable of imposing his will
through his army. More rarely, they were submitted to a public official seen to
embody royal power or to a city commune, regarded as being to some extent heir
to the old public tradition.7
One obvious problem related to the interpretation of these texts is their one-
sidedness, a feature intrinsic to sources of this particular kind. The querimoniae
are documents issued by a party engaged in a dispute for the specific purpose
of casting the accused party in the worst possible light. The facts described
are extrapolated and isolated from their context, as fragments of a much more
complex interpretation which are rhetorically reassembled in order to establish
the ground for a legal action.8 However, a comparison with documents of a
different sort, in particular charters of franchise and oaths, or early lists of
testimonies, allow us to correct this one-sided perspective to some extent, by
reconstructing the contexts in which these acts of violence were perpetrated.
As regards the information provided by individual texts, for the most part it
seems reliable. In those (rare) cases in which it has been possible to verify the
evidence, no significant discrepancies have emerged.9 The strategy adopted
by the authors of these documents consists not in simply making up some
accusations (a risky course of action in view of a future trial), but rather in
drawing upon actual facts to construct a rhetorically effective argument. The
considerable circumstantial evidence provided by the texts further confirms
this impression.
One additional problem concerns the specific profile of the addressees: the
emperor, the pope, royal officials, and urban communes. As these figures varied
considerably in terms of their cultural profile and sensibility, the plaintiffs could
be led to emphasize certain narrative elements which they felt to be ideologically
more effective than others: for example, breaches of honour in texts addressed
to the emperor (or secular high officials), and the arbitrariness of levies in ones
addressed to urban communes.10 However, the documents are not simply moulded
to fit the addressee’s perspective; rather, an attempt is made to find a common
7 One example of the former kind of sources is the querimonia which the abbey of Farfa submitted
against the aristocratic family of the Gualcherii to the margrave of the Adriatic March Guarnerio, who
had recently been appointed by Henry IV and was clearly perceived as a representative of the royal
authorities. See Il Regesto di Farfa, V, n. 1213 (aa. 1099–1119 c.), pp. 204–5. One example of the latter
kind of sources is the querimonia which the inhabitants of Casciavola submitted to the commune of
Pisa against the lambardi of San Casciano. We will be discussing this document in greater detail later
on; the best edition is Lettere originali, n. 18 (aa. 1098–1106 c.), p. 156.
8 On these problems Vallerani, Medieval Public Justice, pp. 77–81.
9 See esp. Die Register Innocenz’ III., n. 377 (a. 1198), pp. 570–3, discussed below, par. 4 of this
chapter. But see also the querimonia edited in Regesto di Farfa, V, n. 1213 (aa. 1099–1119 c.), pp. 204–5,
discussed in Fiore, Signori e sudditi, pp. 224–9.
10 See respectively Il Registrum Magnum, n. 24 (aa. 1073–5 c.), pp. 40–1 (emperor); Lettere originali,
I, n. 18 (aa. 1098–1106 c.), p. 156 (commune of Pisa).
ground between the authors of the text and the authorities they are addressing.
Thus, if the theme of arbitrary taxation is to be found in querimoniae addressed
to urban communes, this is because it was one familiar to the political culture of
the countryside, as is clearly revealed by the franchises, which sought precisely to
limit the lords’ discretionary power. Moreover, leaving specific addressees aside,
ones notes a marked overlap in the nature of the actions described in the various
texts, which actually finds confirmation in sources of a different sort. In any case,
what matters most for a structural argument such as the one I am formulating is
that, regardless of their factual accuracy, the actions described had to strike the
addressee as likely and, more generally, be socially plausible; therefore, they had
to be consistent with the actual behavioural models of their age, with respect to
which they can serve as useful guides.
Having laid out these first, necessary methodological considerations, we can
now more directly approach the content of these texts, which offer a coherent
and rather homogeneous picture of the exercising of power in the countryside.
I believe it is useful to set out from two querimoniae—a well-known one which
I have already repeatedly referred to, and a much lesser-known one—such a way
as to gain a better idea of these documents. I will focus, of course, on those aspects
I am most interested in here, namely acts of violence.
The first document is the querimonia which the inhabitants of the village of
Casciavola submitted against the lords of San Casciano. As we have already seen
in the former chapter, in the second half of the eleventh century, the latter had
sought to extend their power over the nearby settlement of Casciavola, by taking
advantage of the weakening and subsequent collapse of margravial authority in
Tuscany from 1080 onwards.11
‘[The lords of San Casciano] started robbing us of our things, not according to
custom or to any agreement much less to our own will [. . .]. Later, when all public
authority had become ineffective and justice itself had perished and vanished
from our land, they started seizing our things by force, mocking us, and assault-
ing our wives as they lay in bed in labour, striking them with sticks, and stripping
our homes of all our goods, and beating our children and throwing them into
dung and mud, taking our animals away from our homes, ravaging our fields,
vegetable gardens and olive groves, stealing the produce, and forcefully snatching
our livelihood and that of our children.’12

12 Lettere originali, I, n. 18 (aa. 1098–1106 c.), p. 156: ‘ceperunt nobis facere rapinam de nostris
rebus, non per usum nec per posturam neque per nostram voluntatem. [. . .] Postea, cum omnis potes-
tas perdidit virtutem et iustitia mortua est et periit de nostra terra, tunc ceperunt adprehendere et
ludere et mulieres nostras assallire in ipso parto cum iacerent in lecto et percutere eas et tollere omnia
bona de nostra domo, filios etiam nostros percutere et involvere in piscina et in omni luto, omnes
etiam bestias abstraere de casis, omnes agros vastare, ortos de omnis oleribus et fructibus expoliare, et
tollere et rapere omnem copiam unde debebamus vivere nos et filii nostri’.
The second text is the querimonia filed by the monks of Coltibuono, in Tuscany,
against the Firidolfi, a local seigneurial family, in the mid-twelfth century.13 The
context, then, is different from the previous one: not the violent exercising of
power within the boundaries of their lordship, but the forceful imposition of con-
trol over an estate (in this case, a monastic one) to which an enemy lays claim.
‘[The Firidolfi] forcefully seized the church of Montegrossoli, which they had
previously granted to us, and shamefully and violently expelled the clerics whom
we had installed there from the church and even the castle. When friar R. from
Coldibuono complained with Rainaldo [the head of the Firidolfi] about the expul-
sion, he seized him by the hair and smashed his face against a wall [. . .]. He then
wounded our cellerarius Ugo with a mace. Then he cut off Pietro’s beard and struck
the lay brother Teuzone with brutal kicks and punches. Then he had Giovanni
tied up and, after dragging him along, his esquires seriously wounded him in the
head with a sword [. . .]. Then he had Baldo and Carondino stripped and whipped,
sending them back to the monastery naked and in a wretched state. Then in one
of our courtyards he killed all the hens in wanton fashion (inmoderate) and threw
our supply of cheese and eggs to his dogs.’14
It is important to focus our attention on these public acts not for the sake
of historiographical voyeurism, but because these practices and gestures were
highly significant for the individuals performing them, as much as for those on
the receiving end. They endured in the collective memory of the local inhabitants
for years, or even decades; not only that, but they contributed to shaping this
memory. What we have are genuine public rituals of violence, performed in order
to express local power relations, or at any rate their perpetrators’ idea of such
relations. Even a heinous act such as the beating of women about to give birth—
as mentioned in the text from Casciavola—should not be interpreted merely as a
violent end to itself, but as a brutal ritual whose aim was to express the absolute
power of the lords over the villagers, even before their birth.15
13 Archivio di Stato di Firenze, Diplomatico, Vallombrosa, sec. XIII (a. 1171 c.), partial edition in
Majnoni, La badia a Coltibuono, pp. 149–50. On this text see Collavini, ‘I poteri signorili’.
14 Archivio di Stato di Firenze, Diplomatico, Vallombrosa, sec. XIII (a. 1171 c.): ‘In primis ecclesiam
de Montegrossoli, quam nobis dederunt, nobis violenter abstulerunt, turpiter et inriverenter clericum,
quem ibi posueramus, de ecclesia et toto kastro eicientes et causa eiectionis illius clerici, cum presbiter
R. frater de Cultubono eum de tanto excessum reprehenderet, ipsum Rainaldus apprehendit per cap-
illos et caput muro illisit. Item quicquid clerico nostro de Montegrossoli abstulit, nec nobis nec sibi
restituit. Item fratrem nostrum Ugonem cellerarium cum zaccone vulneravit. Item Petri de Monte
barbam depilavit, et Teuzum conversum pugnis et calcibus graviter percussit. Item Iohannem
Arronem ligari fecit, et scutiferi eius, per miliarium ipsum ligatum ducentes, caput eius ea cum capu-
lis spatarum gravissime vulneraverunt, et quidam suus villanus postea eundem Ioannem cum ense
vulneravit. Item mariscalcum nostrum in stabulo ligavit, et inter pedes equorum ipsum ligatum
proiecit. Item Gallum cum zaccone in capite et auricula percussit, ita quod sanguis emanavit. [. . .]
Item Baldonem et Carundinum expoliavit et corrigiis verberavit et nudos et excalciatos ad abbatiam
remisit. Item in quadam curte nostra inmoderate gallinas occicidit et canibus suis solum caseum et
ova ad edendum dedit’.
15 On beating as ritual of subjection (and its origins), see section 4.2.
Violence was hardly a novelty in the countryside. Documents pertaining to

Carolingian and post-Carolingian (or even Lombard) Italy show that it was a cru-
cial element in conflicts and an important aspect of social and power relations.16
However, the use of violence was far more limited: violence was obviously widely
applied in the context of war, but as regards the everyday exercise of power it
was almost exclusively directed towards individuals of servile rank, as a means to
mark their subordinate status; and even in these cases, it seems as though the use
of force was quite limited, both in quantitative and qualitative terms (the sources
generally refer to simple beatings).17 Even in texts concerning the emergence and
management of local conflicts, up until the early decades of the eleventh century
we find a very limited use of violence, at any rate compared to the subsequent
period: the threat of force is more common than its actual use.18 The first text
featuring acts of violence that largely seem to agree with those described in the
querimoniae of the ‘long twelfth century’ (c. 1080–1200) only dates from roughly
1040, and reflects the kind of changes which were to run their full course a few
decades later.19
Within the context of the imposition and widespread application of the sei-
gneurial model in the countryside, starting from the last decades of the eleventh
century, violence acquired a new centrality within the framework of social prac-
tices, but also in relation to the very ideology of power.20 What was new, in my
view, was its systematic and ubiquitous application, and especially the fact that it
came to shape most power relations. Beatings, whippings, torture, humiliations
and rape started becoming part of the everyday life of peasants but also other
social groups. The lords carried out what may be regarded as genuine rituals of
violence on the public stage in order to express their conception of social relations.
This change would appear to be closely associated with the change in lordship
patterns. It is no coincidence that some of the querimoniae, in which these acts
are described, at the same time bear witness to the imposition of new forms of
lordship, as we have seen in the first part of the book.21
Let us take a summary view, then, of the kinds of practices described in the
querimoniae and in somewhat analogous sources, before drawing some more
general conclusions.22 First of all, it is necessary to distinguish between two
16 See Montanari, ‘Conflitto sociale’.

17 A similar event in Manaresi, I Placiti, I, n. 36 (a. 824), p. 113. For a general overview, see
Albertoni, ‘Law and the Peasant’.
18 See for example Chronicon Farfense, I, pp. 78–81, and II, pp. 73–7, about events of the early
eleventh century.
19 Casagrande, ‘Il ritrovamento del testo’, pp. 124–7. 20 See section 1.2.
21 See Chapter 3.
22 Other examples comprehend: Cammarosano, La famiglia dei Berardenghi, ed. pp. 140–1 (a. 1075 c.);
Documenti per la storia della città di Arezzo, n. 201 (a. 1070 c.), pp. 287–8; n. 311 (a. 1115 c.), pp. 425–6;
n. 365 (a. 1163), pp. 493–4; Codex diplomaticus Amiatinus, II, n. 309 (a. 1084), pp. 261–3 Lupus, Codex
Diplomaticus Bergomatis, II, p. 775 (a. 1091); Cavallini, ‘Vescovi di Volterra’, n. 129 (twelfth cent. but
a. 1100 c.), pp. 81–2; Archivio capitolare di Treviso, Rotoli senza data, sec. XII, Breve recordationis
different categories of action recorded in these texts: those directed at a lord’s own
subjects and those directed at the subjects of other lords, within the framework of
conflicts. The two categories sometimes overlap, for instance in the case of those
areas contested by two powers, but it is in any case possible to draw up two lists.
I believe it is important to distinguish these two spheres in order to better under-
stand the material and ideological meaning of acts of violence. I will examine the
acts of violence inflicted on other lords, or on monks and clerics, later on; given
its complexity and peculiarity, this topic needs to be dealt with separately.23
The violent practices marking lords’ relations with their subjects are as follows.
One crucial sphere is that of expropriation, which is ubiquitous in the sources.
It ranges from very specific demands on the part of the lords, which in the face of
a refusal led to forced expropriation (or the requisition of livestock and work
tools as a pledge), or to serious and brutal acts of seizure of a distinctly arbitrary
nature. These expropriations are often associated with forced entries, as the lord
or his agents break into peasants’ homes to expropriate their property. Closely
connected to this is the perpetration of physical acts of violence against subjects,
often triggered by resistance (or merely hesitation) in the face of the mounting
demands made by the domini. Corporal punishments, often inflicted for petty
reasons, are common and take a number of forms, ranging from simple bare
hand beatings to thrashings, whippings or even eye gouging.24 In addition to
actual death sentences, we have a few highly significant instances of cold-blooded
murder committed by frenzied lords against subjects guilty of petty faults or slight
acts of insubordination. On several occasions the texts (prudishly) adumbrate
acts of sexual harassment or rape against the wives or daughters of peasants.
At least in one case it is clearly stated that in the Treviso area a lord’s henchmen
extended the right of hospitality in the homes of their subjects to the point of
habitually raping the latter’s wives in their very homes. When the peasants com-
plained about this, the local lord did not intervene, implicitly endorsing this
practice, which continued undisturbed.25 Finally, lords could go so far as to set
fire to their own villages, after having evacuated them, to prevent them from
being pillaged by the enemy.
(aa. 1100–1135), ed. in Biscaro, ‘La polizia campestre’, p. 51; Regesta chartarum pistoriensium, II, n. 21
(a. 1132 c.), pp. 22–33; Documenti per la storia ecclesiastica e civile di Roma, n. 4 (a. 1140), pp. 111–13;
Cammarosano, Abbadia a Isola, n. 105 (a. 1157 c.), pp. 395–6; Carte di Fonte Avellana, II, n. 356
(a. 1196), pp. 325–8. These texts, quite late, are not formally querimoniae but libelli: Contatore, De
Historia Terracinensi, pp. 52–7 (a. 1200 c.); Il ‘Rigestum comunis Albe’, n. 179 (aa. 1200–1 c.), pp. 285–8
(two twin libelli); Die Register Innocenz’ III., I.1, n. 377 (a. 1198), pp. 570–3 (a text containing a long
summary of two different libelli).

24 A full list of possible acts of violence against subjects is offered by Contatore, De Historia
Terracinensi, pp. 52–7 (a. 1201).
25 Archivio capitolare di Treviso, Rotoli senza data, sec. XII, Breve recordationis (aa. 1100–35); ed.
in Biscaro, ‘La polizia campestre’, p. 51.
In the context of conflict with other centres of power, the catalogue of acts
of violence obviously becomes much broader. In addition to brutal requisitions,
chattels are stolen, especially money and valuable items, as well as livestock. Where
the conflict is more intense, any resources that cannot be taken away are destroyed,
starting from foodstuffs. The most typical case is the burning of crops or store-
rooms, but the desire to destroy sometimes takes a meticulous (and—in a peasant
society—dramatic) form with the chopping down of vines and orchards or even—
as we have seen in the case of Coltibuono—the slaughtering of farm animals.
Likewise, peasants’ houses are often set fire to after being ransacked. In these
frameworks physical attacks on the peasants, with lashings and thrashings, are
clearly very common, although we also find non-lethal sharp-force injuries, to say
nothing of the raping of helpless peasant women. In cases such as these, often one
or two deaths are recorded: usually unintended deaths caused (often after some
time) by the wounds inflicted. Nevertheless, we also find some more serious
episodes, where the intention is not merely to pillage and terrorize, but precisely
to kill. We read of fires being set at night and in secret, with the manifest aim of
murdering peasants in their own homes, or even of wilful mass murders, where
the victims are put to the sword.
As is evident even at a cursory reading, these are in some way very similar lists,
which at least to some extent overlap. What changes is the way in which the vio-
lence is perpetrated, and we also find clear quantitative differences. Nevertheless,
the actions are much the same. Violence emerges as a key element to understand
social and political dynamics in the countryside, and in particular the relation-
ship between the lords (and their henchmen) on the one hand, and the peasants
on the other. One first element is the economic side of lordship. The mode of
operating of the lords presents, at least occasionally, an element of internal preda-
tion, directed towards their very subjects. Wherever customary expropriations
(accepted by the subjects) are viewed as a limit to potential exploitation, and
wherever the context allows it, a more brutal and arbitrary exercising of power
comes into play, which borders on plunder. It is not merely a matter for the lords
to obtain what they ask for, but to do so by making a show of brutality and aggres-
sion. Sometimes we see lords that treat their own subjects as they would those of
their enemies. Lordship (at least occasionally) shows itself to be explicitly oppres-
sive and arbitrary towards subjects. If the latter fail to utterly submit to the will of
their lord (or of his local agents), expropriation may take a form that is hardly
distinguishable from actual plunder, as we have seen in the case of Casciavola.
Likewise, the acts of physical violence committed against subordinates are very
similar to those recorded in relation to incursions into enemy villages (although
they tend to take a more limited form). What we have, then, is a genuine culture
of intimidation and brutality, which permeates the relations between lords—and
their cronies—and peasants. Certainly, in dealing with their own subjects the lords
never go so far as to carry out mass murders: killing was a counter-productive
action (at any rate in terms of economic exploitation) and therefore the restrictions
in this respect remained strong. Still, it is noteworthy that at least individual,
exemplary murders are perpetrated against subjects. The significance of such
actions as a way of intimidating entire communities should not be underesti-
mated. Besides, we should not forget that the brutal (and often bloody) incursions
into enemy villages often concerned settlements to which the perpetrators lay
claim. The violence displayed in such cases was conceived as a sort of ‘visiting
card’ delivered by the prospective lord to his new subjects: a very clear choice
with regard to the nature of the relationship to be established.
Violence, therefore, had a practical yet at the same time symbolic and ideo
logical significance. Through the use of force new levies were imposed upon
subjects. In this period of economic and productive development, customary
boundaries must have been perceived by lords as an intolerable limitation of their
ability to gain possession of farming surplus; force was a means to overcome any
resistance, extending seigneurial prerogatives and rights. Through violence, how-
ever, lords would also impose their way of conceiving social and power relations.
The inferiorization of subjects—the victims of such practices—crucially contrib-
uted to shaping this conception.26 The fact that violence was (at least) one of the
main languages used for political communication in the countryside is highly
significant in itself. The intended message was quite clear: as a lord, I wield power,
whereas you subjects have no rights and are inferior to me; everything you think
you own is actually mine; your very bodies belong to me.
In the attempt to define, time after time, the concrete mode in which lordship
was exercised, and the specific role of violence within the matrix of political com-
munication at the level of individual villages, a significant role was played by local
balances and dynamics. Tight-knit and well-structured communities with con-
siderable military capacities must have been far less subject to the brutality of
lords compared to others, insofar as they were capable of putting up an armed
resistance, if necessary. One significant episode in this respect comes from Cerea,
a major centre near Verona, which in the early twelfth century was under the
lordship of the powerful counts of San Bonifacio. In the face of the growing and
increasingly aggressive demands made by the lords’ agents, the local subjects
reacted with considerable energy: when the count and his homines demanded
hospitality from the village for the umpteenth time, the inhabitants (villani) took
up arms en masse and, showering the lord and his entourage with arrows, forced
them to take flight.27 We do not know how the count reacted, but over the follow-
ing decades the combative inhabitants of Cerea stood out for their ability to resist
26 On the inferiorization of peasants by lords, see Freedman, Images of the Medieval Peasant,
esp. pp. 133–73.
27 Le carte del capitolo di Verona, n. 120 (a. 1145), p. 227, witness of Giovanni di Fasco (the events
date back to the early decades of the twelfth century). An overview, in Varanini, ‘Società e istituzioni
a Cerea’.
seigneurial encroachment, in relation both to the San Bonifacio counts and, later,
to the new lords, the canons of Verona.
Violence, therefore, could be exercised not just by a lord towards his subjects,
but also by the latter towards their dominus, and especially his agents. What
strikes me as most interesting is the fact that episodes of this kind are very rare
and almost invariably amount to little more than a show of strength.28 An import
ant indicator in this regard may be found in peasant revolts culminating with the
murder of at least one seigneurial agent. For the twelfth century I am only aware
of a couple of episodes, concentrated in the closing decades, whereas for the thir-
teenth century a summary perusal of the evidence brings several episodes of this
sort to light.29 The capacity of communities to react with violence would therefore
appear to have developed within a different framework from the one characterizing
our period, as the growing presence of other forms of power in the countryside
(in particular, but not exclusively, urban communes) offered subjects leeways that
previously were essentially lacking. In other cases still, the particular importance
of a rural centre within the framework of a lordship, or the presence of rival powers
in the same area, ready to take advantage of any discord between a lord and his
subjects, must have contributed to strongly limiting the more brutal and abrasive
practices of domini, who must have been more careful to gain local consensus.30
Finally, a significant role must have been played by the attitudes of individual
lords, who would have been more or less prone to violence, depending on
their character.
10.2 Urban communities and violence:

differences and similarities
In order to better understand the mechanisms shaping the seigneurial world in

the ‘long twelfth century’ and their discontinuity with respect to the previous
period, I believe it is helpful at this stage to shift our perspective, by switching
from a rural to an urban setting. A comparison between these two different real
ities may help us better grasp the contours of the problem. In cities the dynamics
of power were very different from those described up until now. Urban space
would appear to have been marked by greater continuity in the everyday
28 Another armed riot, without bloodshed, was the revolt of Porcile, near Verona, in 1190, dis-
cussed by Simeoni, ‘Il comune rurale’, p. 223. A very similar riot occurred in Quarto, in southern
Piedmont; see Balda, ‘Una corte rurale’.
29 On the twelfth century see the many testimonies of 1181 edited in appendix to Scheffer
Boichorst, ‘Veroneser Zeugenverhör von 1181’; Liber iurium, n. 182 (a. 1191), pp. 346–7. Some
examples of early thirteenth century: Le Liber Censuum, I, n. 270 (a. 1233), p. 536; Fermo città egem-
one, n. 19 (a. 1253), pp. 19–63; Riganelli, Pian di Carpine, pp. 44–5.
30 As evident in the lordship of the bishop of Lucca over Moriano; see Wickham, Community and
Clientele, pp. 80–105.
exercising of power. The leading actors vary (from public officials to early
communal magistrates), yet the practices show a remarkable degree of stability,
insofar as they tend to revolve around those forms of collective action typical of
the previous period.31 Even where we do not witness any early formal establish-
ment of communal institutions, the bishop still remains a civic leader, who does
not exercise any despotic forms of control, but rather continues to move within
the framework of the ancient tradition of public power. However, precisely the
continuity in terms of concrete practices of power characterizing urban contexts
allows us to better understand the discontinuity in rural settings.
A particularly revealing case is that of Terracina, on the coast of southern
Latium, one of the few cities in central or northern Italy to have fallen into the
hands of actual lords. Previously this urban centre was directly under the Pope’s
control and was therefore governed according to the tradition of public power.
The establishment of seigneurial domination marks a clear break in local
practices of power, as is most evident from the main source available to us.
An account of the seigneurial domination is provided by the inhabitants of
Terracina themselves through a querimonia submitted to Innocent III at the
very beginning of the thirteenth century, and which formally takes the form of a
judicial libellum.32
It describes in considerable detail the violence inflicted upon the local inhabitants
by the Frangipane family, starting in 1149, when this powerful Roman household
succeeded in establishing a true seigneurie, after having been granted jurisdic-
tional power by the pontiff.33 Although this aristocratic family was a strictly
urban one, hailing as it did from Rome, in this period—thanks to the support of
the pope—it had started expanding in the Marittima area around Terracina.
I would venture to say that the moderation displayed by the Frangipane during
the first ten years of their rule in Terracina may be connected to the fact that their
seigneurial status was a recent acquisition.34 At this early stage the lords would
appear to have operated in continuity with previous practices of power, merely
acting on behalf of the papacy as revenue recipients and right-holders. Probably
with some exaggeration, the libellum goes so far as to claim that the Frangipane
would only enter the walled city unarmed, and with a small retinue, thereby sug-
gesting that their power was very limited. At the same time, the Frangipane
started entering more directly in contact with the lords controlling the Marittima
countryside through the acquisition of other rural castles. This may have led them

32 The text is edited, with many errors in Contatore, De Historia Terracinensi, pp. 52–7; an useful
edition (correct albeit partial), is in the ‘Appendix’ (n. 3), to Carocci, ‘Le lexique du prélèvement’.
33 On Terracina and the Frangipane, see Carocci, ‘La signoria rurale nel Lazio’, pp. 192–4. On a
more general framework, see Caciorgna, Una città di frontiera.
34 Before the grant of Terracina, the only experience of Frangipane as rural lords was that as counts
of Ceccano (by papal grant), in 1120s. See Thumser, ‘Die Frangipane’.
to discover more direct, brutal and—significantly—profitable ways of exercising

their power.35
In the 1250s, after the death of pope Eugene III, the situation drastically changed.
The Frangipane acquired a very different role from the reassuring one of the
previous period, when they had stood in continuity with the previous political
balances. They required the inhabitants of Terracina to take the hominium oath,
or oath of personal fidelity; they seized the weapons of anyone opposing them;
and appropriated the considerable public estates of the area, imposing a tax on
pasturage and the right to harvest wood from the forests, while strongly limiting
the right to make a will. In the event that subjects died without leaving any direct
heirs, their goods, including allodial ones, would be confiscated by the lords.
More generally, the Frangipane launched a real assault on the private assets of the
city’s inhabitants, with requisitions and seizures. They also introduced heavy ad
hoc levies, such as the one raised on the occasion of the purchase of the Nettuno
castle in 1185. In this case, the inhabitants of Terracina offered to pay 50 lire, an
act which elicited an indignant response from the lords, who repeated ‘fifty, fifty,
fifty, as many times as it is possible to repeat this without catching your breath’,
claiming that that was the sum owed to them. Only after some tense negotiations
did the lords settle for 200 lire, a no doubt considerable sum for an urban centre
of rather modest size such as Terracina.
The text is peppered with descriptions of verbal abuse, acts of violence and
even torture: the inhabitants of Terracina are beaten, savagely whipped, and hung
on hooks. Here I will only report the description of a genuine public ritual of
violence which perfectly encapsulates the climate of brutality and the cruel arbi-
trariness of the power imposed by the Frangipane, along with the inhabitants’
dismay: ‘Then, much to the shame and dread of the whole populace, they seized
the most noble and esteemed citizen and gouged his eyes out, and had him
dragged – shamefully naked, except for his privy parts – through the whole city,
saying: “Anyone who will mourn or complain about this will receive the same
treatment.” This being a noble citizen, forced to undergo such things to the igno-
miny and shame of the city, many other people who could not hold back their
tears had their property seized.’36
While uncommon, the Terracina case is not entirely unique; in the twelfth
century a few other cities in Latium witnessed the irruption within their walls of
35 On Frangipane’s seigneurial expansion in Marittima, since 1140s, see Thumser, ‘Die Frangipane’,
pp. 131–42.
36 Contatore, De historia terracinensi, p. 56: ‘Deinde ad ignominiam et terrorem totius populi,
nobiliorem et maiorem civitatis exocularunt, et nudum vix genitalibus tectis per totam civitatem
in conspectu omnium turpiter trahere fecerunt, dicentes: “quicunque de hoc mussitaverit et fleverit,
eandem penam incurret”. Unde, cum nobilis esset de civitate et in ignominiam et detrimentum civitatis
talia passus esset, multi, qui lacrymas comprimere non poterant, bonorum ammissionem passi sunt’.
Indeed the Frangipane were merciful with the weeping subjects; they did not blind them, as they had
threatened before, but only seized their lands.
brutal practices and forms of expression of seigneurial power which up until then
had been limited to the rural sphere.37 Something similar also occurred in the
cities of the Po Valley directly governed by the imperial officers in the 1160s.
These were German officials utterly foreign to the urban and communal world,
whose experience of power was closely related to seigneurial practices of power,
and whose rule often coincided with the introduction of the kind of arbitrariness
and violence which distinguished power relations in the countryside. The most
famous and best documented example is no doubt that of Piacenza, which
between 1162 and 1164 fell under the control of Arnold of Dorstadt, known as
Barbavaria; but even in Treviso things must not have been much different, judg-
ing from a diploma issued by Frederick Barbarossa.38 Precisely the brutality of
imperial officials and their inability to establish themselves in continuity with the
traditional practices of power in the urban context have been usually—and in my
view correctly—identified as one of the triggers of the rebellion against Frederick I,
which culminated with the Lombard League. The example of these urban centres
is significant because it testifies to the traumatic way in which the imposition of
seigneurial power was experienced and interpreted by citizens, and therefore
clearly expresses the distance existing between urban practices of power—which
were closer to the traditional forms taken by the old public order—and rural ones.
This is not say that cities and urban (proto-)communes were an irenic world; as
we have previously seen, the military element was a central aspect of urban life,
and force played a fundamental role in the expansion of urban control over the
countryside.39 However, if we look at the space within the city walls, we can still
see that it is a different kind of violence compared to seigneurial violence, set as it
was within a profoundly different context, in which power remained—from both
an ideological and pragmatic point of view—founded on the community and the
building of consensus among the cives. Violence in the city was essentially con-
nected to the struggle for power, whereas rural violence was invariably connected
to the very exercising of local power.
10.3 Violence among lords
Let us get back to the countryside and its lords. We have seen how the most recent
studies on seigneurial violence focused on that visited upon peasants, subjects
and, more generally, individuals of an inferior rank or, alternatively, monks.
While this kind of violence is an undeniable fact, which we will get back to later
on, it should not lead us to assume that violence was exclusively directed towards
37 Carocci, ‘La signoria rurale nel Lazio’, p. 194.

38 Güterbock, ‘Alla vigilia della Lega Lombarda’. See also Bisson, The Crisis, pp. 316–19. On Treviso
see Diplomata Friderici I., II, n. 444 (a. 1164), pp. 343–4.
39 The reference is Maire Viguer, Cavaliers et citoyens.
social inferiors. As already noted in the first part of this book, between the late
eleventh century and the early decades of the twelfth, during the stage of the most
violent breakdown of the Italian political framework, we witness a considerable
rise in the level of violence even among lords. The countless local conflicts marking
the Italian countryside at this stage included not only raids or the arson of fields
and homes, but also numerous open clashes between knights and armed attacks
on castles: military operations that reckoned among their victims not just many
milites, but also several high-ranking aristocrats.40 Nor did such incidents exclu-
sively occur in the context of troubled times of war. The querimoniae from this
period sometimes describes military operations and ambushes explicitly designed
to ensure the physical elimination of rivals: an element essentially absent from
older texts.41 The violent death of an enemy, therefore, was not always a fortuitous
event; rather, it could actively be pursued within the context of bitter conflicts,
where it could prove truly decisive. In the 1130s, the counts of Canavese, who had
long sought to gain control of the village of Busano, went so far as to put to the
sword the nuns of the local monastery of San Tommaso (razed to the ground on
that occasion), who governed the area on behalf of the abbot of Fruttuaria, under
whose authority they were.42
This definite increase in violence, however, does not mean that the use of force
during conflicts was unregulated. Competition, however militarized it may have
been by this stage, followed certain shared rules. Obviously, a lord could attempt
to circumvent these rules (or even to openly violate them at times), but this only
makes it even more evident that such norms were perceived and acknowledged to
be binding ones. For example, not only was the destruction or violation of sacred
buildings forbidden—as one would expect43—but so was the physical humiliation
of fellow aristocrats or their relatives, as well as that of monks and clerics, which
extended to any breaching of their honour. We read that one Lombard lord
launched a surprise attack on the turris guarded by an opponent of his (who
made a lucky escape in his nightgown and long johns, casimiam et sarabulas, as
the text specifies), and then pillaged it, forcing his enemy’s wife and daughter to
parade before his warriors naked.44 Similarly, an enemy of the monastery of Farfa
in the Marche kidnapped the daughter of one of its vassals in order to give her to
one of his men in marriage.45 Surprise attacks without a previous declaration of
hostility—inimicitia—were also forbidden. We find the bishop of Luni defending
40 Some examples of open battles ended with the death of several milites in the framework of local
conflicts: Il regesto del codice Pelavicino, n. 50 (a. 1124), pp. 72–8 (eastern Liguria); Il Regesto di Farfa, V,
n. 1213 (aa. 1099–1119), pp. 204–5 (Marche); n. 1275 (a. 1098), pp. 249–50 (Latium); Anonimo
Cumano, De bello, pp. 413–56 (Lombardy). On the killings of high aristocrats in battle, see the list in
section 1.2.
41 Il Registrum Magnum, n. 24 (aa. 1073–5 c.), pp. 40–1; Il Regesto di Farfa, IV, n. 883 (aa. 1049–53 c.),
pp. 279–80; Codex diplomaticus Amiatinus, II, n. 309 (a. 1084), pp. 261–3.
42 Un’antica cronaca, p. 135. 43 Guglielmo of the Chiusa, Vita Benedicti, p. 204.
44 Il Registrum Magnum, I, n. 24 (aa. 1073–5 c.), pp. 40–1.
45 Il Regesto di Farfa, V, n. 1213 (aa. 1099–1119 c.), pp. 204–5.
himself against a charge of this sort, after being accused of attacking a castle
under construction by the Malaspina family. The bishop claimed that he had pub-
licly informed one of the margraves that building the castle would be like ‘ripping
his liver out’, whereas he had not been required to perform any act of intimation
towards another member of the family, as the latter was already his inimicus.46
Finally, what was also forbidden was the cold-blooded mass killing of the subjects
of one’s enemies or the arson of settlements furtim (by surprise) and at night time
(since this might cause a massacre): two practices mentioned, for instance, in
relation to a bitter conflict between the abbot of Ferentillo and the lords of Arrone,
in Umbria.47 Violating these rules could provide a highly significant tactical
advantage, but could also lead to considerable problems, as in the case of the
aforementioned war between the Gualcherii and Farfa, when in all likelihood
the former’s repeated breaching of the rules governing military confrontations is
what brought an end to an all-out conflict, with the almost complete destruction
of the aristocratic family at the hands of the troops rallied by the monastery.48
The considerable intensity of local conflicts is a clear indicator of the profound
tension affecting the whole political framework after 1080, when war de facto
became endemic to the countryside in central and northern Italy.49 The traditional
mechanisms regulating violence and preventing its proliferation had evidently
entered into a deep crisis. The capacity to mobilize armed men, to establish military
alliances with neighbours and to subjugate opponents through the use of brute
force became the central means to ensure the success of local social actors. Politics
became militarized and, at the same time, the attitude towards violence changed, as
the kind of censorship and limitations which had been enforced only a few decades
earlier no longer applied. The cold-blooded murder of lords, the humiliations and
beatings publicly inflicted upon their children or spouses and the degrading and
sacrilegious violence often visited upon churchmen provide the clearest indication
of the increase in the level of brutality that was socially tolerated (despite being
formally illicit), at any rate in an aristocratic context.50
Within this framework, the violence exercised by lay aristocrats (but also
bishops) against monks acquires a different meaning, as a particular aspect of vio-
lence within the seigneurial world. Certainly, the special status of monks allowed
lay noblemen to highlight—at times with spectacular results—different aspects
compared to those that entered into play in the conflicts between lay lords.
46 Il regesto del codice Pelavicino, n. 50 (a. 1124), pp. 72–8

47 Die Register Innocenz’ III., n. 377 (a. 1198), pp. 570–3.
48 Fiore, Signori e sudditi, pp. 224–8.
49 The issue is discussed in Cammarosano, Storia dell’Italia, p. 384.
50 Annalese ceccanenses, p. 282, s.a. 1123, (decapitations of aristocrats and physical humiliations of
their brides and children); Il Registrum Magnum, I, n. 24 (aa. 1073–5 c.), pp. 40–1 (physical humiliations
of brides and daughters of aristocrats); Gregorio di Catino, Regesto di Farfa, V, n. 1213 (aa. 1099–1119 c.),
pp. 204–5 (abuses on monks and monastic serfs, male and female); Un’antica cronaca, p. 135 (a little
community of nuns slaughtered by warriors).
Through the perpetration of acts of violence, it allowed noblemen to construct

at least partly different discourses, as is illustrated for instance by the querimonia
submitted by the Farfa monastery against the Gualcherii, which offers a revealing
list of possible humiliations against churchmen.51 Leaving aside trivial beatings
or violations of holy buildings, here is a list of the actions perpetrated by the
members of this aristocratic clan or their milites, and which often take the form of
genuine rituals of inversion, not without a touch of brutal (and humiliating)
humour: during the plundering of the monastery, they seized the liturgical vest-
ments and used them to make garments and shoes which they then flaunted;
after beating a monk, they threw him naked into a pit, into which they hurled a
woman, forcing the two to simulate sexual intercourse; on the same occasion,
they placed the abbot’s scapular on a donkey’s shoulder and mockingly addressed
the animal with the words ‘Right Reverend Abbot, bless us’; finally, in a public
street they pulled a harmless old monk off his horse and, after delivering the cus-
tomary lashings, dragged him to his mare, forcing him to kiss her anus and vulva.
However, this degree of brutality does not change the overall purpose of such
gestures within the context of conflict, namely to subjugate and humiliate their
opponent by undermining his resistance (while also discouraging potential new
rivals). From this perspective, forcing a monk to kiss the privy parts of a mare is
not all that different from exposing an enemy’s naked wife to the mockery of
one’s soldiers.
Moreover, as already noted, the monks themselves (at least partly) shared the
brutal military culture of the aristocracy. Certainly, in the monastic (or religious)
querimoniae directed against powerful laymen we will not find any recollection of
the acts of violence perpetrated by the monks against their enemies, even when
such acts are known to have occurred. A letter from Innocent III, dating from
1198, proves particularly revealing. The pontiff recalls receiving from the abbot of
Ferentillo, in Umbria, a libellum (which the text sums up) describing the misdeed
perpetrated against the monastery by the lords of Arrone. In response to the
pope’s request, the noblemen did not deny any of the actions which the monks
were complaining about, but in turn submitted a libellum providing a detailed
account of the brutal military operations which the abbot had led against them,
eliciting a victorious counter-offensive.52 This is a unique text, which allows us to
contextualize the querimoniae produced by churchmen, and to reassess them in
the light of their partiality.53 In these sources the monks obviously present
themselves as poor, innocent victims in need of the merciful help of a higher
power—certainly not as the losing party in a military conflict waged between
51 Il Regesto di Farfa, V, n. 1213 (aa. 1099–1119 c.), pp. 204–5

53 A conflict between the bishop of Sabina and the Farfa monks is instead mentioned by Chronicon
farfense, IV. n. 883 (a. 1051 c.), pp. 279–80; in this text the prelate emphasizes the acts of violence that
the monks are guilty of but try to conceal through their rhetoric of meekness.
equals. However, we should not forget that abbots could be just as fierce and
remorseless opponents as lay domini, as is compellingly shown even by certain
monastic chronicles, most notably that of Subiaco.54
10.4 Violence from the lords’ perspective
In emphasizing the role of violence in the seigneurial world, or the viciousness of

the clashes between milites, we should not forget that most of the concrete acts
of brutality in the countryside were committed by lords (and their henchmen)
against humble and helpless subjects. In other words, these actions had little to do
with traditional warrior values. As we approach the end of our investigation, we
should attempt to answer a crucial question, which has remained in the back-
ground until now: in what way did the lords themselves interpret the violence
they exercised? It is a matter here of understanding the role of violence not just
in the dynamics of power, but also in the self-representation and system of values
of the aristocracy of this period.
To attempt to answer this question, it is first of all important to note that at
least up until the late twelfth century lords did not regard violence—the use of
force against their subjects (and against weak individuals more generally)—as a
dirty job to be concealed or whitewashed, but rather something to be proud of. In
the sources we find that noblemen did not always delegate the exercise of violence
to their lower-ranking cronies, but were eager to personally engage in it. It was
the bishop of Alba in person who cracked a rebellious subject’s skull with a blow
of his stick. And it was the very head of the powerful Firidolfi clan who smashed
a monk’s face with his bare hands and savagely beat others. Violence, therefore,
created a deep rift in rural Italian society. On the one hand stood those who
exercised violence—savagely beating, humiliating, raping and at times murdering
people. On the other hand stood the victims of this violence and abuse (who only
occasionally attempted to react). The lords and the members of their armed ret
inues shared the same culture, which praised violence: by jointly taking part in
such acts, the lords and their followers strengthened their bonds, while distancing
themselves from the rural population. Bishops would also appear to have shared
this culture to a large extent—albeit not completely—as is shown, among many
other cases, by that of the prelate of Alba. The bishop of Turin Ubaldo was even
deposed by the council of Pisa in 1135 for having completely disregarded his
ecclesiastical duties for five years in order to focus exclusively on his milicia.55
54 Chronicon sublacense, pp. 12–18; Chronicon farfense, II, pp. 230–2.
55 On Ubaldo, see Constitutiones, I, p. 578: ‘Quia cum ecclesia per quinquennium iam vacasset,
ipse, ecclesiastico spreto officio, soli miliciae vacabat.’ See also the similar case of the bishop Penne,
narrated in Libellus de miseriis ecclesie pinnensis, pp. 1461–4. On the more ‘normal’ warrior habits of
bishops a good guide is the corpus of Milanese ecclesiastical chronicles: Landolfo Seniore, Mediolanensis
A separate case is that of monks, who—for obvious reasons related to their

peculiar status—tended to conceal the more violent and brutal aspects of their
power, which were clearly a source of embarrassment: instead of acting in person,
they generally entrusted certain tasks to lay agents. However, we should not
overemphasize the uniqueness of monks with respect to the more generally
seigneurial context. While the available sources do not present monks as the
actual perpetrators of the kind of acts of violence, abuse and humiliation typical
of this period and directed against subjects (for such actions are delegated to lay
officials), monasteries display a very different attitude when it comes to another
sort of violence: war-related violence, associated with conflict between lords,
in particular between the late eleventh and the mid-twelfth century. As already
mentioned, monastic chronicles from this period emphasize—to various degrees—
the military exploits of their abbots, engaged in the constant ‘retrieval’ of estates
usurped by treacherous lay concessionaires, the defence of their subjects against
marauders and enemies, and the fortification of their villages.56 The Chronicon
Sublacense is particularly explicit and revealing in this respect. In recounting the
deeds of abbot Giovanni at the turn of the 1100s, the author spends a few lines on
the latter’s attempt to reform monastic mores, on his building or restoration of
churches, and his purchasing of vestments and religious jewellery. The rest of the
lengthy narrative instead deals with battles, sieges, the building of castles, raids
and peace treatises signed with local aristocrats (and often violated). The abbot
does not safely lead these military operations from behind the mighty walls of his
monastery, entrusting others with their actual execution; rather, he is always in
the front line, riding alongside his milites or taking part in sieges or assaults
against enemy castles. Not the slightest hint of criticism is discernible in the text
with regard to this attitude, which is actually praised by the author. Indeed, the
monastic community had chosen John precisely on account of the fact that his
young age and personal disposition (as well as his being a member of a powerful
local aristocratic family) made him particularly suited to energetically dealing
with the critical circumstances of the period. As the Farfa texts further suggest, a
choice of this sort was far from exceptional in such a turbulent context.57 In those
years, the monks felt that being a good abbot meant being a fortis proeliator.
The abbots do not shy away even from the most brutal aspects of warfare:
during the aforementioned conflict, the abbot of Ferentillo went so far as to lead
his troops in the plunder of three small villages controlled by his enemies, the
lords of Arrone. During this incursion, the three settlements were sacked, their
Historiae; Landulfo Iuniore, Historia Mediolanensis. See also the rich sources about the bishop of
Fermo, discussed in Fiore, Signori e sudditi. On the military aggressiveness of the chapter of Lucca, see
Die Urkunden und Briefe der Markgrafin Mathilden, n. A8 (a. 1099), pp. 484–7.
56 Chronicon Farfense, II, pp. 228–9, 231, 275. 57 Chronicon farfense, II, pp. 230–2.
inhabitants beaten, and a few women were raped and whipped; when the operation
was over and the three villages had been torched, the captive—simple peasants,
except for a priest—were brought before the abbot and then locked up in a dun-
geon, where one of them soon died from the beating he had received.58 It is worth
noting, however, that while the abbot led the operation, he avoided getting his
hands dirty, unlike most lay noblemen. Of course, we should not make too much
of this incident and conclude that all monasteries engaged in similar behaviour.
Some monasteries, such as that of Fonte Avellana, avoided armed conflict by
establishing peace treaties with local lords.59 Still, the fact that sources from mon-
asteries such as those of San Michele della Chiusa, Farfa or Subiaco recounted the
military exploits of their abbots, clearly presenting them as a ‘defensive’ measure,
with little embarrassment—and often with manifest pride—shows that a consid-
erable section of the monastic world shared the culture of violence embraced by
the rural elite of their age, while distancing themselves from its most extreme
forms (at least in theory).60
The centrality of warfare in relation to aristocratic virtues emerges—
unsurprisingly—from works produced in milieus close to prominent lay lords,
such as Donizone’s Vita Mathildis or the biographies of the Guidi counts in the
Chronicon Faventinum, which are based on a lost text drafted at the court of the
counts of Modigliana.61 Nevertheless, a sort of filter is inserted in these narratives
between the protagonists and the authors: an ecclesiastical filter than tones down
the more unpleasant aspects, establishing a kind of censorship. Our perception
of the Italian context of these years is therefore influenced by the lack of epics
written by lay authors with a lay aristocratic readership in mind, such as the
German Herzog Ernst or the French Raoul de Cambrai.
In order to grasp the self-perception of lay noblemen and their attitude to
warfare and the exercise of violence more generally, it is necessary—as Simone
Collavini has recently emphasized in an important study on the topic—to turn to
a different field of enquiry, that of (nick)names.62 Starting from the end of the
eleventh century, which is to say the years in which violence started spreading
throughout the countryside, many representatives of the high aristocracy of Italy,
belonging to leading household of margraves or counts, were give nicknames
(which often evolved into surnames) that are semantically associated with
warfare or violence. The nickname Malabranca (‘Bad family-branch’) is used by
59 On the rejection of violence by Pier Damiani, Fonte Avellana’s abbot, see his letter to Ulcandino,
bishop of Fermo, edited in Pier Damiani, Die Briefe, II, n. 87 (a. 1062), pp. 508–9 (for a discussion of
this text see section 1.2).
60 Chronicon farfense, II, pp. 230–2 (war against the Ottaviani); Guglielmo of the Chiusa, Vita
Benedicti (armed conflict between the abbey of San Michele della Chiusa and the Arduinic margraves).
61 See respectively Riversi, La memoria dei Canossa; and Collavini, ‘Comites palatini / paladini’.
62 Collavini, ‘Sviluppo signorile’. On the characters mentioned in the next lines I refer to the sources
quoted there; I will directly quote sources and studies only when not quoted therein.
Ranieri II Aldobrandeschi (1070–96), one of whose sons is known as Malagalea

(‘Bad Helmet’); three of the Obertenghi margraves active in the early decades
of the twelfth century are known respectively as Malnipote (‘Bad Nephew’),
Malaspina (‘Bad Thorn’) and Pelavicino (‘Flays Neighbour’), the last two of which
were even passed down to the counts’ heirs; the margrave Bonifacio, who was
active in Piedmont at the turn of the 1100, was known as de Wasto;63 one branch
of his descendants instead came to be known as Lancia (‘Spear’);64 finally, starting
in 1099, the epithet Guerra (‘War’) spread among the Guidi counts and continued
to be attached to several of his successors over the course of the twelfth century,
as well as to one of the counts of Ventimiglia, in Liguria, around 1150.65
In the immediately subsequent generations, these nicknames also spread
among the families of the middle aristocracy and, finally, among milites and
henchmen: within a few decades, the epithets spread from a handful of leading
noble households to the rural aristocracy as a whole, in the broadest sense of the
term. While these epithets are chiefly attested in Tuscany, probably on account of
the larger number of documents surviving from local notaries, they appear
throughout central and northern Italy—according to a similar pattern and in the
same years. As such, they serve as a more general indicator.
It is essential to note that these nicknames, which often have explicitly negative
overtones (as is shown by the frequency of the prefix mal-), were not at all per-
ceived as a mark of infamy. In other words, they were not evoked by the lords’
opponents but rather by their very bearers, by their relatives, or in official docu-
ments pertaining to them (including imperial charters). At times they were so
striking and distinctive as to obliterate the lords’ Christian names. These nick-
names (be they ones chosen by their bearers or bestowed by their peers) provide a
real key to grasp the self-perception of these figures, their system of values and
cultural horizon. A detailed analysis of the semantic areas recalled by nicknames
yields some interesting information. We find epithets generally associated with
warfare, such as Guerra, Lancia, Malagalea and de Wasto; other nicknames more
specifically refer to acts of violence and warfare in a seigneurial context, as in the
case of Abbassaconte (‘Debases Count’), Ammazzaconte (‘Kills Count’), Pelavicino
(‘Flays Neighbour’), Cacciabate (‘Hunts Abbot’) or Cacciaconte (‘Hunts Count’),
but also Malnipote (‘Bad Nephew’), Malfiaster (‘Bad Half-Son’) and Malaparte
63 See for example Diplomata Friderici I., II, n. 382 (a. 1162), p. 251. The epithet de Wasto or de
Guasto, referred to Boniface (and later to his sons) has traditionally been seen as a reference to the
guastis locis (wastelands) of southern Piedmont seized by the margrave. Chronology, onomastic
framework, and the very same personal story of Boniface (lead, with his sons, of the great war
for the Arduinic inheritance in Piedmont) point instead toward a non-territorial origin of the nick-
name. Provero, Dai marchesi del Vasto, pp. 113–14, provides traditional explanation, but underlines
its fragility.
64 The first to bear the nickname was Manfredo (I) Lancia, margrave of Busca, active in the second
half of twelfth century; see Merkel, Manfredi I, pp. 1–52.
65 Ascheri, ‘I conti di Ventimiglia’, p. 16.
(‘Bad Share'’, referring to heritage partitions)—all of which to various extents

recall the idea of conflict within a kinship group.66 As one would expect, many
nicknames refer to the exercise of violence against the weak, and in particular
against peasants: Guastavilla (‘Wrecks Village’), Guastavillanum (‘Wrecks Peasant’),
Manducalomini (‘Eats Men’), Pelavacca (‘Sheares Cow’), Appillaterra (‘Seizes the
Land’), Sforza (‘Rapes’), Malapresa (‘Bad Clutch’) and Sagittaclericus (‘Bolts
Churchman’), to mention but a few.67 Finally, other epithets still, which are far from
rare, would appear to be connected to slyness, or boldness, or ruthlessness, as in the
case of Sineanima (‘Soulless’), Enganna (‘Deception’), Malconsilio (‘Bad Advice’),
Malaspina (‘Bad Thorn’) or Ingannamaggiore (‘Deceives the Greater’).
Violence and brutality, but also the positive value assigned to deception and
subterfuges, clearly emerge as a key element in aristocratic self-representation
and, more generally, in that composite ‘knightly’ world that had the bearing of
arms and the exercising of power in all its forms as its distinguishing feature.
Besides, the frequency and considerable number of nicknames specifically con-
nected to violence against the weak and harmless shows that aristocratic groups
felt no embarrassment with regard to such gestures, but rather pride and satisfaction.
In fact, they were perceived as specifically defining their belonging to an aristo-
cratic group: performing such gestures was a constitutive feature of ‘knightly’
identity. A clear confirmation of the kind of acts to which these epithets refer is to
be found in querimoniae and other sources pertaining to violence. As such, the
nicknames in question help us interpret the actions described in these texts not as
the account of abnormal or exceptional events, but rather as reliable testimonies
regarding the concrete (albeit not exclusive) ways in which lords exercised their
power in the countryside.
As regards the way in which violence and acts of intimidation were actually
interpreted by their perpetrators, I would like to end my survey with a significant
testimony pertaining to the counts of Biandrate, one of the most prominent aris-
tocratic families of northwestern Italy. At a trial held in 1186 and concerning the
jurisdiction over Villanova, in southern Piedmont, which was contested between
the counts and the nunnery of San Felice at Asti, one of the witnesses, Andrea,
claimed that for the past twenty-seven years the counts had been illegitimately
claiming jurisdiction over the place, even though they could only lay claim to certain
land and personal rights (comandariae), limited to a handful of peasant families.
In support of his statements (confirmed by many other witnesses, who stress how
66 It seems significant to me that in the late twelfth century the two nicknames Abbassaconte and
Ammazzaconte were adopted by two brothers from the Buscareto family of lords in the Marche, who
may well have been involved in a conflict with one of the many comital dynasties in the area. Note that
a third brother was instead called Montefeltranus. This is also a surname—perhaps connected with the
same conflict—but has a different origin: see Villani, Signori e comuni, pp. 26–7. Another Abbassaconte
is mentioned in southern Umbria: see Voltaggio, ‘Le più antiche carte’, n. 35 (a. 1179), pp. 92–3.
67 For the count Sforza (known only with his nickname) active near Jesi, in the Marche, around
1150, see Villani, Signori e comuni, p. 15.
the counts were exercising their prerogatives per vim et iniuste, with force and
unrightfully), Andrea recounts one significant anecdote. He states that he was on
good terms with count Umberto of Biandrate, and that once, when the two of
them were riding together with members of the count’s entourage in the area, he
had teased him (in derisione): ‘What do you have at Villanova? All you have there
are wrongs.’ Far from taking offence, the count answered him in kind: ‘Quite
right. However, wrongs are dearer to me than reason.’68 Umberto’s mocking
words—addressed not just to Andrea but also to the members of the entourage,
who belonged to the same ‘knightly’ milieu—reflect the same complacent attitude
to the abuse of power and violence that emerges from the lords’ epithets from the
same period.
In this respect, it seems quite clear to me that the final decades of the eleventh
century, which witnessed the crisis of public institutions and of the forms of exer-
cise of power they involved, marked a significant watershed. Compared to the
previous stage, in which the power exercised by public officials played a crucial
role as a source of legitimacy for seigneurial power, violence acquired a new
prominence, from both a practical and ideological perspective, permeating most
social and power relations. In this respect, it may be argued that violence was one
of the cornerstones of the legitimacy of power in the rural context, where it rein-
forced the cohesion of the group of power holders (in the broadest sense of the
term) and expressed its otherness and superiority—in an almost anthropological
sense—vis-à-vis the rural masses. The language of violence, moreover, served as a
powerful counterbalance to the management of relations with their subjects
through pacts and established customs, as witnessed by surviving agreements and
sacramenta. It freed seigneurial power from the limits imposed on gestures and
verbal communication, offering the domini loci full freedom of action, as illus-
trated by their power to dispose of the bodies of their own subjects as they wished.
The activation of the language of violence enabled lords to directly reassert their
power, detaching it from their subjects’ consensus. The structural function of this
language would appear to have been to prevent peasants from forgetting their
subordinate position, thereby crucially contributing not only to reproduce, but
also to naturalize, aristocratic rural dominance in the eyes of subjects.
68 ‘ “Quid habetis vos in Villanova? Vos non habetis ibi nisi tortum”. [. . .] “Immo habeo, sed tamen
plus est michi carum tortum quam rationem” ’. See Codex Astensis, III, n. 815 (a. 1186), pp. 901–4
(quoted from p. 902).
Conclusions
A Seigneurial Revolution (and More)
Having reached the end of such a long and complex investigation, one feels the
need to draw an even sharper assessment than usual. It is necessary, therefore, to
try and sum up the many points made, in such a way as to draw as comprehensive
an overview as possible of the many different vantage points adopted over the
course of the enquiry. Here I would like to stress the fact that I regard the follow-
ing conclusions as partly provisional ones: the aim of the present book is not to
solve a problem, but to raise it by encouraging observations, critiques, and fresh
interpretations. Hence, it is from this perspective that the following concluding
remarks are to be read.
I shall start with a summary of the investigation conducted and an overall
analysis of the results. I will then move on to discuss future research trajectories
and present some considerations based on a comparison between the process that
shaped central and northern Italy and the more or less long-term ones that
occurred in other European regions such as Castile, Catalonia, northern France,
England, and southern Italy. This comparison will make it possible to identify a
first set of parameters worth investigating in order to define a genuine matrix for
the transformation of the local socio-political balances in the countryside.
The first element worth stressing is that, in my view at least, the starting
hypothesis of my enquiry has been confirmed. Overall, the period around 1100
marked a real watershed for the Italian countryside, from a range of different
perspectives: from the conformation of local societies to the material aspects of
settlements, from the overall role played by the royal authorities to the modes
of government at the village level. This change swept across a wide range of differ-
ent yet highly interconnected areas: within a couple of generations, the modes in
which power and local social balances functioned, just like the discourses adopted
to interpret this reality, underwent radical redefinition. Territorial lordship, which
around 1080 was far from dominant in the countryside—if not in certain limited
stretches of the Po Valley—became by 1130 the system of power governing the
lives of the vast majority of the inhabitants in rural central and northern Italy. Even
in those places where seigneurial power had already been present before the 1080s,
it generally became better structured and more pervasive than in the previous stage
(Chapter 3). Indeed, it may reasonably be assumed, in the light of the surviving
sources, that the first half of the fifty years under scrutiny, corresponding to one
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198825746.001.0001
Conclusions 249
generation, witnessed the spread and extensive application of the dominatus loci
model, while the second half was characterized by a process of stabilization and
entrenchment, based on the foundations laid in the immediately previous stage.
More particularly, the process that led to the extension of the model of
seigneurial power fits within a context marked by the breakdown of territorial
structures and the localizing of political practices, in close connection with the
spread of military conflicts (section 1.2). The great civil wars which began in
1080 unfolded within a context already marked by an increasing willingness
to resort to arms, but it pushed to the utmost limits tendencies that, plausibly,
would otherwise have carried far more limited weight and consequences. The war
between the Gregorian party and the pro-imperial one led to a situation of per-
manent and endemic military conflict, which took a heavy toll on all forms of
social organization. Warfare brought such a degree of instability that it accelerated
(and sometime caused) the disintegration of old territorial structures (either a
total or partial one, depending on the context); but it was also the main means
by which new centres of power emerged as poles of reorganization and recom-
position (section 1.3). The capacity to defend a territory (and to enlarge it) by
force of arms probably became the primary element for the selection of leading
political figures.
However, all this should not lead us to accept a simplistic interpretation of the
political game and of the exercising of local power, by reducing them to the logic
of sheer brutality. Military effectiveness was the product of a complex and wide-
ranging mode of territorial action, based on the reshaping of local society
(in such a way as to promote the establishment of knightly elites), the drawing up
of military pacts with subject communities, and the construction of new and more
effective fortifications, but also the use of new legitimizing discourses on the local
level (Chapters 3 and 6). In other words, the capacity to extract and redistribute
material and immaterial resources, by operating in a new fashion compared to
the past, proved utterly crucial for operating successfully in the political-military
arena. The context of warfare was therefore inextricably bound up with the kind
of militarization of local society that emerges as the hallmark of seigneurial trans
formation in central and northern Italy—to an even greater degree than in other
European contexts (section 4.1). The radical change in the structure of castles,
which grew larger and sturdier, the boom in the number of milites, the importance
of military obligations in pacts with subjects, and the new centrality of the dis-
course of violence in the creation of social hierarchies constitute, in this respect,
convergent data. The redefinition of the whole system was so profound and struc-
tural that even when the civil war had by and large come to an end in the early
1110s, pronounced militarization remained a key feature of the political and social
balances in the area, and warfare became an entrenched, structural factor.
With regard to these dynamics, it is important to note that political dislocation
appears to have reached its height in the 1090s, which is to say during the
harshest stage of the civil war. Already from the early years of the 1100s, and
even more clearly from the 1120s, we witness the emergence of processes of the
opposite sort: processes of territorial regrouping around a series of centres of
power (sections 1.3 and 5.1). The spread of the dominatus loci, therefore, would
appear to coincide with the stage of greatest instability and fragmentation,
whereas the following period of reorganization is associated with the normaliza-
tion and entrenchment (or indeed, in certain respects, the naturalization) of the
new system of power. As we have seen, the centres that played a leading role in
the reorganization that distinguishes this second stage include, most prominently,
some early urban communities that successfully established themselves as political
hubs for the surrounding countryside (section 5.1). However, many of these
centres of reorganization clearly display a seigneurial character: these are the
(new kinds of) territorial principalities that took shape through the actions of
major aristocratic families or, to a lesser extent, of powerful ecclesiastical institu-
tions (sections 1.3 and 1.4). Principalities and proto-communes no doubt shared
a whole range of power practices, systems of control, and government models,
but certain differences between these two kinds of political structures are also
discernible. In particular, principalities are almost invariably marked by the
application of the typical features of the seigneurial model on a much wider scale,
whereas the action of proto-communes in the rural context would appear to have
been characterized by collective forms of control, albeit not exclusively so. After
all, we should not forget that most of the centres that acknowledged the political
hegemony of urban communities, at any rate outside their immediate environs,
were subject to territorial lordships.
In considering centres of political reorganization, we should not underestimate
the role played by the monarchy (and, at a more local level, by the imperial
marches). In the 1110s, royal power sought to establish itself as the linchpin for a
significant project based—like the coeval principalities and proto-communes—
on the direct control of rural centres by royal officials (Chapter 2). In this respect,
royal power by this time had come to show considerable affinities with the modes
of operating typical of seigneurial principalities (section 2.3). However, the failure
of this project in the face of competition from local political actors shows that the
latter, while individually far less powerful than the monarchy, were better equipped
to come out on top in a game where the key to success lay in the capacity to think
and act on a local scale.
The crucial importance of this phase is also evident from an analysis of the
system of political communication in the countryside. In the decades around
1100, we observe a profound redefinition of the matrix of discourses of power
triggered by the crisis of royal power, which had hitherto constituted the linch-
pin of the system of legitimation and of rural political culture (Chapter 6).
Once deprived of its traditional centre of gravity, this constellation of political
discourses soon took on a completely new form: while the elements involved
Conclusions 251
remained the same, their position and mutual relations changed. The political
culture that emerged was that of a de facto headless society which needed to
organize itself independently, without being able to rely on an acknowledged
leadership (which only occasionally made itself felt during imperial military
expeditions in Italy). The language of pacts probably represents the most striking
symbol of this new situation: the pact between lords, and especially between lords
and subjects, acquired unprecedented centrality, in a way that is somewhat unique
in the European context, at any rate as far as the relation between lords and
their subjects is concerned (Chapter 8). Indeed, it is plausible that its importance
within the framework of rural political culture—which endured, with various
nuances, for a very long period of time—is to be connected precisely to the
decisive role played by the language of pacts during the emergence of the lordship
model.1 This new kind of legitimation (coinciding with the legitimation of a
largely innovative form of power compared to the past) proceeded from below
and rested on pacts: it revolved around reciprocity, albeit one of an asymmetrical,
and often even fictional, sort.
The new seigneurial context, however, also led to a marked redefinition of
more traditional languages previously connected with royal power, such as the
languages of fidelity and consuetudo. The latter, with the complex rituals it
entailed, was closely associated with the discourse of pacts, which it reinforced by
drawing upon the memory of a legitimizing (yet often fictional and instrumental)
past (Chapter 9). Personal fidelity instead spread well beyond the aristocratic
world, in which it still continued to play a key role as a means of defining mutual
relations (section 7.1). The new village elites, which by now had become militar
ized, were bound to the domini loci precisely by the use of the language of fidelity
and the public ceremonies associated with it. Yet, the most interesting aspect in
the development of this discourse lies in its innovative use to define the relationship
between lords and subjects (section 7.2). Whereas in the past, ‘territorial’ fidelitas
had only applied to the relation between the sovereign and the inhabitants of the
kingdom as a whole, within the new context of local powers, it increasingly began
to be used as a means to interpret and structure the relation between the lord and
the population of the territory he controlled (or laid claim to). The entrenchment
of this kind of power turned fluid forms of dependence into a far more rigid and
cogent relationship. In this respect, it may be argued that while the pactum reflects
a view of local power relations closer to what must have been the subjects’ per-
spective, given its horizontal dimension (broadly speaking), fidelitas is closer to
the lords’ point of view, insofar as it emphasizes the vertical and hierarchical
nature of the relation—the difference between ruler and ruled. This emphasis on
1 On the longue durée of pactional language (and its complicated developments) see now Gamberini,
The Clash of Legitimacies.
the pactional aspect limited the gap between the dominus loci and his subjects; the
emphasis on fidelitas increased and reinforced it.
All things considered, the language which in my view most prominently con-
tributed to the definition of hierarchies was that of violence (Chapter 10). On the
one hand, political leadership appears to have been inextricably bound up with
the exercising of violence: the capacity to independently exercise it is what made
autonomous local actors stand out from everyone else, thereby crucially restruc-
turing political society, in the countryside and beyond; but, at the same time,
it was also crucial for the definition of hierarchies within the complex world of
lords—and, more generally, within the political world, which also comprises
autonomous rural communities and urban proto-communes. However, it is
especially in the understanding of the differences between rulers and ruled that
violence and brutality played a decisive role, insofar as they made seigneurial
predominance something natural in the eyes of the subjects (section 10.4). From
the aristocratic point of view, violence crucially counterbalanced those political
discourses that tended to downplay the distance between rulers and ruled; it
approached the hierarchical perspective that distinguishes fidelity, which it cast in
a more brutal and coercive light, thereby concealing the more honourable aspects
of the relationship based on fidelitas. In this respect, it may no doubt be argued
that pacts and violence represented the two opposite poles of political discourse
in the countryside at the turn of the year 1100, in particular as far as relations
between lords and subjects were concerned.
It does not seem enough to stop at these observations; rather, it is necessary to
try and identify the underlying causes of this complex transformation. In this
respect, I have already emphasized the importance of warfare and of the context
of endemic conflict that emerged; however, it would be simplistic to view war as
the driving force behind socio-political change. We have already seen how, in the
fifteen years leading up to an all-out civil war around 1080, the level of violence in
the countryside increased to such an extent as to alarm the political authorities.
We have also seen how parallel processes of the localization of power had already
been at work for several decades (Chapter 1). In light of these considerations, it
may be more useful to view warfare as both a symptom and an accelerating factor
for the transformation of rural power balances. Warfare was a symptom insofar as
the revolts and armed conflicts which affected many of the main territorial units
starting in 1060 clearly reveal the sharp structural tensions which came to per-
vade the old political order through the process of the localization of aristocratic
rule. Warfare is an accelerating factor because it is undoubtedly the case that the
outbreak of civil war in 1080—an event not directly connected to the processes
of transformation already underway—contributed to unleashing the territorial
potential of local political actors, crucially promoting the breakdown of traditional
political institutions, the crisis of legitimation associated with the exercising of
public power, and the solidifying (or creation) of new forms of seigneurial power.
Conclusions 253
On the one hand, the civil wars that racked the kingdom from 1080 onwards were
so intense and endemic because they emerged within an already conflictual and
increasingly militarized milieu. On the other hand, the enduring and widespread
warfare typical of this period, along with the contemporary material and ideo-
logical crisis of central power, provided an ideal setting in which the seigneurial
(but also proto-communal) transformation of power already underway could fully
run its course, within a very short period of time. In other words, a prolonged
phase in which political actors gradually increased their power at a local level—
partly, no doubt, thanks to the king/emperor’s prolonged periods of absence from
Italy over the course of the eleventh century—was followed by a shorter period of
swift and intense expansion of local power: a process in which the aristocracy
played a crucial, albeit not exclusive, role.
It is important to stress the active role played by the royal authorities, who did
not passively endure the crisis, but aggressively sought to exploit it in order to
implement new and more direct forms of territorial control, bypassing the trad
itional intermediaries who had hitherto maintained political balances within the
kingdom (sections 2.2 and 2.3). In order to attain his goals, the sovereign did not
hesitate to promote the dissolution of some major public districts that were still
solid and operational, as in the case of the march of Tuscany and that of Turin.
But while the breakdown of existing structures was all too successful—clearly
owing to the self-serving support shown by minor political actors—the develop-
ment of a new system of central power proved a far more challenging task, which
ultimately met with almost complete failure. The reason for this is that the project
in question clashed with the ambitions of individual centres of local power, which
were better organized to come out on top in a competition where rootedness and
the capacity for action at the local level were utterly crucial. In those areas, such
as Friuli, where the monarchy instead supported traditional political structures,
albeit with certain necessary adjustments, these structures successfully survived
the crisis. The royal plan to reorganize the means of control over Italy thus probably
contributed in a decisive way to the process of the redefinition and localization
of power structures (Chapters 1 and 2)—an issue to be further investigated in
the future.
What has remained outside the scope of our analysis is the development of
territorial lordship after 1130. I have chosen this rather arbitrary date because it
corresponds to a moment in which lordship had already become an entrenched
and well-defined reality in the countryside of central and northern Italy. After
this phase, however, it underwent adaptations and changes owing to its pro-
gressive transformation within the overall socio-political context; polities of a
different kind started implementing policies that brought together increasingly
extensive and complex political territories, in which there was also room for lord-
ship, yet in different forms, depending on the specific local context. Clearly, what
it meant to be a lord varied depending on whether the territory involved was
under the hegemony of an urban commune or a (lay or ecclesiastical) prince, or

an area subject to the attempt to reorganize central power carried out by the
Staufer (as in southern Piedmont, Tuscany, Marche, and Umbria). But even indi-
vidual urban communes adopted different attitudes to rural lordships, depending
on the local political structures. Each context implied different ways of relating
with lordships, ranging from profound symbiosis (especially evident in many
major principalities) to marked hostility (as in the case of the few urban com-
munes). In certain areas, lordships chiefly relied on their control over landed
property and on personal ties of fidelity (as in the environs of Milan), whereas
in other areas what remained central was their ‘territorial’ dimension. Even as
regards the political language adopted, different contexts implied at least partly
different legitimizing discourses.2
Up until 1200, lordship remained one of the basic political building blocks
throughout northern Italy. Only over the course of the thirteenth century did its
prominence start to substantially decline in certain sub-regions, such as Tuscany,
the Marche, and the Veneto. However, in several contexts—especially in north-
western Italy, in Romagna, and in Latium—lordship remained an important
mode for the organization of the countryside, and a considerable percentage of
the rural population continued to live under the rule of lords. Indeed, from the
1300 onward, the spread of regional states led to a new spreading of the lordship
model, particularly in ‘monarchical’ territories (such as the duchy of Milan, the
county/duchy of Savoy, and papal Latium), through the ‘feudalization’ of rural
centres that had hitherto been under the direct control of the central authorities.
By contrast, in areas governed by republics (such as Florence, Siena, and Venice),
lordship came to play a substantially marginal role (with the exception of Genoa).
Notwithstanding the wide range of detailed studies on the subject, such changes
have yet to be made the object of an overall investigation, of the sort which seems
crucial in order to grasp the nature of the structural transformations affecting
the lordship model—an investigation also based on a comparative analysis of
sub-regional areas.3
Another crux of which researchers have only scratched the surface is the eco-
nomic dimension of the dominatus loci in our period. More particularly, it is a
matter of understanding exactly how lordship structurally fit within the broader
Italian context at the turn of the 1100s.4 In this regard, lordship may be regarded
as an aristocratic means to manage and profit from rural growth: a phenomenon
that—as we have seen—had probably begun far earlier, at a slower pace, but had
been gaining momentum for decades at the time when the transformation of
2 Like in Piedmont or in Umbria: see respectively Fiore, Signori e sudditi; and Provero, Le parole
dei sudditi.
3 But on the period post-1300, see now Carocci (ed.), La signoria rurale nel XIV–XV secolo.
4 On the economic dimension of seigneurial power the reference is now Carocci, Lordships,
pp. 377–469, focused on southern Italy.
Conclusions 255
lordship occurred.5 The structuring of the dominatus loci may be interpreted

as having been a way to at least partly overcome the constraints associated with
the extraction of surplus derived from landed property, and to operate in a more
direct and unfettered way (section 3.2). Jurisdictional levies—generally applied
alongside land-based levies, which they sometimes partially replaced—made it
possible to increase and adapt charges, affecting those peasants who had trad
itionally been exempt from rents (as in the case of allodiaries). More generally,
jurisdictional levies enabled lords to lay their hands on the increasing rural sur-
plus ensured by economic growth, whereas in the immediately previous phase,
any surplus had probably most benefited the peasants themselves. A clear indica-
tion of the extent of this long-term expansion in our period is the prolonged and
feverish military phase that brought this growth to a substantial halt. The swift
recovery of centres that had been destroyed—a few peculiar exceptions aside—
bears witness to the context of economic development in which these armed
conflicts occurred (sections 1.2 and 3.3). The spread of the seigneurial model
had a significant impact on this process of growth, at least partly influencing its
development. Future archaeological research and the improvement of dating
methods—which are still rather imprecise regarding our period (at any rate as far
as the specific aspects of interest to us are concerned)—will no doubt provide
new, crucial data in the coming years.6 The conclusions I will be drawing on the
matter are therefore still provisional ones, open to correction. Having said this, it
is reasonable to argue, first of all, that the lords’ capacity to concentrate surplus—
thereby reinforcing the ‘aristocratic’ capacity for demand—accelerated the growth
process.7 This is also consistent with the view that the twelfth century marked the
crucial moment in which the economy of central and northern Italy really took
off. After all, what distinguishes the dominatus loci was its capacity to make sig-
nificant investments and to promote rural productivity (through the coercion of
farmers and the imposition of heavier levies than in the past), while also making
human resources available in sectors other than agriculture.8 Moreover, lordship
must be regarded as a means not merely to increase taxation, but also to redistribute
the resources acquired, and hence to restructure the social contexts of individual
villages (Chapter 4). In this respect, the structuring of territorial lordships went
hand in hand not just with the militarization of village elites, but also with their
strengthening, leading to an increase in demand.
From a more general perspective, the turn of the 1100s in the countryside
would appear to have been characterized by a new capacity on the local elites’
5 Bianchi, Collavini, ‘La competizione per le risorse’; on long-term economic growth, in a wider
European framework, see Devroey, Économie rural.
6 Bianchi, ‘Archeologia della signoria’.
7 On the centrality of the demand of elites in structuring early medieval economy, see Wickham,
Framing, pp. 691–831.
8 On seigneurial coercion as crucial stimulus for the increasing of peasant productivity, see Duby,
The Early Growth, pp. 221–69.
part (not just lords, but also members of autonomous communities) to use their
new and direct jurisdictional control to syphon off the rural surplus and amass
resources either directly, via taxation, or indirectly, which is to say by creating
favourable conditions for land investments, as was the case in the cities’ rural
hinterland (Chapter 3 and section 5.1). Territorial lordship, therefore, should not
be seen as the driving force behind the acceleration of growth in the countryside
(and beyond) in the twelfth century, but as a crucial contributing factor; and its
spread and general extension account for many—albeit not all—of the distin-
guishing features of this process of development.
From this standpoint, it might be more accurate to identify the driving force
behind the acceleration of rural growth with this innovative and incisive capacity
of the elites to create political contexts more suited to their economic require-
ments, at any rate compared to the immediately preceding decades. The bulk of
the peasant population would appear to have benefited in a very marginal way
from the overall improvement in economic conditions, at least before the mid-
twelfth century, which is to say several decades after the period we have been
examining.9 The increase in rural productivity, and hence in rural surplus, was
largely drained by the elites through jurisdictional taxation, in addition (and
sometimes, especially in the case of lordships, in place of) land-based levies.
Although in certain contexts the overall increase in levies based on jurisdictional
rights does not seem very substantial, it was still enough to enable local elites to
intercept all or most of the increased production, essentially leaving the subor
dinate social classes empty-handed. This productive growth was also achieved
through the imposition of heavier workloads on the peasants, either directly
(through the new building or upkeep corvées) or indirectly (through an increase
in census and taxes). Increased agricultural productivity probably also allowed
more peasants to quit their work in the fields in comparison to the past, thereby
enabling the demographic development of urban centres and large rural villages
in the early decades of the twelfth century, as well as the wide-scale walling-up
process in the rural and urban context. Widespread political instability and armed
conflict favoured dense settlement patterns at various levels, giving rise to better
structured settlements that could more easily face war-related emergencies
(section 3.3). A process of selection wiped out a significant portion of the minor
rural centres, concentrating the population into a far smaller number of sites
compared to the past, albeit to a degree that varied depending on the area. It is
quite likely that the sudden urban growth that urban centres like Pisa and Bologna
would appear to have experienced in this period was directly associated with
this context.10
9 Wickham, ‘Archeologia e mondi rurali’.

10 On Bologna, Bocchi, ‘Dalla grande crisi’, pp. 68–78, 82–4, 92–4, 101–3; on Pisa, Garzella, Pisa
com’era. I’m preparing a book on the expansion of urban fabrics in Italy in this period.
Conclusions 257
Another crucial theme to be explored more systematically in the future is the

process of the transformation of local power across the various areas of western
Europe. Recent scholarship is showing increasing awareness of the fact that the
trajectories that led to the affirmation of territorial lordship in (almost) all of
western Europe varied considerably from region to region, owing to factors asso-
ciated with local social and political dynamics.11 According to this perspective,
which is far less rigid than the one that was prevalent up until the early 1990s, the
peculiarities of individual regional contexts had a decisive impact on the way in
which this process unfolded (suddenly or gradually, violently or in a relatively
peaceful way), as well as on its chronology—a short or long one, extending from
the last decades of the tenth century to the mid-twelfth. From this perspective, what
we need is a matrix—based on a suitably broad range of case studies—capable of
viewing the various (sub-)regional socio-political characteristics in relation to the
specific processes related to local power’s entrenchment. Clearly, a similar work
of assessment remains a far-off prospect; however, a comparison between the
regnum Italiae, the north of France, northern Spain, England, and southern Italy
can already offer some interesting insights in this respect, making it possible—as
we shall see—to identify an initial series of parameters and indicators that might
help us account for the differences across the various regions.12 Moreover, it must
be emphasized that these differences concern not just the trajectories of the pro-
cess of entrenchment, but also its actual outcomes. As we shall soon see in greater
detail, the process of local power’s entrenchment, while prevalent, was not entirely
inevitable, and even the concrete ways in which lordship became structured at the
local level varied more or less significantly depending on the context.
In northern France, the shift towards a fully ‘seigneurial’ system, which is to
say one marked by the privatization of jurisdictional rights and by a marked
formalization of local power practices, occurred in a slow and gradual manner
between the late tenth and early twelfth centuries. The context for this process
was a society in which aristocratic domination had been strong since the
Carolingian age, and the presence of small freeholders very limited, if not wholly
absent. The gradual shift towards territorial lordship significantly altered the
nature of how power was exercised on individuals at the local level compared to
the Carolingian period, yet it occurred within a rural context already strongly
marked by subordination. According to Mazel, this process of territorialization
and the entrenchment of lordship only fully unfolded in the last decades of the
11 For an ample discussion of this process, see Bisson, The Crisis, pp. 182–288.
12 On norther Francia, see West, Reframing Feudal Revolution, pp. 173–98 (Champagne); Barton,
Lordship in the County; Fossier, La terre et les hommes (Picardy), pp. 477–572; and the general over-
view in Mazel, Féodalités, esp. pp. 447–92. On Catalonia, see Bonnassie, La Catalogne; on the other
sub-regions of northern Iberia, with a similar standpoint, see also Larrea, La Navarre; and Pastor,
Resistencias y luchas; see also the essays collected in Jular Pérez-Alfaro and Estepa Dìaz (eds.), Land,
Power, and Society.
eleventh century; however, it would not appear to have been associated with an
extensive use of violence by noblemen.13 The very few episodes of violence against
subjects recorded in the surviving sources seem to constitute exceptions reflecting
particular local conditions, rather than exemplary cases revealing a more structural
tendency.14 If, as seems likely, conditions worsened for peasants, this occurred in
a slow and progressive way (in accordance with the ‘boiling frog’ model), and the
lords were able to manage the whole process without systematically resorting to
violence against subordinates as a means to accelerate change. What West has
described in his recent study on Champagne and Lorraine is essentially in line
with such a model.
Other areas are instead marked by very different developments, which are
explained by very different starting socio-political conditions, but also by particular
political developments that reflect exogenous as well as endogenous factors.
England, for example, presents a different pattern of development, even though
the underlying context is not all that different from northern France. On the one
hand, the Anglo-Saxon kingdom of the early tenth century may be seen as the
‘most Carolingian’ of all: as the one in which the innovations brought about by
the Franks were implemented to the fullest extent.15 However, despite the power
of the aristocracy and the presence of a peasant class characterized in certain
cases by very heavy forms of dependence, the process of entrenchment and allo-
dialization of leadership and jurisdictional rights did not occur: with very few
exceptions, such rights remained in the hands of the central authorities. Therefore,
at least in the eyes of a Continental historian, the lordship model in England
never fully took off, despite its unquestionable power and its capacity to influence
economic and social contexts. A push towards a more Continental direction
occurred in the country with the so-called Anarchy, the major civil war that broke
out during Stephen’s reign.16 However, in the aftermath of this war, royal power
regained complete control and nipped the process of privatization of justice in the
bud, to such a degree that no parallels for this are to be found on the Continent—
not even in Norman southern Italy where territorial lordships were definitely
more developed, albeit in a strong royal framework.17 The case of England, then,
shows that a particularly solid central power could manage seigneurial development
while avoiding the processes of fragmentation and the privatization of power and
jurisdictional rights typical of Continental kingdoms.
In Catalonia, where peasant communities were stronger, not least owing to the
significant presence of freeholders, the process unfolded in a swifter and more
13 Mazel, Féodalités, pp. 447–92.

14 A good example is the case of Viry, discussed in Zerner, ‘Note sur la seigneurie’.
15 On the ‘Carolingian’ nature of Anglo-Saxon kingdom, see Wickham, The Inheritance of Rome,
453–71.
16 Crouch, The Reign of King Stephen.
17 Amt, The Accession on Henry II; on Norman southern Italy, see Carocci, Lordships, pp. 69–113.
Conclusions 259
violent way, within a few decades in the first half of the eleventh century—again,
in conjunction with a crisis of central power (in this case, comital power). In
other words, violence was crucial in order to define the place of the subordinate
classes within the new and harsher context of lordship. From this perspective, the
case of Italy appears much closer to that of Catalonia. Here too the presence of
communities of freeholders enjoying a considerable degree of autonomy was
associated with a transformation entailing a phase of marked acceleration, char-
acterized by a striking increase in violence and coinciding with a crisis of central
power.18 According to Bonnassie’s thesis, lords took advantage of a moment of
great weakness on the part of the count of Barcelona in order to launch an all-out
campaign of violence against peasant society in an attempt to subject and deprive
it of its traditional autonomy. Up until then, rural communities, which were very
strong and existed in a symbiotic relationship with the central authorities, had
constituted a substantial obstacle to the development of aristocratic power.19 In
the wake of the crisis, the counts of Barcelona (and later the king of Aragon as
well) were not stripped of their power, but forced to strike a new balance with
local authorities; the importance of the structural connection with the aristocracy
increased, while the traditional connection with the communities of freeholders
weakened considerably.20
As far as the area of Castile and León is concerned, in recent decades studies
have emphasized the marked difference between rural socio-political balances
in the early tenth century, characterized by the presence of strong peasant com-
munities and of well-established public power, and in the twelfth century, when
seigneurial domination was so pervasive as to heavily influence the very ways in
which kings exercised power at the local level.21 Close analogies are to be found
between this process and the one outlined for Catalonia, albeit with a longer
chronology and a more progressive development. However, it is worth noting that
in this case it might be possible to identify a phase of acceleration in the civil wars
of the early twelfth century, in the wake of which the jurisdictional powers of
lords became far more visible than in the previous decades. Proof of this trans
formation is arguably to be found in the numerous subjects’ revolts and rebellions
in the early decades of the twelfth century: events which may be seen as a response
to a transformation (and deterioration) of power relations which occurred so
rapidly as to be clearly perceived by the victims themselves.22
Nevertheless, even in a strictly rural context, communities across central
and northern Italy would appear to have exercised even greater power than in
Catalonia, as is shown by the numerous examples of independent communities
18 Bonnassie, La Catalogne, pp. 539–80. 19 Feliu i Montfort, ‘La pagesia catalana’.
20 But this old link did not disappear, as shown in Bisson, Tormented Voices.
21 Jular Pérez-Alfaro and Estepa Dìaz (eds.), Land, Power, and Society.
22 Reyna Pastor, Resistencias y luchas.
capable of successfully taking up arms against lords (section 5.2). While in many

contexts lords were able to assert their power, with or without the use of violence
(the latter typically being the case where bonds of dependence were already
strong), they did not succeed in doing so everywhere. And in many places where
they did succeed in gaining the upper hand, they were also forced to draw pacts
granting their subjects various degrees of autonomy and leeway (section 8.2): vio-
lence, in other words, was not enough to structure rural power relations, but was
combined with negotiation, giving rise to a generally far less oppressive context
than the Catalan one. By contrast, in the north of France, where—as we have
seen—the affirmation of seigneurial power occurred more gradually and aristo-
cratic predominance vis-à-vis a weak peasant society constituted a more trad
itional phenomenon, we find practically no trace of the language of pacts in
relations between lords and subjects. In northern France (Picardy, Normandy,
and Flanders), from the late eleventh century onwards domini defined their rela-
tions with subjects through grants and franchises, that were, at least formally,
purely the lords’ initiative: a clear sign of the structural robustness of lordship in
this context, especially from an ideological standpoint.23 Seigneurial domination
was regarded as stable and consolidated, and it was the lords who granted their
subjects rights, or rather privileges. As a category, pacts were instead essentially
reserved for agreements between lords: a significant difference compared to what
was typically the case in central and northern Italy.24 The latter stands out pre-
cisely on account of the dearth of letters of privilege (in the strict sense of the
term) at least up until the late twelfth century (Chapter 8). By contrast, the language
of pacts was the one most widely employed to define relations not just within the
seigneurial group, but also between individual lords and their subjects. What pos-
sibly accounts for this element is not so much—or not exclusively—the (relative)
weakness of the lordship model compared to northern France, but rather its greater
ideological fragility, i.e. its sudden emergence and often ‘revolutionary’ and sub-
versive role with respect to pre-existing balances, by contrast to France, where it
ultimately constituted a direct development of the old power structure. The case
of southern Italy falls somewhere between the two. Here gratuitous concessions
by lords coexisted, in a rather balanced way, with genuine pacts, at least up until
the late twelfth century.25 This may be seen to reflect a different background
situation. Lordship chiefly emerged through the break made with the old power
balances under the influence of the Normans, but it was soon legitimized (and at
the same time regulated) by the major powers that soon established themselves
(princes and, later, kings). This somewhat hybrid nature of territorial lordship,
at the crossroads between legitimacy and ‘revolutionary’ innovation, would find
23 Fossier, Chartes de Coutume; Van Caenegem, ‘Coutumes et législation’.

24 Fossier, Chartes de Coutume, pp. 129–33. 25 Carocci, Lordships, pp. 167–90.
Conclusions 261
expression in the coexistence of pacts and gratuitous concessions among the

documents from this region.
This brief, and still schematic, comparative exercise clearly suggests that the
presence of freeholders, the autonomy of peasant communities, the landed power
of local aristocracy, and the strength of central power are among the crucial
parameters to explain the regional forms, dynamics, and chronologies associated
with this transformation. However, the role played by other, equally important
elements, such as economic growth, remain to be fully explored. Naturally, these
are but a few, simple insights that will have to be discussed and investigated in
greater depth in more systematic studies, by integrating the growing amount of
archaeological data, which is of crucial importance as far as the economic aspect
is concerned.
The comparative dimension, this time narrowed down to the sub-regional
level, also allows us to better reflect on the problem of the very nature of the pro-
cess of socio-political transformation in central and northern Italy—including
its specific trajectory and ‘inevitability’ (or lack thereof). We have seen how
the dynamics which reached full maturation in our area in the decades around
1100 were far more ancient and long-standing. In his recent landmark study
on the feudal revolution, Charles West has hypothesized that the process of allo-
dialization and the entrenchment of power typical of the seigneurial world in
some way represents the inevitable outcome of Carolingian developments, which
is to say of the process of the reorganization of forms of power brought about by
Charlemagne and his successors.26 From this perspective, the Carolingian power
reform would constitute the crucial precondition for the subsequent processes of
seigneuralization: the most evident confirmation of this would lie in the spread of
essentially similar models throughout ‘Carolingian’ Europe (from its heart to
more peripheral areas). While, as we have seen, individual regional contexts had a
marked impact on the ways in which this process occurred and on its chronology,
its trajectory and final outcome would be essentially predetermined. At first
glance, the Italian example would largely seem to confirm this hypothesis; yet the
presence, alongside territorial lordships, of political actors not found in other
parts of Europe, such as autonomous urban and rural communities, suggests a
more nuanced picture. Precisely because West’s interpretation is so compelling,
Italy’s case is worth discussing from this specific perspective, in the light of the
data which has emerged over the course of the research conducted thus far.
The first evident peculiarity in Italy’s case is the prominent role played by
(many) urban communities in the countryside, a role which really took off in the
period we are examining. The capacity of urban communities to shape political
26 West, Reframing Feudal Revolution. I’ve discussed the thesis of Charles West, focusing on its
applicability to Italy, in Fiore, ‘Ripensare la “rivoluzione feudale” ’; on this issue see also Wickham,
‘The “Feudal revolution” ’.
and social balances in the countryside, even quite a distance away from the
city walls, by establishing a complex dialogue with the seigneurial authorities,
constitutes a key element to understand rural power balances. Proto-communes
successfully imposed their hegemony on different seigneurial centres, but also
directly imposed their power on many villages in the surrounding countryside.
What is less significant from a quantitative perspective, yet in my view crucial
from a qualitative one, is the presence of non-urban autonomous communities in
the countryside. This specific power model seems particularly important because
it offers a different model for the organization of political power compared to the
dominatus loci, one which—by contrast to urban proto-communes—is exclusively
rural in nature. This model appears to be based not on the allodialization of juris-
diction, but on its exercise at a collective rather than a merely formal level. In this
respect, the communities in question may be seen as tracing a different course of
development compared to lordships, which shows that the latter did not consti-
tute an inevitable development within the post-Carolingian political framework,
but only one possible outcome. It is evident that the maturation and entrench-
ment of these political entities rested on endogenous foundations, namely the
development of practices and tendencies which had been at work in the coun-
tryside for centuries, as in the case of the collective management of goods, the
protection of religious institutions, and interaction with royal power. Not least
through the crisis of the traditional political system, the troubled years at the turn
of the 1100s brought about an acceleration and (subsequent) formalization of
such tendencies, in parallel to what was occurring in the strictly seigneurial
context.27 Nevertheless, it is important to note that while lordship is associated
with the capitalization of power, the same does not hold true for autonomous
communities, where power remains something collective, not subject to the typical
dynamics of property ownership. Entrenchment and localization are common to
both political models, yet at the same time, some significant differences apply.
The emerging picture suggests that West’s interpretation needs to be qualified
somewhat, yet the case of Italy is a peculiar one in other respects, too.
Even if we were to keep within the ‘aristocratic’ rural framework, it is possible
to identify a specific (and peculiar) sub-regional case that suggests, if nothing
else, the possibility of a development at least partly different from that typically
characterizing territorial lordships. This is the aforementioned case of the patri
archate of Aquileia in Friuli, an evidently anomalous case which apparently shows
that while the seigneuralization (and/or entrenchment of power at a local level)
constituted a likely development given the Carolingian preconditions, it was
not an entirely obvious or inevitable outcome. In north-east Italy, the solution
adopted by the royal authorities around 1070 in the face of local difficulties was to
27 On the patterns of collective action in Carolingian and post-Carolingian countryside, see
Provero, ‘Peasant society and communities’.
Conclusions 263
submit the county of Friuli, which was still fully operating on the basis of
Carolingian parameters, to the patriarch of Aquileia, who acquired all the trad
itional public prerogatives (Chapter 2). This solution proved highly successful,
and the area was almost completely spared by the processes of dissolution typical
of the period. In the following centuries, Friuli displayed a remarkable degree of
continuity with the Carolingian period in terms of its social, political, and eco-
nomic balances; territorial lordship instead only emerged in a far more limited
number of local contexts. However, we should not view Friuli merely as some
kind of fossil; rather, it is more helpful to see it as representing a different trajec-
tory, characterized by a more linear and less innovative development, or at any
rate one much closer to the starting Carolingian model compared to the outcomes
typically found across the rest of central and northern Italy. Among the many
distinguishing features of Friuli’s case, we might mention continuity in the modes
of the exercise of public power, the lack of development of territorial lordship, an
aristocracy relying on large-scale land ownership (with widely scattered properties),
the survival of the mansus, and the importance of communities of freeholders.28
Therefore, the endurance of fully Carolingian models of power was possible,
at least to some degree, and the flourishing of territorial lordship was not an
inevitable outcome.
What distinguishes the Italian context, then, is the peculiar role played by urban
communities in rural areas, but also—to limit ourselves to those authorities based
in the countryside—the presence of non-seigneurial autonomous communities,
and the survival of a system of Carolingian origin in Friuli. This is a varied scenario,
characterized by a peculiar range of outcomes. The dominatus loci appears to be
only one of several parallel developments that unfolded in rural central and
northern Italy, which is distinguished by the presence of a relatively complex
socio-political ecosystem, featuring a wide variety of political units. The outcome
is a process of coevolution, whereby each individual trajectory of evolution influ-
ences all others and is in turn influenced by them, in a complex way.29 It follows
that we cannot interpret this process teleologically, on the basis of the outcomes it
produced, although it cannot be ruled out that the peculiar prominence of cities
(and possibly of several rural centres, too) compared to other European regions—
possibly from as early as the late Lombard period—is what brought these outcomes
about around the year 1100.30 While these topics remain to be fully explored, it
seems to me that the time is ripe to highlight the wide range of developments
and opportunities that emerged within a context that was particularly suited to
28 For a general overview, see Cammarosano (ed.), Il patriarcato di Aquileia; see also, Zanin,
L’evoluzione dei poteri.
29 On the notion of coevolution, see Thompson, The Coevolutionary Process.
30 On the strong identities of northern Italian city in precomunal age, see La Rocca, Majocchi
(eds.), Urban Identities.
experimentation and to the pursuing of new political projects, owing to the

collapse of the structural limits imposed by royal control.
A comparative study taking other transalpine regions into account, and a close
examination of areas displaying specific patterns of seigneurial development, may
help to further clarify the nature of the processes that led to the emergence of
the seigneurie not just in Italy but in Europe more generally, freeing them from
overly-teleological interpretations and yielding a more nuanced picture of the
past—one still difficult to decipher and open to very different outcomes from those
ultimately realized. In other words, the process of seigneurial transformation
(or, if we like it better, of the feudal revolution) is still an open problem.
Abbreviation for Primary

Sources and Journals
BISIME Bullettino dell’Istituto storico italiano per il medioevo

BSBS Bollettino storico-bibliografico subalpino
Le carte della canonica di Firenze Le carte della canonica della cattedrale di Firenze (723–1149),
ed. R. Piattoli (Rome, 1938).
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lombardiabeniculturali.it/cdlm/> accessed 20 March 2019.
Le carte di Sassovivo
MEFREM Mélanges de l’École française de Rome. Moyen Age
MGH Monumenta Germaniae Historica
QFIAB Quellen und Forschungen auf italienischen Archiven und Bibliotheken
RIS erum Italicarum Scriptores
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Index
Note: Maps are indicated by an italic “m”, and notes are indicated by “n” following the page number.
Adelaide of Turin, countess/margravine 5, 8, Biandrate, counts of 8, 16–18, 16n.60, 28–9,

11–14, 11n.35, 18, 33–4, 41, 47 64–5, 68–9, 72, 81, 84–5, 87–9, 150–1, 162–3,
Afghanistan 10 188, 191–2, 246–7
Agello, castle viiim, 24n.100, 45, 86–7, 173n.74, Bionde, castle 183n.19, 191–2, 213n.59, 217–18
189n.42, 192n.57, 216n.70 Bonifacio Del Vasto, margrave 8–9, 13–14,
Agnese of Turin, countess/margravine 8 16–18, 29–30, 32–6, 47, 70, 115–16, 244–5
Aleramici, margraves 9, 16–18, 28–30, 32–5, 77, Bonifacio of Canossa, margrave 38, 202, 221
132–3, 201 Bonifacio of Incisa, margrave 32–6
Ansani Michele 152 Borgo San Donnino, castle 18–19, 44–6, 48
Antignano, castle viiim, 81, 179, 188, 191–2, Bournazel, Eric xv–xvi
194–5, 203–4, 211–12 Breme, abbey, see Novalesa
Alba, bishops of 25–6, 115–18, 194–5, 242 Brescia, bishops
́ of 18–19
Alba, city and proto–commune 81, 115–18 Busano, nunnery 238–9
Alberti, counts 8–9, 14, 21, 70
Alberto, bishop of Novara 8 Cadolingi, counts 8–9, 21, 28–9, 82–3, 85–6
Aldobrandeschi, counts 9n.28, 14–16, 21, 28–9, Calusco, castle and lords of viiim, 52–4, 114–15,
56, 66n.65, 70–1, 81–2, 85n.46, 92, 94n.85, 164n.46, 190n.49, 221n.87
97–8, 221, 227–8, 244–5 Campomorto, battle 5–6
Anselmo, bishop of Novara 8 Canavese, counts of 16–18, 23n.98, 162–3,
Aosta Valley 16–18 238–9
Aquileia, patriarchs of 20–1, 42, 168n.60, 262–3 Casauria, abbey of 12–13, 51
Arduino of Ivrea, king of Italy 4–5 Casciavola, village 53–6, 96–7, 99–100, 222–3,
Arduinici, margraves 5, 8, 11–14, 11n.35, 18, 227–30, 233–4
28–9, 33–4, 41, 47, 107–8, 244n.60 Castelbaldo, castle 19, 98n.106, 159–60
Arnold of Dorstadt 237–8 Castelrotto, castle 184n.22, 192–3
Arezzo, bishops of viim, 14, 21–2, 71–2, 107–8, Central places 24–5, 46, 67–73
120–2, 167 Cerea, castle viiim, 57–8, 189–90, 205–8, 210,
Arrone, lords of 239–44 213–14, 234–5
Ascoli, bishops of viim, 21–2, 103, 107–8, Ceriana, village viiim, 97–8, 173n.72, 220n.82
150–1 Cervia, village 19
Assisi, counts of 5–6, 15, 52n.9 Charlemagne 176, 261
Chiavenna, castle viiim, 90–1, 130–1, 133–4
Baratonia, viscounts of 115–16 Chiusi, bishops of 227–8
Bargone, castle 44–6, 48 Civil wars xiii, xviii–xix, 3–36, 40–3, 48–9, 54,
Barthelemy, Dominique xvi–xvii, 5n.6, 186n.28 104–5, 115–18, 149, 184–5, 249–53, 258–61
Berardo (II), abbot of Farfa 167n.56 Civitanova, castle viiim, 71–2, 173n.74, 181–2,
Berengar I, king of Italy 109n.34, 144–5 216n.70
́
Bergamo, bishops of 18–19, 39, 77, 132 Coltibuono, abbey 230, 233
Bisson, T.N. xvii, xx, 80n.29, 85n.45, 103n.7, Como, city and proto–commune viim, 10–12,
199n.1, 226n.2, 227, 238n.38, 257n.11, 259n.20 81, 90–1, 102n.3, 104–8, 112–13, 115–16, 120,
Biandrate, castle viiim, 10–11, 67–9, 71–2, 81, 123n.100, 127–8, 130, 130n.127, 132–4
84–5, 87–9, 179, 187–8, 191–2 Conegliano, castle 103–4
290 Index
Conrad, son of Henry IV 41 Giovanni, abbot of Subiaco 26–7, 60, 243
Conrad II, emperor 155–6 Gorizia, counts of 20–1
Conrad III, king of Germany 133, 150–1 Gregorio of Catino, monk 86–7, 167
Coriano, castle 203–4, 207–8 Gregory VII, pope 32, 168–9, 172–3, 194–5
Crema, castle viiim, 18–19, 67–9, 72, 81, 104–7 Gualtiero, archbishop of Ravenna 159–60
Crescenzio, count 9–10 Gualcherii, seigneurial family 9–10, 163–4,
185n.24, 228n.7, 239–41
Diano (d’Alba), castle viiim, 116, 194–5 Guarene, castle 116, 194–5
Duby, Georges xv–xvii, 196n.71, 197n.73, 255n.8 Guarnerii, margraves 21–2, 24n.100, 48,
228n.7
Emilia, region 16, 48, 86–7, 203 Guastalla, castle viiim, 67–8, 81, 87–9, 183–4,
England 154–5, 176–7, 186, 248, 257–8 187, 191–2, 194
Este, margraves of 8–9, 16n.60, 20, 78–9 Guiberto, archbishop of Ravenna 162–3, 168–9,
172–3
Farfa, abbey 5–6, 9–10, 13, 24–7, 45, 51, 55, Guidi, counts 8–9, 14, 16, 21–5, 28–9, 68–9,
61–2, 71, 76–9, 86–7, 92–3, 96–7, 130–1, 81n.33, 92, 106, 108n.30, 244–5
150–1, 163–5, 167, 173–4, 182, 185–6,
192n.56, 216, 228n.7, 239–41, 243–4 Henry II, emperor 26n.107, 115n.67
Ferentillo, abbey 25–6, 239–44 Henry III, emperor 3, 26n.107, 38–41, 148
Fermo, city and proto–commune viim, 24, 27, Henry IV, emperor 7–9, 32, 37, 40–3, 46–7,
61–2, 103, 107–8 104–5, 108–9, 123, 182–3, 189–90, 202, 210,
Fermo, bishops of 6, 13, 21–4, 27, 62–3, 71–2, 212, 221–2, 227–8
78–9, 86–7, 103, 107–8, 173–4, 181–2, 185, Henry V, emperor 10, 15–19, 37, 42–9, 106–7,
192n.56, 194, 216–17, 242n.55, 244nn.59–57 120, 122–3, 150, 176–7
Feud 21–2, 31–6, 238–42 Henry VI, emperor 125n.104
Ficarolo, castle 46, 48n.48
Fidelity xix–xx, 23–4, 154–77, 183–4, 196, Imola, bishops of 71–2, 117–18, 117n.77
206–7, 225, 237, 251–4 Imola, city and proto–commune 71–2, 117–18,
Fief 23–4, 82–3, 116n.72, 118–20, 156–7, 117n.77, 172–3, 176–7
163–70, 210, 222 Imola, counts of 19, 162–3
Firidolfi, seigneurial family 230, 242 Innocent III, pope 236, 241–2
Flaiperto, missus regius 44 Investiture struggle xiii, 10, 147, 150–1
Florence, city and proto–commune viim, 10–11, Inzago, castle viiim, 51, 170–1, 190, 190n.44
14, 21, 24–5, 68, 70–1, 85–6, 105–6, 121n.92, Isola Comacina, rural community viiim, 10–12,
123–4, 254 63, 90–1, 127–30, 136–7
Fonte Avellana, abbey 243–4
France xv–xvii, 5, 16, 187, 193–4, 196–200, Lake Como 106–7, 128–30
203–4, 226–7, 257–61 Lake of Garda 115
Frangipane, seigneurial family 236–8 Lake Maggiore 94–5, 97–8
Frederick I Barbarossa, emperor 27, 48–9, Latium, region 7, 9, 13, 22, 26n.106, 30–1, 45,
133, 237–8 52–3, 59–60, 69–70, 92–3, 103, 107–8, 124,
Friuli, counts of 40–2, 262–3 131–2, 135, 157–8, 161n.36, 163, 173–4,
Friuli, region 42–3, 253, 262–4 178–9, 183, 193–4, 236–8, 239n.40, 254
Fruttuaria, abbey 23n.98, 25–6, 115, 183n.19, Lavagna, counts of 18
238–9 Lenno, rural community 128–30
Libya 10
Gamondio, castle 70n.82, 77, 89n.62, 125–7, Liguria, region 8, 16, 18, 32–3, 35, 70, 97–8,
130–7 108n.30, 113–14, 173n.72, 201–3, 239n.40,
Genoa, bishops (since 1133 archbishop) of 94–5, 244–5
97–8, 114–15, 173n.72, 220n.82 Lombardy, region xvi–xvii, 9n.24, 10–13, 16,
Genoa, city and proto–commune viim, 5–6, 18, 18–19, 27, 39–40, 51–4, 63, 90–1, 96–7, 105–6,
23–4, 27, 105–6, 110–11, 113–15, 118–20, 112–13, 120, 122–4, 127–37, 170n.62, 183–4,
122–4, 133–5, 166–7, 175, 200–2, 254 192n.56, 203, 218–19, 239–40, 239n.40
Index 291
Lothar III, emperor 44nn.30, 32, 45–6, 48–9, Nicknames 244–6

108n.30, 150 Nogara, castle 43–4, 46
Lucca, bishops of 174–5, 202, 204n.24, 212–13, Nonantola, abbey viiim, 77–9, 87–9, 106–7,
235n.30 144–5, 150–1, 171–2, 190
Lucca, city and proto–commune viim, 14, 41n.16, Novalesa, abbey 25–6, 94–5, 115–16, 168
44, 65, 75, 86, 104–6, 108–11, 120, 123–4, Novara, bishop of 8–9, 16–18, 64–5, 68–9,
171–2, 221 162–3
Novara, city and proto–commune viim, 8,
Malaspina, margraves 18, 22, 29, 44–5, 48, 63–4, 10–11, 16–18, 69, 97–8, 106, 110–11
239–40, 244–6 Novi, castle 77, 87–9, 127, 130–1, 133–5
Mantua, city and proto–commune viim, 18–19, Nuremberg, city 150–1
39–40, 41n.16, 44, 104–5, 109n.38, 147–8
Marano, castle 215–16 Oath 86, 111–13, 132–3, 143, 152–3,
March xiii–xvi, 3–6, 8, 13–15, 18, 21, 23–4, 156–77, 195, 199–207, 214–15, 217–18,
40–2, 44–9, 53n.11, 104–5, 115, 181–2, 201, 225–6, 228, 237
227–8, 250, 253 Oberto dell’Orto, judge 156–7
Marche, region 6, 19, 21–2, 24n.100, 26n.106, Oddone, abbot of Novalesa 168
41–2, 45, 48, 61–2, 71–2, 79–80, 85n.45, 92–3, Osimo, city and territory viim, 159–61
98–9, 125–6, 133n.136, 156n.11, 157–61, Ostiglia, castle 44, 48n.48, 85n.46, 102n.3,
170n.62, 176n.81, 181–2, 182n.13, 184n.21, 104n.13, 106–7, 120–3, 173n.72
189, 192n.57, 215–16, 239–40, 246n.67, 253–4
Marchiones, seigneurial family 21–2, 30–2, 52, Pacts 174–5, 177–200, 204–5, 209, 211–12,
76–7 215–18, 221n.87, 225–7, 247, 249–52,
Matilda of Canossa, countess 41–5, 104–6, 259–61
117–18, 122–3, 149, 182–3, 192n.56, 203–4, Padua, bishops of 39–40, 52n.9, 78–9, 91–2,
208, 221, 223–4 126–7, 148, 165, 191–2
Marzana, castle viiim, 55–7, 98–9, 179, 187, 194 Padua, city viim, 20–1, 91–2
Mazel, Florian xvi–xvii, 198n.76, 257–8 Parma, bishop of 35n.143, 44–5, 48, 108–9,
Modigliana, castle viiim, 21, 24–5, 69, 223–4
81n.33, 244 Parma, city and proto–commune viim, 18–19,
Molassana, village viiim, 97–8 46, 81, 103, 106–9
Monarchy 7, 37–51, 126–7, 143–51, 186, Peasants xvii, 7, 20–1, 50–8, 62, 65–6, 68–9,
189–90, 250–3, 258–63 72–4, 76–81, 84, 87–100, 114–15, 118, 142,
Monferrato, margraves 16–18, 16n.59, 28–9, 164–5, 188, 191–2, 196, 199–200, 203, 210–14,
29n.120, 35, 70, 106, 150–1 219–23, 231–9, 243–7, 254–61
Monte Amiata, abbey 9n.28, 15–16, 21, 56, Pelavicino, margraves 18–19, 23–4, 29n.120,
66n.65, 81–2, 85n.46, 94n.85, 97–8, 221, 227–8 35–6, 118–20, 244–5
Montecascioli, castle 9, 48, 85–6, 105–6 Perugia, city and proto–commune viim, 21–2,
Montecerro, castle viiim, 19, 98n.106, 159–60 112–13
Milan, archbishops of 90–1, 102–3, 120 Picardy, French region 197–8, 257n.12, 259–61
Milan, city and proto–commune viim, 5–6, Piedmont, region 4n.2, 5, 8, 11–14, 16–18, 23–6,
10–12, 27, 44n.32, 81, 102–7, 110n.39, 111–12, 32–5, 47–8, 60–1, 64–7, 71–2, 77, 87–9, 105–9,
114–16, 118–20, 123, 127–30, 133n.138, 115, 125–7, 132–3, 142, 170n.62, 192–3,
134n.140, 150 192n.56, 208, 218–19, 235n.28, 244–7, 253–4
Milites 9, 63–4, 68–9, 75–89, 100, 105–6, Pier Damiani, monk 6, 30–1, 32n.132, 52,
109–10, 113n.54, 115–18, 134–5, 155, 157–8, 244n.59
161–7, 175, 183n.19, 188, 191–2, 205–6, Pisa, bishop (since 1092 archbishop) of 151,
210–11, 213–14, 238–45, 249 168–9, 174, 191–2, 202–3
Monaldi, counts 81, 84, 182, 188–9, 203, 211–12 Pisa, city and proto–commune viim, xiii, 5–6,
Montebelluna, castle viiim, 209–10 14, 27, 54, 102–6, 111, 118, 120, 123–4,
Montolmo, castle 173n.74, 192n.56, 194n.62, 189–90, 202, 212–13, 222–3, 228n.10, 228n.7,
216n.70 242, 256
Mosezzo, castle 110–11, 192–5 Pistoia, bishop of 77–8, 86–7, 170–1
292 Index
Po Valley 7, 15, 29n.120, 41–3, 56n.25, 59–60, Somalia 10

65–6, 85n.46, 106, 111, 117–18, 124, 126, Soncino, castle viiim, 106–7, 113n.54, 124, 161,
156–7, 174–5, 183–4, 237–8, 248–9 166–7
Poggibonsi, castle viiim, 25n.105, 38, 68n.73, Spain 257
69n.75, 76n.5 Stephen, king of England 186, 258
Poggio San Giuliano, castle 78–80, 173n.74, Subiaco, abbey viiim, 5–6, 25–7, 60, 64, 71,
192n.56, 194n.62, 216n.70 131–2, 165–6, 173–4, 179, 183, 184n.21,
Poly, Jean Pierre xv–xvi, 154n.1 241–4
Porcile, castle 213n.59, 235n.28 Susa, castle 67–8, 189–90, 203n.21
Portovenere, castle 105–6, 111, 113–14, 123–4 Susa valley 5, 16–18, 24
Priocca, castle viiim, 13, 183n.19
Proto–commune 16, 44, 63, 101–25, 127–8, Tenda, castle viiim, 51–2, 90, 97n.101, 189–90,
130–1, 136–7, 166–7, 186, 237–8, 249–50, 192n.58, 201–4, 208, 210, 212–13, 215–16
252–3, 261–2 Tivoli, bishops of 161n.36, 173–4, 179, 183,
184n.21
Rabodo, imperial margrave of Tuscany 9, 12–13, Trevi, castle 130–3, 135–6
48, 105–6 Treviso, bishops of 20–1, 27, 165, 209
Rainerio (II), member of the Marchiones Turin, bishop of 115–16, 162–3, 242
family 30–2 Turin, city and proto–commune viim, 16–18,
Rapizoni, counts 21–2, 29, 97n.101, 182 48–9, 102–3, 108n.30
Ravenna, archbishops of 8–9, 15–16, 19–20, Turin, march of xiii–xiv, 5–6, 8, 11–18, 23–4,
71–2, 107–8, 117–18, 159–63, 168–70, 172–5 33–4, 40–1, 47, 110–11, 115, 253
Roddi, castle 26n.107, 115–16 Tuscany, march of xiii–xv, 8–9, 14–15, 30–1, 38,
Rodilando, count 185–6 40, 42, 44–5, 47–8, 105–6, 171–2, 212–13,
Romagna, region 8–9, 15, 24–5, 107–8, 117–18, 227–9, 253
156–8, 254 Tuscany, region xv, 4n.2, 8–9, 13–14, 21, 24–5,
Romagnano, margraves of 28–9, 64–5 27–31, 41–2, 47–8, 52–4, 58–60, 64–6, 70,
Romano, da, seigneurial family 82–3 76n.5, 78n.13, 85–7, 92, 105–6, 123–4, 126,
Rome, city 109n.36, 236–7 156–8, 171–2, 174, 180–1, 203–4, 212–13, 221,
Rosignano, castle 202–4, 210 227–30, 245, 253–4
Tuscolani, seigneurial family 22, 69–70
Saccisica, rural area, see Sacco Tusculum, castle viiim, 22, 24–5, 69–70
Sacco, castle viiim, 39–40, 52n.9, 91–2, 126–7,
148, 190–2 Ubaldo, bishop of Turin 242
Sambuca, castle viiim, 63, 86–7, 170–1 Ubaldo, count of Imola 162–3
San Bonifacio, counts of 20–1, 57–8, 107–8, Ulcandino, bishop of Fermo 6, 244n.59
205–6, 235–6 Umbria, region 5–6, 21–2, 29–32, 41–2, 45, 47,
San Casciano, lords of 53–6, 96–7, 99–100, 52, 57n.27, 76–7, 81, 84, 85n.45, 92–9, 125–7,
222–3, 228n.7, 229–30, 233–4 133n.136, 134n.140, 156–8, 167, 170n.62,
San Dalmazzo, abbey viiim, 25–6 176n.81, 181–2, 184n.21, 188, 191–2, 203,
San Giorgio (d’Alba), castle 25–6, 115–16 215–16, 239–42, 246n.66, 253–4
San Giorgio (in Valpolicella), castle 211n.49,
217–18 Val di Scalve, rural community 39, 63, 77, 130,
San Michele della Chiusa, abbey viiim, 5, 244 132–3
San Michele di Marturi, abbey 38 Valcamonica, valley 39, 132, 218–19
San Sisto of Piacenza, abbey 87–9, 183–4, Valsesia, valley 16–18, 64–5, 68–9
191–2, 194 Veneto, region 8–9, 20–1, 40–2, 45, 47, 56–7,
Sant’Ambrogio of Milan, abbey 44n.32, 51, 90–1, 78–9, 82–3, 91–2, 107–8, 123–4, 126, 135, 148,
146–7, 170–1, 182n.12, 183–4, 190n.44, 162n.39, 203–11, 213–14, 217–18, 254
215n.63, 219n.81 Ventimiglia, counts of 8n.18, 18, 23–4, 27, 51–2,
Santa Maria di Castello, castle 208 97n.101, 107–8, 190, 201–2, 211–12, 215–16,
Savona, city and proto–commune viim, 13–14, 244–5
16–18, 107–8, 201–2 Verona, bishops of 191–2, 211n.49, 217
Index 293
Verona, city and proto–commune 10–11, 20–1, West, Charles xvii, xx, 258–62
45–6, 55–6, 104n.13, 107–8, 123n.100, 144–5, White, Stephen xvi–xvii
148, 173n.72, 179, 183n.19, 192–3, 206–7, Wickham, Chris xiii–xiv, 3n.1, 22, 25–6,
234–5 30n.125, 44, 47n.45, 48–9, 51–3, 57n.26,
Violence xvi–xvii, 3–10, 54–8, 75–83, 99–100, 59–60, 65–6, 75, 87n.56, 92n.77, 101–2,
103–4, 132–3, 135, 226–47, 249, 252, 257–61 108–9, 114–15, 118–20, 136–7, 151, 171–2,
Visdomini of Como, seigneurial family 182n.12, 189n.39, 210n.48, 212–13, 222, 226, 235–6,
183–4 254–8
Volterra, bishop of 14, 21–2, 27, 63–4, 71–2,
103, 107–8 Zevio, castle 56–7

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OUP CORRECTED AUTOPAGE PROOFS – FINAL, 13/02/20, SPi

1. Civil Wars: Collapse and Rebuilding of Political Structures 3

Abbreviation for Primary Sources and Journals 265

Belluno Boundaries of kingdom

Map 1. Cities (c. 1100)

San Casciano Empoli

Map 2. Rural localities (c. 1100)

A book focusing on the transformations of power in the countryside of central

1 On this, see Bordone, ‘Civitas nobilis et antiqua’.

5 Wickham, ‘The “feudal revolution” ’.

developments in the urban sphere, stripping them of that aura of exceptionality

stages of ‘seigneurial transformation’ (or feudal revolution). Chapter 4, the natural

configurational interpretation, which is to say one focusing on the relations

As far as the geographical focus of my enquiry is concerned, this will be the

In this first chapter I will be focusing on the transformation of traditional pol­it­ical

1.1 The structure of the kingdom around

1 Wickham, Sleepwalking, pp. 9–11.

4 The Seigneurial Transformation

portions of the surrounding countryside.2 They were frequently extensive political

5 On Arduino, see Brunhofer, Arduin von Ivrea.

6 The Seigneurial Transformation

1.2 The civil wars and the breakdown of political order

15 Constitutiones, I, n. 68 (a. 1077), p. 117.

8 The Seigneurial Transformation

In central and southern Piedmont, and in western Liguria, the situation

17 Bernold of Konstanz, Chronicon, p. 495.

23 Cortese, ‘Poteri locali’, pp. 59–69.

10 The Seigneurial Transformation

30 See section 10.3.

marked by economic growth. Development probably slowed down somewhat, at

32 A detailed description of local warfare in Chronicon sublacense, pp. 12–8.

12 The Seigneurial Transformation

1.3 From fragmentation to recomposition

44 Feller, Les Abruzzes médiévales, pp. 726–7 and 746–9.

14 The Seigneurial Transformation

I will be specifically analysing the transformation of the local political order

16 The Seigneurial Transformation

18 The Seigneurial Transformation

68 Sergi, Potere e territorio, pp. 143–4.

20 The Seigneurial Transformation

Operating on a smaller, yet nonetheless significant scale, was a centre of princely

80 On the Este, see Castagnetti, ‘Guelfi ed Estensi’.

22 The Seigneurial Transformation

24 The Seigneurial Transformation

26 The Seigneurial Transformation

Nevertheless, up until 1130 certain abbeys, particularly in central Italy, such as

occurred in areas close to seigneurial centres governed by monks, the latter

1.4 On the apparent irrationality of dynastic strategies:

Before bringing this section on processes of political fragmentation and recom­

28 The Seigneurial Transformation

114 On this topic, an important discussion in Collavini, ‘I signori rurali in Italia’.

117 Pescaglini Monti, ‘I conti Cadolingi’.

30 The Seigneurial Transformation

with the Obertenghi margraves of Massa-Corsica in the 1130s.121 While first-born

32 The Seigneurial Transformation

131 Register Gregors VII, V, n. 14a (a. 1078), p. 371.

134 Provero, Dai marchesi del Vasto, pp. 81–7.

34 The Seigneurial Transformation

142 Banfo, ‘Da Aleramo a Guglielmo’.

36 The Seigneurial Transformation

Before we set out to examine strictly local dynamics, I believe it is important to

38 The Seigneurial Transformation

3 Collavini and Tomei, ‘Beni fiscali e “scritturazione” ’.

2.1 Henry III: realizing the limits of imperial power

1. Civil Wars: Collapse and Rebuilding of Political Structures 3

Abbreviation for Primary Sources and Journals 265

In this first chapter I will be focusing on the transformation of traditional political

Before bringing this section on processes of political fragmentation and recom

r eclamation of the surrounding marshes, thanks to the network of canals branching