Everyone’s Name in Print!: The Carolingian South

Today on the blog, the arrival of The Carolingian South, published by Manchester University Press, edited by myself and the inimitable Graeme Ward, and featuring a wonderful collection of contributions, including one from The Historian’s Sketchpad’s very own Fraser McNair. This is something I’ve been working on for a while, so I’m absolutely delighted that it’s now out in the world!

We tend to think of the Carolingian empire as a northern European phenomenon. This is of course partly due to the efforts of friend of the blog Henri Pirenne, who argued that the rise of the dynasty was predicated on the collapse of Mediterranean trade and prosperity. Drawing their power from lands unaffected by this disruption and from the growing commerce of the North Sea, the Carolingians were able to fill the power vacuum and establish a new geography of empire. Modern scholars tend to be cautious about such an interpretation. But when thinking about how the empire worked and what the Carolingian project meant, we generally focus our attention on the region between the Seine and the Rhine. Insofar as the lands we’ve called ‘the Carolingian South’ (defined as south of the Loire and the Alps) feature in this, it’s as conquered territory that Carolingian stuff happens to.

The Carolingian South is intended to offer a slightly different perspective. It argues that people in the diverse lands of the South engaged with the Carolingian project and made it their own, transforming it in the process. We pay particular attention to the world of the Goths, both in the Iberian Peninsula and on the other side of the Pyrenees, but Italy and southern France also feature strongly in the volume. Other chapters venture beyond the edges of Frankish power, to Dalmatia, Benevento, Córdoba and Jerusalem, to take a glimpse at the shadow cast by the Carolingians on the world outside. The contributors to this book did not march in lock-step and many of the chapters disagree with each other. Those points of disharmony are some of my favourite parts of the volume. The soil where tectonic plates meet is among the most fertile.

The books arrive! Photo by author

The reason this book exists is that in early 2022 Graeme and I were both at Tübingen as part of ‘Migration and Mobility in Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages’ Centre for Advanced Studies. I was finishing writing The Emperor and the Elephant, where I argue that the Carolingians had to keep one eye firmly fixed on al-Andalus at all times. Graeme was rethinking the old concept of ‘Visigothic refugees’ at the courts of the Franks. That meant that both of us were interested in reassessing the importance of the southern end of the Carolingian world. With the benevolent encouragement of Professor Steffen Patzold, we decided to team up and, on the 11th and 12th October 2022, we held a conference entitled ‘The Carolingian South: Power, Culture and Movement’ in a splendid room up in the castle.

The event was not without incident. On the day I had to ambush Fraser outside the gate to said castle to beg him to fill a gap in the programme. Despite being given less than two hours’ notice, he heroically rose to the occasion, giving a paper that was as excellent as it was spontaneous. The conference as a whole was a great success, and Graeme and I were convinced that the shared themes that had emerged from those two days would make the basis for an excellent book. As is often the way, not everyone who participated was able to contribute owing to prior commitments. Graeme and I also had to recruit new contributors as we realised with hindsight some of the gaps in our coverage. We approached Manchester University Press because of their expertise in the early medieval world and Carolingian history in particular and they have been extremely good.

To talk briefly about my own contribution to the volume, entitled ‘“All the kings who reign in Francia are called Charles”: The Carolingians in the eyes of al-Andalus’, this was partially unfinished business from The Emperor and the Elephant. My monograph was focussed on the diplomatic relationship between the Umayyads and the Carolingians, but I had become increasingly convinced that there was more to say about how the rulers of Córdoba perceived and remembered the kings of the Franks. The Carolingian South offered me the perfect opportunity to do so, showing the Carolingians both as dread rivals but also as respected opponents, who were the only dynasty in the west that could be thought of as peers to the Umayyads. I think it works well with the rest of the volume, particularly the chapters by Shane Čavlović, Rosamond McKitterick and Giulia Zornetta, which view the Carolingians from the vantage points of Dalmatia, Rome and Benevento respectively. Although I didn’t intend it as such, reading back over it, I believe it also works as a short introduction to Carolingian-Umayyad relations, and might serve as such on undergrad reading lists.

I’m very excited to see The Carolingian South outin the world. I’m also extremely grateful to our contributors, who were uniformly wonderful, and to Graeme, for being unfailingly steady, insightful and on the ball. The book would have been impossible without him. 

Name in Print XIX

Those of you who have been following the blog for a few years might remember about eighteen months ago, when I posted something saying that the general understanding of the succession crisis after the death of Duke Henry of Burgundy in 1002 was wrong. Since then, I have written these thoughts up into an article, and it’s now out in print! I have to say, writing this piece felt excellent – at various points sitting and typing, I genuinely felt like I was flying. The thing is that, whereas often medieval history can involve putting together a jigsaw with lots of puzzle pieces missing, here there’s a pretty good source base all pointing in one direction, and that made it easy and satisfying to write up. Plus, the case study points towards some larger points about succession crises and rebellion in France around 1000. And now you can read about it!

No physical copy, alas; but at least they were up front about it.

The article is available online and, thanks to the generosity of Nottingham’s university library, Open Access. It can be found at the end of this finely crafted hyperlink, and the full reference is:

Fraser McNair, ‘Rethinking Rebellion in Early Capetian Burgundy’, French History 40 (2026), pp. 1-15.

The gritty details: A pretty straightforward process, all things being equal. Having noticed the issue while blogging at the end of 2024, I wrote up a first draft pretty quickly and sent it to some colleagues to read over. Their comments were positive, but there was a wait of a month whilst I chased up a false lead from the cartulary of Bèze. (This involved having to ask a friend in Tübingen to get hold of a three-volume French PhD thesis, only for it to then turn out that an argument about dating, which would have been useful if it were true, was a circular argument.) It was submitted in February 2025, and with a pleasing speed was accepted by mid-March. The peer reviews only wanted minor changes, but my monograph editor wanted a big tranche in before the 2025 IMC, so I wasn’t able to submit the changes until the middle of July, which then got accepted by September. It was at this point I realised I’d actually sent it to the wrong journal – I had actually meant it to go to French Historical Studies, which published the excellent Koziol article on the Burgundian civil war back in 2014. Given that French History is an excellent journal and the whole editorial process was extremely smooth, this was a happy error on my part! (Although I imagine the editorial team did raise some eyebrows about why my cover letter kept referring to a piece they hadn’t actually published…) Anyway, once the revisions and copy-editing were accepted, the article came out almost immediately in a pre-print edition, so if you’ve seen it floating around the internet, that’s what it was. At that juncture, it was just a question of waiting for the allotted issue to emerge, which it has now done!

(Sam’s) Name in Print V: The Caliph and the Falcons: A Ninth-Century History from Iceland to Iraq

Regular readers of this blog may have noticed that I have been thinking about the politics of the Caliphate in the late ninth century, with a particular focus on relations between the ʿAbbasids in Baghdad and the various military dynasties that had taken power in outlying provinces, including the Saffarids in Khurasan and the Samanids in Transoxiana. What may not have come through is why I got interested in this subject.

The Book of Gifts and Rarities is a source I’ve been working with for some years. But in 2023 I noticed something new to me. In the late ninth and early tenth centuries, various dynasts on the northern edge of the Islamic world, including the Saffarids and Samanids, sent an extraordinary number of falcons to the ʿAbbasid caliphs in Baghdad. These birds were not just numerous, but unusually large and in striking colours, including white. Ornithology isn’t my strong suit but that didn’t sound to me like any sort of raptor found in the Caliphate. Rather, they put me in mind of gyrfalcons, a decidedly arctic bird. I began thinking about how such an unusual animal might start arriving in the Islamic world in large numbers in the ninth century, and the image of a Scandinavian not wearing a horned helmet came into mind.

It was at this point that I had my first stroke of luck. Unsure what to do with this, I turned to my friend Caitlin Ellis, expert in all things viking-related and just about to start as Associate Professor at the University of Oslo. Not only was Caitlin interested in the idea, but she volunteered to write an article together with me. Her knowledge of matters Scandinavian vastly outstrips mine so she was able to handle the northern end of the research, while I focused on the Caliphate. What I didn’t realise is that she also knows a lot about birds, which proved to be immensely useful. The resulting article is as much her work as it is mine and would not have been nearly as good without her, if it existed at all.

My second stroke of luck was when I was granted funding to spend three months at the Uppsala Research Centre for the World in the Viking Age (WiVA) from November 2024 to January 2025. I’ve written about my time in Uppsala before, but this what gave me the time to work on my end of the article. I’m extremely grateful to everyone at the WiVA team, who were wonderful. They held an entire day to discuss the falcons project, bringing in experts from across Scandinavia to offer advice.

They also funded the Open Access for the final article, ‘The caliph and the falcons: a ninth-century history from Iceland to Iraq’, out now with Early Medieval Europe. Coincidentally, this is a journal I’ve had the chance to work quite a lot with recently, as I’ve been hosting their new homonymous podcast which you should absolutely check out. I’m really pleased with how the article came out. In it, Caitlin and I argue that the gyrfalcons did indeed come from Scandinavia and that their appearance in Baghdad is a consequence of the Norse settlement of Iceland, the growing connections between the Baltic and the Islamic world with the rise of the Rus’, and the complex politics of the Caliphate of the period.  

They can’t all be about elephants.

I particularly enjoyed writing this because it allowed me to address two things that have always annoyed me about the way we think about the vikings and the caliphate. The first is that there’s a relatively small canon of Arabic writing about the Rus’ that everyone always uses for these conversations, with Ibn Fadlan naturally at the fore. By using the Book of Gifts and Rarities, I want to encourage scholars to think about other possibilities in the copious available sources from the ʿAbbasid world. The other frustration is that I think historians have a bit of a bad habit of treating the Caliphate as a black box in which vikings go in with furs and slaves (and falcons!) and come out with silver. This article gave me a chance to talk about how interaction with the Rus’ might play into the politics and culture of the Caliphate.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to decide what the next exotic animal that I need to get obsessed with is…

Name in Print XVIII

Some articles are not written from the most noble of motives. When dealing with the accession of the Capetians, there are a few old chestnuts which, simply, get on my nerves. I have already complained about one of them on this blog, which is when historians seriously take the speech which the historian Richer of Saint-Remi gives Archbishop Adalbero of Rheims about why Hugh Capet should be king, despite every argument Adalbero gives being diametrically opposed to his own political practice. Another one is a statement from the end of the reign of King Lothar, found in the letters of Gerbert of Aurillac, that it is Hugh Capet, not Lothar, who really rules the kingdom. You will find this one quoted all over the place, even though it’s not just polemic, it’s bad polemic that didn’t convince its hearers.

Anyway, last summer I was on holiday in France and read a recent book on the Capetians which went through all of these chestnuts at a bracing pace. So, on the train ride home, I got out my laptop and wrote up a little piece explaining why these particular snippets should not be taken at face value and requesting that people stop doing so, and sent it off to Reading Medieval Studies. The aim, quite bluntly, was to have something on the matter I can cite myself when the topic comes up in passing down the line. That’s not to say this isn’t a valuable work of scholarship in its own small way – as we wait for the last Carolingians to get a full historical reassessment, anything which contributes to kicking out some of the more rotten planks from the old structure is worthwhile, and I’m particularly pround of the bit on Gerbert’s letters in that regard.

Look ma, a complimentary physical copy!

The article is not yet online – apparently Reading Medieval Studies only digitises its issues after a year. Nonetheless, in addition to the physical copy (which costs £20 if you’d like to support the journal yourself), they have also kindly sent me a PDF of the article which you can email me about if this tickles your fancy. The full citation is:

Fraser McNair, ‘The Accession of Hugh Capet: Two Studies in Politics and Texts’, Reading Medieval Studies 51 (2025), pp. 109-23.

The gritty details: Remarkably un-gritty, especially compared to last time. As I say, I wrote this up more-or-less in one go on a long train ride in summer 2024, albeit both of the case studies had been floating around in older draft files and blog posts for a bit. However, I wasn’t satisfied with the conclusion of the first draft, so the comments from the beta readers were especially useful in pushing it over the finish line, and I’d like to extend particular thanks to Jason Glenn, whose suggestions were the key needed to unlock a finished version. I submitted it in October 2024. The next I heard was August of this year. It turned out that the reviewers had accepted it without any revisions, so they sent me some tweaks for SPAG which I sent back same day. After that, the article went straight through production and I got my copy last week. Thanks to the staff at RMS for making it such a smooth process!

Name in Print XVII

This one is a little late to the party, although in my defence that’s because it’s one of the oddest publication experiences I’ve ever had. Still, I am pleased to announce that my latest article is out in the Journal of Interdisciplinary History, and has been for several months. It’s another piece of the research I carried out at Tübingen, this time trying to apply the concept of the ‘shatter zone’, as taken from James C. Scott and Robbie Etheridge, to the early history of Normandy. Avid blog readers may recall the post where I worked out a first go at these ideas, but the final version expands and adapts them and I think makes a really quite important contribution to the very early history of Normandy. Normandy in general is such a rich area for study compared to its neighbours. This is partially because it is situated at the border of two countries’ historiographical traditions, but it is mostly because our source base is actually surprisingly good. That itself is not a coincidence, and I think it is the way that Normandy developed out of a Neustrian ‘shatter zone’ which produced the source material we can use to analyse it.

Unlike last time, on this occasion I’m confident a PDF printout is the best visual we’re getting.

This article is available online here. It’s not Open Access, but if you email me I can send you something. The full citation is:

Fraser McNair, ‘Carolingian Normandies: Shatter Zones, Small Polities, and Continuity in Maritime Neustria (c. 800–1050)’, Journal of Interdisciplinary History 55 (2025), pp. 317-46.

The gritty details: Here’s where things get odd. I had previously done a book review for JIH, and had a pretty good time, so I was excited about getting some of the more theoretically ambitious work I’d done into their pages. As the old blog post reveals, I was already thinking about this only a few months into my project at Tübingen, and a first draft existed by the beginning of 2023. After circulating it amongst beta readers, it was submitted by May 2023. It then got accidentally filtered into the wrong inbox until August, but at that point it was acknowledged and sent off to reviewers. Subsequently, I waited until September 2024 to hear anything. This is not the first time I’ve waited that long for review, so I was happy enough to leave them to it; and thankfully, when the reviews came back, they were the best reviews I have ever had. This was excellent news for me, so I sent back a revised version within the week, and this is where things got a bit weird. This February, the copy edits got back to me, and I discovered that journal policy is apparently extremely interventionist. The title had been changed, along with significant portions of the article’s structure. I sent back a version with the real title and the structuring elements restored. Then, in March, I saw proofs with the title and structuring elements changed back. I was able to salvage the title, but was told that the major changes to the body of the article couldn’t be redone. As it stands, it’s fine – the actual argument is unaffected – but it is bizarre to me that an editorial team would cut out important structural elements and then (politely, it must be said!) reject multiple authorial requests to reinstate them. Anyway, once that got approved, I heard nothing, and still haven’t. Looking at the website, I can see it’s been up since May 2025, but I still haven’t been officially informed, nor sent an author PDF, let alone a hard copy. So, like I said, I’m glad it’s out, I think it’s an important piece; but the journal processes are a bit strange.

Pachyderm Presents: Elephant Diplomacy in the Twenty-First Century

I’m delighted to be able to announce that my book, The Emperor and the Elephant: Christians and Muslims in the Age of Charlemagne, is coming out in paperback on 23 September 2025![1] In addition to being cheaper and lighter than its hardcover counterpart, spelling mistakes in the first version have been corrected and a whole new range of exciting errors inserted (afficionados will of course want both at hand to compare and contrast).

To celebrate this momentous occasion, I thought I’d talk a little bit about elephant diplomacy in the twenty-first century. Although we think of animal gifts as a pre-modern phenomenon, they are very much with us today. Most famous is China’s panda diplomacy, but elephants are also still a part of international relations. Indeed, as we’ll see, elephant diplomacy has been a major feature of the last five years. Elephants are immensely charismatic and striking animals, capable of attracting attention from the media and the wider public, meaning that they will normally generate positive publicity. They are familiar around the world but their natural habitats are unevenly distributed, making them a welcome gift in large parts of the globe.

Some of the uses of modern elephant diplomacy would seem very strange to the likes of Harun al-Rashid and Charlemagne. Nations with large pachyderm populations tend to fit in the medium- to low-income brackets, so we occasionally see elephants featuring as part of deals aimed at securing investment from wealthier countries. For example, in February 2020 Zambia agreed to send Qatar two elephants. When one of them died in 2021 before it could be transported, the Zambian Tourism Minister promised to get a replacement. This took place in the context of talks that culminated in the Emir of Qatar signing a deal to invest $19 billion in Zambia on 20th August 2025. Zambia is not alone in trying to woo Qatar with elephants. In April 2024 Nepal decided to send two infant elephants to the Gulf State during a visit by the Emir. Qatar matters for the economy of the Himalayan country because of the large number of Nepalis who work there (estimated at about 400,000).

The modern age’s most charming ambassador, just don’t leave them alone with the cucumber sandwiches.

Another important factor which shapes elephant diplomacy in the present day but may not have driven that of the Middle Ages are concerns about the well-being of the animals. India, where Charlemagne’s elephant probably hailed from, used to be a major player in elephant diplomacy, with Nehru giving a large number to zoos in Japan, Canada, Turkey, Germany and the Netherlands in order to help establish the newly-independent country on the world stage. However, in 2005 the Indian Ministry of Environment and Forests banned the sending of elephants across international borders as gifts, effectively ending the practice. Elephants can potentially travel the other way. On 31st May 2025 India’s high commissioner to Namibia requested two or three African elephants to keep the one currently alone in Delhi Zoo company.

Worries about the fate of individual elephants can scupper diplomatic manoeuvres. A case in point is the Thai elephant Muthu Raja, sent to Sri Lanka in 2001, but returned to Thailand in July 2023 after it was discovered that the elephant was being mistreated at the Buddhist monastery in which he lived. Such was the outrage that the Sri Lankan Prime Minister personally apologised to the King of Thailand. Sri Lanka is also a practitioner of elephant diplomacy, sending them to a wide range of different countries. In 2015 an elephant called Anjalee was sent to Auckland. The next year the Sri Lankan government planned to follow this by dispatching an elephant calf named Nandi to New Zealand, but were prevented when activists sent a petition to the Sri Lankan Court of Appeals. Their arguments were that the New Zealand climate was unsuitable for elephants and that sending Nandi away from her family was cruel. The court case dragged on and the idea of transferring the elephant was eventually shelved.

Environmental questions also create opportunities for elephant gifts. Botswana has the largest number of elephants in the world, with about 130,000. It has doubled in the last thirty years after a very successful anti-poaching campaign. Although good for tourism, this is not the unmitigated blessing it may appear. There are far too many elephants to be easily supported on the available land, leading to the devastation of the natural environment as well as conflict with humans, resulting in the deaths of people and the destruction of property. The Botswanan government has been trying to find ways of managing this pachyderm problem. In 2018 it gave 500 elephants to its neighbour Mozambique, with a further 200 being sent in 2024. Angola has taken even more, with 8,000 being moved there in 2023. Upon being criticised in the UK and Germany for permitting the managed hunting of elephants, on 3 April 2024, the president of Botswana threatened to send 20,000 elephants to Germany, echoing the Wildlife Minister who had made a similar promise about dispatching 10,000 to Hyde Park a month earlier. (The image of Charlemagne charging into Saxony at the head of 20,000 elephants will take a long while to leave me).

These issues would probably have been unfamiliar to early medieval rulers. Perhaps more comprehensible to them would be the continuing religious significance of elephant gifts. The treatment of Muthu Raj prompted particular shock in Thailand because he had specially trained to carry Buddhist relics before being sent to a monastery in Sri Lanka, but was instead being misused in the lumber business. Nor was it just Thai elephants employed in Buddhist monasteries in Sri Lanka. As Foreign Minister of Myanmar, Aung San Suu Kyi sent an elephant to the famous Temple of the Sacred Tooth at Kandy in September 2017, which houses a tooth of the Buddha.

This isn’t the only recent occasion Myanmar has given elephants as a diplomatic gift. On 4th March 2025, Vladimir Putin thanked the current ruling junta for sending six elephants to Moscow Zoo. Since the coup of 2021 which toppled Aung San Suu Kyi, Myanmar has been caught in a civil war. Putin has strongly backed the junta in their battle against their enemies, sending them fighter jets and investing Russian money in a nuclear power plant. The Russian president is well known for his love of animal presents, most famously dogs. But the elephants from Myanmar serve to strengthen his position at a time when Russia risks being isolated because of the 2022 invasion of Ukraine. A contingent of troops from Myanmar marched in the military parade in Moscow on 9th May, celebrating the 80th anniversary of victory over Nazi Germany. Like the soldiers, the elephants serve as a message to the people of the Russian capital and the wider world that Putin is not an international pariah.

A similar signal was sent by Laos, when on the 31st July 2025 they offered Putin a pair of elephants, which will go to the St Petersburg Zoo. The occasion marks the 65th anniversary of relations between Moscow and the Lao People’s Democratic Republic. The Lao republic was born out of a bloody civil war that took place between 1959 and 1975 and was won by the Communists through Soviet backing. But the use of elephants as a gift speaks to an older history as well, alluding to the late medieval and early modern kingdom of Lan Xang, from which modern Laos claims descent. The name Lan Xang translates as ‘the Million Elephants’, attesting to the power and wealth of its kings. The kingdom of Laos, which preceded the current republic, had an elephant on its flag and coat of arms. Vientiane’s elephant gift thus plugs the regime into a longer Lao tradition.

These dealings may also suggest an affinity between elephant gifts and controversial regimes. In 2010 Robert Mugabe sent Kim Jong Il a pair of baby elephants, cementing a longstanding relationship. North Korea had helped train and equip the forces that fought the white supremacist Rhodesian government, leading to Mugabe’s assumption of power in 1980. It’s not obvious why so many recent examples of elephant diplomacy involve monarchies (Qatar) or strongmen (Putin, Kim Jong Il). Elephants are equally beloved in more democratic parts of the world. My suspicion is that breeding programmes in zoos in Europe and the Americas means that elephants are now a little easier to get hold of there without involving foreign countries, in a way that’s not the case with pandas. Systems of government that centre around one man also encourage other nations to panda to their enthusiasms (ahem). Countries that need to do business with Russia know that Putin loves animals and lean into that. Strongmen figures can also cut through opposition and don’t necessarily need to worry about where the money to support an elephant is going to come from.

But elephants can also represent more positive change. While there was never serious conflict between them, the border between Laos and Cambodia is disputed in places, something which prompted tensions in 2017. Since then, Vientiane and Phnom Penh have taken pains to improve relations, culminating in Laos sending two elephant calves to Cambodia on 12th May 2024. Whereas in many cases the gift of elephants rests upon the recipient not having easy access to the animals, this present emphasised what the countries had in common, their shared heritage, expressed through their familiarity with elephants.

Elephants mean different things in different contexts. Their use as diplomatic gifts has always depended on the specific circumstances in which they are given. But what I think we can take from this is that the age of elephant diplomacy is very far from over. (And if you’d like to find out more about one particularly spectacular example from the ninth-century featuring a certain Abbasid caliph and a Frankish emperor, I can suggest a very exciting book coming out in paperback!)

[1] Exact timing may depend on location.

(Sam’s) Name in Print IV: The Circle of the World: The Global Diplomacy of Caliph al-Manṣūr

Although much of my research (and not a small amount of my blogging) is concerned with the world beyond Europe, the majority of my publications up until this point have largely been in journals whose readership are mostly Europe and Mediterranean specialists. That is part of the reason I’m particularly happy to say that my latest article, ‘The Circle of the World: The Global Diplomacy of Caliph al-Manṣūr’, is now out and available on Open Access at the Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies here. My work has benefited enormously from the generosity and patience of specialists in Islamic history, many of whom are connected to SOAS in London. (A jewel of an institution recently harmed by budget cuts.) Publishing with BSOAS is particularly exciting because it means having the opportunity to share my work with exactly the specialists best placed to tear me to shreds (and then hopefully patch me back together again).

This article has been running through the back of my mind for a long time. In 767, envoys from the Abbasid caliph al-Manṣūr arrived at the court of the Carolingian Pippin the Short, in response to an earlier embassy sent by the Frankish king. This interaction raises a couple of problems. First, our only source for this diplomacy is Frankish, prompting questions about its authenticity. Second, it’s not obvious what the caliph and the king would have to say to each other. People have generally assumed that they were plotting a military alliance against the Umayyads of Muslim Spain but, as I explain in my book (plug, plug), this doesn’t work for a number of reasons.

While trying to solve this problem, I began looking at al-Manṣūr’s other diplomatic relations and stumbled across a fascinating parallel. During his reign the caliph sent an unprecedented number of embassies to Tang China. They are only recorded in Chinese sources and they are normally assumed to be part of a military alliance against Tibet, but there isn’t actually any evidence to support that and good reasons to suspect otherwise. Intrigued by this similarity, I did some digging and suddenly realised that al-Manṣūr was engaged in foreign relations to an extent that hadn’t been seen in at least fifty years, including with the Khazars to the north and Makuria in the south. This hadn’t previously been picked up on because most of our sources for this came from outside the caliphate. Historians of Tang China knew that Baghdad was doing business with Chang’an but didn’t know that the caliph was also talking with the Franks in a very similar manner and vice versa.

In my article I try to put all these pieces together to argue that this formed part of a programme of universal monarchy begun by al-Manṣūr in order to solidify his family’s shaky grasp on power in the wake of the Abbasid revolution of 750. The point is not that al-Manṣūr didn’t care about the specifics of the people he was dealing with, or that these particularities didn’t shape his relations with them. However, the way he chose to go about engaging with these powers (and in many cases the fact that he did so at all), indicates that he was primarily thinking about domestic politics. One of the things I want to point to in this article is the value of a global perspective. Things that don’t make sense on a local level can suddenly lock into place when viewed on a larger stage.

Sam’s Name in Print: The Beginning of Time at the Edge of the World

Longstanding aficionados of my oeuvre (both of you) will know that the early medieval Iberian Peninsula has long been close to my heart. I cut my teeth as a scholar on the frontier ground between al-Andalus and the Franks, so it was with great pleasure that I returned to that terrain in my latest publication. This forms part of a special issue of the Italian palaeography journal Scrineum Rivista that I edited with Michele Baitieri and Ildar Garipzanov. It can be found Open Access online here. (The observant among you will notice that it is a very special issue because although the calendar may suggest that it came out in 2025, it is dated to 2024. Fortunately, historians are rarely troubled by such chronological trifles).

I’m very pleased with how this all came together. I became involved in editing the issue as part of my role with the NFR-funded Voices on the Edge project at the University of Oslo. Some of the papers first saw the light of day at workshops held in 2022, including mine at one in Oxford that October. All the contributions examine the phenomenon of short Latin texts (‘minitexts’) added to manuscripts in the early medieval period with no apparent connection to the original contents of the manuscript. Within that brief there was a huge variety, showcasing the wealth hidden in these terse additions. They are wonderful and I would encourage you to read them all. Among the papers it was my pleasure to edit are essays considering minitexts on music, philosophy, and magic. Other writers chose to use minitexts to shed light on places known to be centres of learning and power, but where other types of evidence were scarce, including Vercelli, Sens and Lyon.

In my own article I opted for the second approach, using the extensive Visigothic additions in MS Autun Bibliothèque Municipale S 129 to explore the frontier between Visigothic Spain and the Frankish world right around the time of the Muslim Conquest in 711. This included Septimania north of the Pyrenees, and modern Catalonia. Our sources for the Visigothic kingdom and early al-Andalus are focused on events in their respective capitals of Toledo and Córdoba. Prior to 711, the northeast primarily featured when it was attacked by the Merovingians or in rebellion against the Visigothic king. This was a tough neighbourhood before an army of Arabs and Berbers rocked up and complicated an already exciting mix of Franks, Goths and Basques.

Autun S 129 may seem an unlikely place to look for clues to fill in some of the blanks here. It’s a copy of Augustine’s Commentaries on the Psalms, produced in Ravenna in the second half of the sixth century. Quite how it ended up in Autun is unclear as it is first recorded there in 1709. At some point it was in Merovingian Francia, something I’ve discussed before here. Crucially, we can locate it fairly precisely to the area around Urgell in the early eighth century from a minitext in the manuscript which indicates that it was given to Bishop Nambadus of Urgell. In 731, the bishop was to suffer the grisly fate of being burned alive by the Berber leader and longstanding friend of the blog, ʿUthman b. Naissa. Because Nambadus was young when he died, the manuscript can’t have been in his possession for very long.

The manuscript is filled with Visigothic minitexts. Even more impressive than their number are their variety. We have pen trials from didactic texts, bits of legal formulae, extracts from a computus manual, and a lot of poetry, some of it very niche. This suggests that an awful lot was going on in this apparently marginal area. There’s an interesting amount of Merovingian Frankish material, which points to this being a cross-cultural zone, particularly in the poetry and the law texts. The overall effect is to suggest that the northeastern Visigothic frontier had its fair share of educational centres and was very much connected to wider intellectual trends.

Name in Print XVI

Technically, this article has been out for a while in an online pre-edition, but only now has it made the transition into an actual issue of the journal in question. This is the first part of the research I was carrying out at Tübingen on the vikings, and it’s about the relationship between the politics of the Danish kingdom, the Carolingian world, and the need to see vikings and bishops as actors in both simultaneously. Like the most recent article of mine before this, long-term blog readers might remember me sketching these ideas out in an old post. In fact, if you read the piece, you might be able to see that I am visibly struggling not to start talking about the Mandala Polity; whilst I was writing it up it did seem like that might be uncessary theorising, and there’s already good, locally focussed, literature (such as this excellent piece by IJssennagger and Croix) about the way in which Frisia operates as part of both the Frankish and North Sea worlds to draw upon.

This is another journal which won’t send authors complimentary hard copies… Oh ye of little faith, Fraser! Picture replaced, and apologies to the good people on the editorial team…

This article is available here; it’s not Open Access, but if you’d like to read it just get in touch and I’ll send you a copy. The full citation is:

Fraser McNair, ‘Overlapping authorities, vikings in Frisia, and the church of Utrecht’, Historical Research 97 (2024), pp. 443-57.

The gritty details: Slightly harder to find here, because this one was written very slightly before the Louis the Stammerer article, which is also when I was transitioning into the system for drafting work which I currently use… But as you can see, the blog post was published in October 2022. I wrote that during the summer sometime (the oldest draft I can find is from July), and wrote up the article into something more polished first thing in 2023. That got sent off to colleagues for commens in March and submitted in May. The response came back in October (apparently it took so long because they had to find a third opinion). Rather like last time, responding to the negative opinion was simple (lots of the response boiled down to ‘this reviewer has no grasp of up-to-date scholarship on charters’, in fact) but the positive comments took a bit more thought to implement. Response was also slowed down by the cyberattack on the British Library, which I needed to use to consult a text someone had suggested, and to their great credit the editorial team at the journal were really speedy and accommodating about this; and indeed this is another journal where the editorial team in general are good to work with. In any case, it got resumbitted in March this year, approved in April, came out in pre-edition later that spring, and is now in a full issue in October!

Name in Print XV

Once again, a little delayed (if I’m being honest, I was hoping I’d receive a hard copy from the journal, but that doesn’t seem like it will happen now), but my latest article was released earlier this year, in the Journal of Family History. Some of you might remember that a couple of years I wrote a couple of posts about Louis the Stammerer’s career, inspired by the discovery in the Landesmuseum in Stuttgart of a reliquary sponsored by Louis’ stepmother Richildis. This led down a rabbit-hole which covered a suprising amount of historiographical ground (and to this day, for all that I respect her work otherwise, I cannot believe Brigitte Kasten was allowed to get away with calling people with stutters ‘mentally deficient’), and ultimately led to a rehabilitation of Louis’ relationship with his father Charles the Bald – usually considered to be particularly unpleasant – and caused me to think about what this means for Carolingian kingship.

This is available Open Access through this finely crafted hyperlink, so do check it out if you’re interested. The full citation is:

Fraser McNair, ‘An unbeloved heir? A reassessment of Louis the Stammerer’s role in the last years of Charles the Bald’s reign and its implications for understanding Carolingian rule’, Journal of Family History 49 (2024), pp. 295-316.

The gritty details: the initial visit to the Landesmuseum was in summer 2022, and the blog posts followed in August of that year. Writing it up into something submittable took a while. A first draft of this was already ready by summer, but I then spent eight months get some colleagues to comment on it. Then – for reasons I cannot at this time remember – I sat on it for most of 2023, only getting a submission version together in December of that year. Kudos to JFH for getting it back so fast – I had reviews back in January. Two were positive, one was negative, and the balance of work between them… well, I’ll quote Sam:

Genres of peer review I have encountered: 1. ‘This is the most misbegotten assemblage of filth ever to have been vomited before me. This can only be saved by the author conducting a full rewrite, starting with their soul.’ (Requires changes amounting to an afternoon’s work)

— Sam Ottewill-Soulsby (@samottewillsoulsby.bsky.social) October 8, 2024 at 10:12 AM
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2. ‘This piece is a work of genius which I loved from start to finish. I just have a couple of teensy-weensy little tweaks to offer.’ (Makes suggestions that would require replacing every single word of the article, after conducting a five-year research project to solve a problem…

— Sam Ottewill-Soulsby (@samottewillsoulsby.bsky.social) October 8, 2024 at 10:13 AM
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that has baffled every scholar of the past three centuries, with three postdocs working night and day, ideally preceded by a PhD in a completely different field and/or a life dedicated to becoming the greatest bandoneon player in Argentina.)

— Sam Ottewill-Soulsby (@samottewillsoulsby.bsky.social) October 8, 2024 at 10:13 AM
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Not quite that bad, but responding to the positive comments took a while. Still, they were thoughtful and constructive, and hopefully the piece is better for it. In any case, I got the revisions in in February 2024, they were approved at the end of the month, published online in early March, and in a full issue by June! JFH were good to work with, I hadn’t clocked how short the production process was…