Introduction

Over the last few decades, faunal-remains specialists have become increasingly adept at identifying social inequality in the zooarchaeological record, and able to characterize “high-status” and “low-status” sites based on the presence or absence of different animal species, age groups, body parts, or other variants (e.g., Ashby 2002; Crabtree 1990). However, with this advance has come the recognition that inequality is more complex than a high/low-status label. The perception and expression of inequality is often situational and shifting; what may be a marker of elite identity in one setting can be a trait of lower social standing in another (deFrance 2009; Sykes 2005; also see Jackson, chapter 5, this volume). This is particularly the case for material goods, as their meaning and significance is usually constructed through the social mechanism surrounding their procurement, distribution, and consumption (Hamilakis 2000).

It should come as no surprise that inequality is a complex phenomenon; humans are, after all, complex animals whose actions are often governed more by ideology than necessity. But while the often-contradictory nature of human beliefs and behavior present problems for archaeologists, it also makes their jobs far more interesting, with the potential to provide in-depth insights into the societies that we study.

Zooarchaeologists are well-placed to provide such insights, having within their grasp the very evidence—data relating to human-animal relationships—that “mirrors” or offers a “window” into cultural worldviews (Bussata 2007; Mullin 1999). However, we need to realize that animals cannot be the sole focus of our analysis. Human behavior and thought are not compartmentalized; we do not interact with “animals now, plants later, and ceramics tomorrow afternoon”—our lives are integrated. Similarly, it is important to recognize that the lives of animals are also not compartmentalized. The bones that we study, although recovered from their final resting place, have a history, or “biography” that documents a lifetime of interactions with cultural landscapes and environments as well as people. This connection with landscape is particularly significant within the context of inequality, given that concepts of land ownership, social structure, and human rights are intimately linked (Peters 2004; Tilly 2003; Wickham 1994) and are frequently expressed through human-animal relationships (Bussata 2007; Sykes 2010b). Indeed, in this chapter I argue that there is a very close relationship between social structure, land rights, and food distribution; that a shift in one will produce a change in the others.

If it is accepted that the lives of humans and animals are integrated, zooarchaeological studies should be likewise. This is not simply in terms of examining animal-bone data alongside other sources of evidence, although this is clearly desirable, but also by considering how data sit in their wider social setting. Such an approach is vital when examining social inequality, since inequality is, by necessity, a group activity (one cannot be unequal by one’s self) and can only be understood in relative terms. Within medieval studies, zooarchaeologists are increasingly examining evidence in this way and, by adopting diachronic perspectives, have been able to demonstrate how members of the elite used animals (as food, material culture, and symbols) to create and maintain social difference (Pluskowski 2007; Sykes 2007a, 2007b; Thomas 2007). It seems, however, that these studies have themselves been somewhat unequal, with far more academic attention being lavished upon the elite minority at the expense of the more populous lower social echelons. This is perhaps unsurprising for later medieval Europe, a period when society was strongly hierarchical and the flamboyancy of elite display left a clear and easily interpretable mark in the historical and zooarchaeological records. At the lower end of the social spectrum, there are fewer clues and the task of examining responses to inequality is problematic. Equally challenging is the identification and interpretation of inequality for the early medieval period, when society lacked institutionalized forms of ranking and was less concerned with the generation of documentary records. Yet, there is potential for using animal-bone analysis to understand social dynamics, and this chapter combines zooarchaeological data (synthesized from 246 assemblages; see Table 17.1) with evidence from anthropology, history, and artifact and landscape studies to explore how expressions of inequality changed in England through the course of medieval period (AD 410–1550; see Table 17.1 for period definitions). Given the large size of the data set, the wide timeframe, and the interdisciplinary approach, this chapter concentrates on one very particular theme: the procurement and distribution of meat, or more specifically, venison.

The Meaning of Meat and the Rhetoric of Portions

It is my belief that we cannot understand the role and significance of food, and in particular meat, in medieval society by examining the evidence through our modern eyes—our circumstances and worldview are simply too different from those of the societies we are studying. For the majority of people in medieval England, their lives were substantially entwined with the domestic and wild animals with whom they dwelt. And because of the closeness of their relationship, people are unlikely to have been ambivalent to the slaughter of animals or the distribution and consumption of their meat. Anthropology provides a source of relevant attitudes toward meat, and even a cursory examination of the literature demonstrates that in many societies, meat distribution and consumption are powerful sensory and symbolic acts (Fiddes 1992). This is particularly the case among groups in which the concept of meat retail is absent, and so the easiest way to utilize the considerable amounts of meat produced by a single carcass is to share it, usually in feasting events (Lokuruka 2006; McCormick 2002). However, the breaking and sharing of an animal carcass is undertaken not simply for logistical reasons; participation in communal consumption acts as a strong statement of shared ideology and group identity. But, as there is seldom room for all to take center stage in the process, the roles played by individuals also serve to define their social positions (Symons 2002). Furthermore, as animal carcasses are, by nature, hierarchical, the giving and receiving of meat often plays an important sociopolitical role, with cuts of different (perceived) quality being given to individuals as a meaty symbol of their age, gender, wealth, or power (McCormick 2002; Sykes 2010a). Exclusion from such performances can be equally expressive, communicating separation and social difference.

Practices of meat redistribution are not cross-culturally uniform but the fact that the overarching concept is extremely widespread suggests that similar traditions may have been established in the medieval period. Certainly historical literature indicates that food sharing through hospitality was of central importance. Texts from Wales and, in particular, Ireland provide quite detailed information about how meat distribution was linked to social hierarchy (Charles-Edwards 2000; McCormick 2002). For England, however, Magennis (1999) has shown that the texts are almost silent on the topic of food, focusing instead on drink. Animal bones provide, therefore, our best opportunity to understand the methods and meaning of meat redistribution in the medieval period.

Venison Distribution in Medieval England

This chapter focuses on deer remains because, although all meat was considered a premium food in the medieval period, venison (as a product of the hunt) is likely to have been especially prized. This is because hunting is seldom just a method for gaining protein—it tends to be a social performance and the process of obtaining, distributing, and consuming venison is generally governed by strict rituals and codes of etiquette (Cartmill 1993).

To begin at the coarsest level, Figure 17.1 shows the variation in deer-bone representation between sites and through time. During the Early Anglo-Saxon period (between the fifth and mid-seventh centuries AD), hunting contributed little to the diet and, where wild animals are represented archaeologically, they tend not to be food waste but rather “objects” in their own right, often incorporated into human burials and cremations as grave goods and amulets (Sykes 2011). In the few instances in which deer seemingly were hunted and eaten, assemblages tend to show an overrepresentation of meat-bearing bones with heads and feet being present only in low frequencies (Figure 17.2). Skeletal patterning is the same for both high- and low-status sites, suggesting that all sections of society were treating deer similarly. The body-part data hint at a logical, functional attitude to deer butchery whereby “low-utility” portions were discarded at the kill site and only the meat-bearing portions were brought back to the settlement. This, together with the general lack of evidence for wild-animal consumption, indicates that hunting may simply have been an occasional subsistence activity, undertaken only in times of need. This idea finds support from Bede’s History of the English People (trans. Colgrave et al. 1999), which mentions that, following the withdrawal of the Roman Empire, people had to resort to hunting in order to avoid starvation. If wild animals were a famine food in Early Anglo-Saxon England, their archaeological presence may, potentially, reflect absolute poverty. No such association can be made for the succeeding period, however, to which we now turn.

Figure 17.1. Variation in the representation of deer remains on sites of different type, from the fifth to the mid-sixteenth century, as a percentage of the total bone assemblage, excluding fish.

Figure 17.2. Relative frequency of body parts of deer (red and roe) recovered from Early Anglo-Saxon period sites (light shading = low status, dark shading = high status). Shown as a percentage of the minimum number of individuals (MNI). (Source: Sykes 2010a.)

Middle Anglo-Saxon England (Mid-Seventh to Mid-Ninth Century)

By the Middle Anglo-Saxon period, although still not very well represented archaeologically, deer remains are found increasingly in food-waste deposits, particularly on rural sites of both high and low status but also in assemblages from religious houses. When the data are examined in more detail, it becomes clear that these different social groups were not procuring and consuming venison in isolation from each other: if they had been, we might expect that all sites would show broadly similar deer body-part patterns, as in the earlier period. As can be seen in Figure 17.3, each site type is characterized by different skeletal patterns. Assemblages from elite sites are dominated by heads (represented here by the mandible) but meat-bearing elements, particularly from the hindlimb, are noticeably underrepresented. The possibility that this pattern is an artifice of preservation, recovery, or identification can be entirely discounted because the “missing” elements (in particular the metapodia and tibia) preserve well and are highly identifiable. Their poor representation indicates that they were discarded elsewhere. With this in mind, it is interesting to note that assemblages from religious sites show a contrasting pattern, with an abundance of meat-bearing bones from the forelimb, a large number of foot bones but very few mandibles. Again, however, meat-bearing elements from the hindlimb are poorly represented. Clues to the whereabouts of the haunches are provided by the skeletal data for rural settlements, which highlight the tibia as one of the best-represented elements; the high frequency of metatarsi also indicate the presence of the lower hindlimb. Bones of the lower forelimbs (notably the radius) are also comparatively well represented.

Figure 17.3. Relative frequency of body parts of deer (red and roe) recovered from Middle Anglo-Saxon period sites. Shown as a percentage of the minimum number of individuals (MNI). (Source: Sykes 2010a.)

These patterns conform to a scenario of meat redistribution, and perhaps predictably so, given that the period’s economy was based on the accumulation and redistribution of food, whereby landholders were paid in kind for the use of their land, with portions of these food rents being given over to support kings and their court as they toured their kingdoms. Kings could, in turn, transfer accrued provisions to religious institutions that, unlike the itinerant royal court, were stationary and depended on supplies gravitating toward them. Lower down the social scale, estate workers could expect to receive food payments in return for their services (Lee 2007). A set-up of this kind would certainly account for the deer body-part patterns shown in Figure 17.3. The skeletal distribution for religious houses suggests that ecclesiastics were taking receipt of pre-butchered joints of venison and possibly skins (indicated by the high representation of feet), and it is feasible that these were gifted by the king or local nobles in return for pastoral care. The overrepresentation of heads on elite sites finds resonance with the practices of modern hunting and pastoral societies, where crania are frequently conferred with special significance: among the Ngarigo of Australia and Turkana of Kenya, for instance, crania are seen as representing the animal in its entirety, and are either claimed by the head of the community or returned to the individual who “donated” the animal for consumption (Lokuruka 2006; Symons 2002:442).

If, as seems feasible, heads were deemed to represent high status in the Middle Anglo-Saxon period, the lower-limb bones recovered from rural sites may reflect the lower social position of these settlements and their occupants. Nevertheless, it is important to recognize that the inhabitants of these rural sites actually had a position within a community, something that was of fundamental importance in Anglo-Saxon society. Old English literature is preoccupied with the concept of community and frequently uses the imagery of the feast hall to express ideas about the maintenance of social order and rule (Magennis 1996). The coming together in a hall to collectively consume the body of a single deer would have been an important occasion, binding the participants together while simultaneously defining their social position through the allotment of specific portions. It may be for this reason that in the story of Beowulf, the king Hrothgar names his great feast hall Heorot, the “hart.”

Marvin (2006) has highlighted the significance of this name, arguing that Heorot would have carried real meaning, demarcating the hall as a masculine space and symbolizing it as an arena for the cutting up and sharing of venison—rituals that would have been the food-based equivalent of the gift-giving that took place within the hall, where men pledged service to their lord or king in return for weapons, treasure, and land (Härke 2000:397). Generosity in gift-giving was deemed to be the mark of a good leader and it seems likely that open-handedness was desirable in terms of food as well as material goods. Indeed, the importance of the leader as a supplier of sustenance is indicated by the etymology of the word lord, which has been traced to hlafweard, meaning “loaf-keeper” (Shuman 1981:71).

In a situation in which the control and redistribution of foodstuffs were equated with power and authority, it stands to reason that the knives physically responsible for cutting up and sharing may have become iconic in their own right, symbolizing the distribution process. Studies of Anglo-Saxon grave goods have shown that knives are the most common object found in fifth- to eighth-century burials (Härke 1989). To some extent their ubiquity is to be expected because knives are utility tools and were presumably owned by all members of society to assist with daily tasks and for use in dining. That said, there are age- and sex-based variations in knife size (only adult men were accompanied by knives with a blade in excess of 128 mm) suggesting that these implements had more than a utilitarian function, perhaps playing a role in social display: this is corroborated by the prominent position in which they were worn, located on the belt where other display items were suspended (Härke 1989; Owen-Crocker 1986:43–48, 100–101).

The ownership and display of a large knife can be seen as a statement that the owner possesses both resources and the power and generosity to divide and redistribute them. It may be no coincidence, therefore, that at the point we see the appearance of deer body-part patterns indicative of venison redistribution, we also see the emergence of a male fashion for wearing particularly long knives. Knives with a blade length in excess of 130 millimeters are rare for much of the Early Anglo-Saxon period but are found regularly in the seventh and eighth centuries. Links between large knives and hunting are provided by the seax—a single-edged knife or short sword, some of which exhibit highly decorated blades more suggestive of ceremonial than functional use (Gale 1989:74). It has been argued that, rather than being a weapon of war, the seax was principally a hunting tool, employed for the ritual dispatch and unmaking of deer. Evidence from both anthropology and later medieval texts suggest that these ceremonial hunting tasks would have fallen to the highest-ranking individuals among the party; it is fitting therefore that, as grave goods, seaxes are found almost exclusively with elite males. Graves of high-ranking males also contain the greatest proportion of drinking vessels that, Härke (1997:145) suggests, may symbolize hospitality and the feast. I would argue that the seax, as a tool of division and redistribution, may have carried similar connotations, perhaps gaining added significance from its use in hunting, which would have invoked concepts of land-ownership.

Hunting and land-rights are inextricably linked; just as venison was carved up and redistributed, so too was the land. Through the Middle Anglo-Saxon period, multiple estates were carved up as parcels of land were ceded in return for service (Faith 1997). Unlike venison, however, the gifting of territory is unsustainable and gradually land, and thus power, were carried permanently into the hands of the emerging aristocratic class (the thegns). This set in motion the transformation of Anglo-Saxon society, which is charted well by the zooarchaeological record.

Late Anglo-Saxon England (Mid-Ninth to Mid-Eleventh Century)

Figure 17.1 shows that the representation of game animals doubles in high-status settlements dating to the mid-ninth to mid-eleventh century, suggesting that hunting was beginning to carry real social cachet. There is also clear from Anglo-Saxon documents, which appear in greater numbers from the mid-ninth century onwards (Marvin 2006:84–87). It seems that the new thegnly class, anxious about their nouveau riche status, went to great lengths to demonstrate their aristocratic credentials by engaging in ostentatious displays of hunting and falconry, evidenced by both the zooarchaeological and iconographic record for the period (Sykes 2011). However, for the thegns it was not enough simply to hunt more often; in order to maintain their social position they had to stop the lower classes from doing likewise. So, whereas it had previously been accepted that wild animals were res nullius (property of no one), the Late Anglo-Saxon elite established private game reserves and other restrictions that curbed the rights of peasants to take and consume wild animals (Sykes 2011). That their strategy worked is indicated by the zooarchaeological record, which demonstrates that the representation of wild mammals on rural sites drops substantially between the Middle and Late Anglo-Saxon period (Figure 17.1). Undoubtedly the lower classes were still involved with hunting, but their role seems to have become more peripheral: within Late Saxon texts there are frequent references to the peasant’s hunting duties to act as beaters/drivers, indicating that for most people hunting was becoming more a chore performed for others than a pleasure performed for themselves. Although hunting would still have brought communities together, the purpose seems to have been less a performance of group identity and more a display of royal or thegnly resources and their ability to muster manpower.

Practices of food distribution and consumption tend to mirror processes of procurement, so if hunting and hunting landscapes were becoming more socially exclusive, this is likely to have been reproduced in the distribution and consumption of venison. Certainly the skeletal representation data for Late Saxon deer assemblages suggest a change in the treatment of deer carcasses. Figure 17.4 demonstrates far less intersite variation in deer body-part patterns, particularly when the assemblages from elite settlements and religious houses are compared: both sites shows a good representation of most body parts, the meat-bearing elements and feet being equally abundant. In contrast to the preceding period, there is little evidence that portions were redistributed or given away. The only element that is less abundant than might be expected is the mandible, previously the signature of high-status assemblages. This reduced representation of jaws on elite sites is compensated by a rise in their frequency on rural settlements, where meat-bearing bones are scarce (Figure 17.4). Together with the overall reduction in game representation seen for lower-status settlements, this hints that the peasants were being excluded from hunting culture and presumably also the halls where venison was divided and consumed.

Figure 17.4. Relative frequency of body parts of deer (red and roe) recovered from Late Anglo-Saxon period sites. Shown as a percentage of the minimum number of individuals (MNI). (Source: Sykes 2010a.)

Privatization of the Late Saxon hall is alluded to in Old English literature; Magennis (1996) has demonstrated that depictions of the hall are overwhelmingly aristocratic in nature and show little interest in the lower social echelons or the world beyond the hall. While elite activities will always figure large in “high” literature, when viewed in conjunction with the zooarchaeological data it seems possible that the social exclusion evident in the texts may reflect more than literary tradition. The idea is supported by Gautier’s (2006) study of Anglo-Saxon feasting, which concluded that the activities of the hall became less accessible and more hierarchical during the Late Saxon period. These changes were seemingly concomitant with wider transformations in the system of food rents—by the tenth and eleventh centuries food rents were increasingly being commuted for cash payments, so releasing landlords from the responsibility of hospitality and the public feasting it entailed (Stafford 1980). As the market economy developed, the functional necessity of communal feasting (as a mechanism for meat redistribution) would have been reduced as aristocratic households could obtain meat as required. More importantly, the need for feasting as a performance of social obligation and community order would also have diminished because, by the Late Anglo-Saxon period, everyone knew well their place and their duties—these were laid out formally within charters and documents such as the Rectitudines Singularum Personarum (Lemanski 2005).

It is interesting to note that in the period when food rents and meat redistribution were being abandoned in favor of monetary exchange, there is less tangible evidence for the symbolic significance of the knife. Although this may simply reflect the decline of the weapon-burial rite, it is clear that the seax fell out of fashion during the tenth century, perhaps suggesting that the “loaf-keeper’s” ability to provide and redistribute resources in general and meat in particular was less of an issue now that power was displayed through social exclusion. Certainly depictions of knives are rare in Late Saxon art; for instance, although dress is illustrated in great detail in the Bayeux Tapestry (a 70-m-long textile that depicts the events surrounding the Norman Conquest of England), knives are not shown as part of the attire. In the tapestry the only clear depictions of knives are in the scene of the Norman’s meal where three are shown laid at table, perhaps suggesting knives were beginning to be viewed as cutlery rather than personal appendages (Owen-Crocker et al. 2004:251). The main theme of the Bayeux Tapestry is, of course, the Norman Conquest of AD 1066, an episode that has long been held as a watershed in English history and, in particular, traditions of hunting and venison consumption (Sykes 2007a).

The Norman Period Onwards (Mid-Eleventh Century and Beyond)

Figure 17.1 would seem to confirm the widely held belief that inequality became more pronounced during the Norman period: there is a dramatic increase in the representation of wild animals on elite sites but no similar increase is indicated for lower-status rural and urban settlements. This pattern hints at exactly the type of unequal access to land and wild resources that would have accompanied the Norman introduction of Forest Law, which restricted deer-hunting rights solely to the elite (i.e., the Normans) (Sykes 2007a).

Shifts in the relative frequency of deer remains are again coincident with changes in anatomical representation but, for this period, the availability of data provides a far more detailed analysis of the skeletal patterning, allowing sides to be taken into consideration. Figure 17.5 indicates that high-status assemblages contain an even representation of bones from the left and right-hand side of the body. Surprisingly, however, there is an almost complete absence of meat-bearing elements, particularly from the forelimb, and the assemblage is overwhelmingly dominated by foot bones, especially those from the hindlimb. Studies of multiphase assemblages indicate that hindlimb-dominated skeletal patterns appear for the first time in the late eleventh century: where dating permits, they first become apparent shortly after AD 1066, strongly suggesting the Normans as responsible for the change (Sykes 2007a).

Figure 17.5. Relative frequency of body parts of deer (red, roe, and fallow deer) recovered from elite sites, forester/parkers’ residences, and rural settlements dating to the Norman and later medieval period. Shown as a percentage of the minimum number of individuals (MNI). (Source: Sykes 2007b.)

Interpretation of these post-Conquest patterns is facilitated by the many later medieval documents that relate to hunting, their abundance reflecting the elite’s preoccupation with the chase. This passion for hunting was condemned by twelfth-century moralists, such John of Salisbury, who complained that “in our days, the scholarship of the aristocracy consists in hunting jargon” (Policraticus 1.4, I.23, trans. Keats-Rohan 1993). He was referring to the strict social etiquette and Gallicized terminology that, following the Norman Conquest, came to surround elite hunting and, in particular, the chase par force de chien. According to later medieval hunting manuals, the chasse par force was a wide-ranging hunt of day-long duration in which a single deer was stalked, killed, and excoriated—skinned, disemboweled, and butchered—in a ritualized and formulaic manner. Certain parts of the carcass were given to particular people: for instance, the “corbyn bone” (possibly the pelvis) was cast away at the kill site as an offering to the corbyn (raven), the right shoulder was given to the best hunter, and the left shoulder was presented to the forester or parker as his fee. Only the haunches, and perhaps the skin (with feet still attached), were taken back to the lords’ residences (Sykes 2007a).

The historical evidence for the gifting of venison correlates exceptionally well with the zooarchaeological data. Figure 17.5 shows that deer assemblages from parkers’/foresters’ residences are typified by an overrepresentation of forelimb elements from the left-hand side of the body, suggesting that the occupants of these sites were regularly receiving their allotted portions of venison. There is even zooarchaeological evidence for the hunters’ portion, indicated by the fact that right-sided scapulae are the only postcranial bones that are well represented on rural settlements, where most of the hunters would have lived (Sykes 2007b).

With the major cuts of meat redistributed, individual portions of the venison (a word that derives from the Anglo-Norman venesoun, literally “the product of hunting”) were also redistributed at the dining table according to rank. The prized liver and testicles were reserved for the lord but persons of lower standing were offered offal, or “umbles”; the saying “to eat humble [umble] pie” is derived from the social humiliation attached to the consumption of these poorer cuts (Goody 1982). Once again, it is important to recognize that inequality should not always be equated with social division because, although it is clear that venison was being used to define social position, its communal consumption must simultaneously have served to create community.

Despite this, there were sections of society who were excluded from hunting or who objected to the social group that practiced it. For those not permitted to hunt, poaching provided an exciting alternative, with the distribution and consumption of ill-gotten venison carrying its own cachet, either as a statement of defiance or in terms of social emulation. Historians have shown that members of the aristocracy were active poachers, launching raids on the parks of their rivals (Birrell 2001), but the discussion below concentrates on evidence pertaining to the lower classes of rural and urban society.

It was an established unwritten rule that venison was priceless—a perk of office or something that was gifted as a demonstration of royal or aristocratic largesse—and it certainly should not be bought or sold (Birrell 1992:114). One way of undermining feudal control was then, simply to sell gifted portions. Historical evidence demonstrates that underpaid and disgruntled forest workers were occasionally caught fencing their share (and more) on the urban black market and this is supported by the archaeological evidence (Birrell 1982:16; Manning 1993:28–32). Figure 17.6 shows the skeletal representation patterns for deer from urban sites; the overriding impression is that they do not conform to the structured anatomical patterns seen for other site types. It would seem that venison percolated into towns through a variety of mechanisms, some legitimate but perhaps the majority illicit. Individuals (keepers or hunters) may have brought a shoulder here or a haunch there, but a few complete carcasses must also have arrived—this is suggested by the presence of at least some mandibles and foot bones but also the pelvis, an element that ought to have been discarded had the unmaking rituals been observed.

Figure 17.6. Relative frequency of body parts of deer (red, roe, and fallow deer) recovered from urban sites dating to the later medieval period. Shown as a percentage of the minimum number of individuals (MNI). (Source: Sykes 2007b.)

The acquisition, manhandling, and distribution of a whole carcass would have been beyond a single individual, requiring a substantial amount of collusion and cooperation to smuggle and offload it without detection. We must surely be looking at zooarchaeological evidence for the organized poaching gangs that operated out of urban taverns and alehouses, where they also consumed and sold their bag. Although often undertaken for commercial ends, we should not assume that this type of hunting was without ritual—the success of these gangs was that they had their own codes of conduct that, for them, legitimized their actions and tied them together. Within the safety of the tavern, the communal consumption of their ill-gotten venison, together with the drinking, storytelling, and general bravado it entailed, would have cemented the fraternity in much the same way it did for legitimate hunting groups. The difference between the two was simply that they were on opposite sides, each viewing one-another with contempt.

Moving on to the less-colorful side of poaching, Birrell (1996) has shown that peasants used a variety of methods—such as the setting of traps or the collection of dead, wounded, and diseased animals—to obtain venison. Few of these constituted true hunting but they were, nevertheless, an effective way of obtaining venison illegally. A classic example of peasant poaching comes from the village of Lyveden, a settlement where poaching is attested by both the historical (Birrell 1982:21) and zooarchaeological (Grant 1971) record. The animal-bone assemblage from the site contained not only a heavily butchered red deer skeleton that was “hidden” down a well but also a range of other deer bones from all parts and sides of the body, a pattern in no way suggestive of the unmaking procedure. In this case it would seem that the butchery of the deer was governed more by the need for stealth, to avoid capture by patrolling foresters, than to play out any kind of social performance. But, again, we should not see peasant poaching and venison consumption as devoid of social significance. While it is often stated that peasants poached as an act of desperation, because they were hungry, it seems wholly unlikely that this was generally the case: Manning (1993:20) has found little evidence to support such assumptions. By the later medieval period hunting and venison consumption had become mainstream popular culture, and their significance would not have been lost on rural peasants. Birrell (1996:84) has shown that they too had a sense of occasion and sought to include venison on their festive menus, with deer often being taken specifically for these events, the poachers gifting the venison throughout their community, an action that mimicked aristocratic redistribution.

Whether for reasons of defiance or emulation, the poaching, redistribution, and consumption of venison allowed lower classes, both rural and urban, to engage with and participate in wider social practice—it was important to them.

Conclusion

The medieval period lasted for more than one thousand years and no single chapter can adequately address all aspects of the dramatic social and economic change that took place within the timeframe. However, by concentrating on the specifics of venison procurement, distribution, and consumption I hope this chapter has demonstrated that zooarchaeology can provide detailed information about social dynamics and the negotiation of social identity.

It seems clear that inequality should not always be viewed in negative terms because, in many respects, community does not exist without it—even in the least hierarchical societies there is internal ranking. As was seen for both the Middle Anglo-Saxon and later medieval periods, inequality equated with social order, and the redistribution of venison was an important mechanism for the definition and maintenance of internal social relations. However, although the overarching motivation for venison redistribution was similar in these two periods, the actual cuts of meat deemed to represent high and low rank varied considerably: heads being a trait of elite settlement in the Middle Anglo-Saxon period but a mark of low-status settlement in the later medieval period. This serves as a reminder that studies of inequality need to pay close attention to both the specific context of the data but also the wider social setting. Without this, it would be easy to misconstrue the evidence, suggesting “high-status” venison consumption instead of, potentially, low-status desperation in the case of the Early Anglo-Saxon period or, for the later medieval period, poaching and illicit trafficking of venison on urban sites. This latter case is an interesting example of how, in situations of genuine social exclusion, it is possible for the excluded to become empowered simply by subverting culturally accepted rules. Indeed, in the case of poaching it was possible for the venison from a single animal to be consumed in different social settings with entirely different meanings, depending on the methods of procurement.

How then, can zooarchaeologists ever hope to disentangle such complexity? The answer is that they cannot, or at least not on the basis of bones alone. I believe that the days of specialization are over and that we must cast our net wide if we are to understand past societies. For the historic period, we cannot work in isolation from documents, and for the prehistoric period we have to use all the evidence we can get. It is not necessarily easy, but it is rewarding.

Acknowledgments. I should like to thank the editors for inviting me to contribute to such an interesting volume. This chapter is, essentially, a concatenation of all my articles on medieval hunting, and I am grateful to the anonymous reviewer for enhancing the clarity of the final argument.