Abstract
This paper examines archaeological signs indicating cultural diversity between trader societies in the coastal regions of the Bothnian Bay in northwestern Fennoscandia between the 13th and 15th centuries AD by focusing attention on the functioning of the network that connected the societies together. It is observed that within a relatively small bounded region, notable variation specifically in contemporary burial forms is present indicating cultural differences between the local communities. At the same time, archaeological evidence attests to interconnectedness and communication between the communities. It is suggested that the cultural diversity and distinctiveness between the communities was maintained due to the strong gateway position each of them held in regards to the interaction network, which was instrumental in, for example, the functioning of the northern medieval trade. At the same time, this interconnectedness caused certain similarities—specifically in relation to the manner of communication itself—to manifest.
This paper examines the cultural diversity within the interaction network of the Bothnian Bay region (Fig. 1) between the 13th and 15th centuries AD when the region’s material culture, pertaining specifically to burials, exhibits a diverse nature. This diversity is not only perceptible within a relatively small geographic region, but it is also prevalent during a time when the Catholic Church, supposedly a strong culturally homogenizing factor, was already active in the area and where one might thus expect to see a relatively homogenous Christian burial tradition.
Northern Fennoscandia: rectangle indicates the study region.
Northern Fennoscandia has been a border zone between “western” and “eastern” cultural spheres for millennia since the earliest Stone Age pioneer phase after the last Ice Age (Hakamäki 2016; Nordqvist 2018; Sørensen et al. 2013) and perhaps, due to the historical background of the region, as a border zone between at times mutually antagonistic states, the research of the region’s past has painted a picture of the northern communities as passive receivers of cultural elements from either the west or the east throughout prehistory. In recent years, however, this view has been criticized based on reanalyses of archaeological evidence and the results of new archaeological research programs (Bergman 2018; Bergman and Eklund 2016; Bergman and Ramqvist 2018; Hakamäki 2016; Herva et al. 2017; Kuusela 2014a, 2015; Kuusela et al. 2016, 2018; Nordqvist 2018). Specifically, the region’s research history regarding the Middle Ages has been dominated by a narrative where immigrants from the southern parts of the Baltic—primarily from southwest Finland, Sweden and Karelia in present-day northwest Russia—formed the base of the settlement, with immigration beginning around 11th–12th centuries AD or even earlier (e.g., Enbuske 2008:83; Huurre 1983:414–429; Ikäheimo 2014:57; Vahtola 1980:267–269, 383–391, 1998:17–18, 2004:46–48; Wallerström 1997:314). Local societies were relegated to a diminutive role, and the idea that the base of the medieval society in the north would be local has not, until recent years, been considered seriously (Ikäheimo et al. 2017; Kuusela et al. 2016, 2018). In a study published by Kuusela et al. (2016), an analysis of the late prehistoric and medieval archaeological evidence of the Bothnian Bay region showed that the medieval societies not only should be considered of local provenance, but they also retained their local identity in their use of material culture and burial customs at least well into the 15th century and in some regions even longer. “Local,” however, does not— especially when it comes to burial customs—mean similar to each other. This indicates there may have been cultural differences between the Bothnian Bay communities during this period. This subject is approached in this paper by examining the interaction network via which medieval trade worked in northern Fennoscandia and which northern communities interacted with other cultural spheres and each other.
In recent years, several archaeologists have focused on the framework in which cultural interaction occurs (i.e., networks) (e.g., Brughmans 2010; Knappett 2011, Knappett [ed.] 2013; Kuusela et al. 2018; Sindbæk 2007a,b), and such a view has the advantage of potentially bringing the discussion of the process to a more localized level than the sometimes relatively abstract concepts of other more generalizing views. Directing attention towards the framework of cultural interaction—the network—makes it possible to focus on the social relations that are functioning within the network instead of abstract units be they, for example, the cores and peripheries of the world-systems analysis or the peer polities of the peer-polity interaction model or any other units of comparable systemic approaches (McGuire 1996:54–55, 60). Though systemic views—such as the two aforementioned—are useful in depicting the large-scale mechanisms via which interaction within a specified macroscale occurs, problems may arise if the same scale is applied to the mechanism of cultural change enabled by this interaction. The potential for going awry here lies in the assumed scales of the interacting units. Whereas large-scale units, such as cores, semiperipheries, and peripheries or even the smaller-scale polities, are useful in a general analysis when examining the systemic nature of interaction, they may be less appropriate for an analysis of the processes pertaining to cultural change and cultural resilience in a given setting because they are too large and abstract. This means that the examination must be focused on the local level, or else interpretations may potentially be skewed by the generalizing view that masks behind it local idiosyncrasies that may have a significant role in the processes pertaining to cultural change, resilience, and diversity. At the same time, however, a connection with the larger systemic view must be maintained to avoid being lost in extreme particularism (see Kardulias and Hall 2008:573).
Notes on the Chronology
The period this paper examines falls between the 13th and 15th centuries AD, which is terminologically a tricky period due to differing chronologies within the Scandinavian countries and nearby regions. The Scandinavian medieval period is generally set to begin in the early 11th century after the decline of the Vikings and the spread of the Catholic Church through the region and last until the coronation of King Gustav Vasa of Sweden in the early 16th century (e.g., Helle 2003). Norway generally follows the same lines with the Viking Age ending in the early 11th century, followed by the medieval period (e.g., Solberg 2003). In Finland, the chronology is more diverse and depends on the region in question—in the southwestern parts of the country, the Viking Age is followed by a Late Iron Age period, known as Crusade Period, lasting from 11th to mid-12th century after which the Early Middle Ages begin (e.g., Haggrén 2015:369–370; Raninen and Wessman 2015:337–338). This conventional dating is based on the tradition of the first crusade to Finland by King Eric IX of Sweden in the mid-12th century. This tradition has since been disputed and from an archaeological perspective, the mid-12th century does not appear as any kind of a cultural watershed that would signify a “transition” to the Middle Ages (Haggrén 2015:373).
Nevertheless, the convention remains. Conversely, in the southeastern parts of Finland, the Middle Ages are considered to begin by the late 13th–early 14th centuries AD (e.g., Haggrén 2015:370; Raninen and Wessman 2015:337). This period is seen as the threshold for Middle Ages as it is concurrent with Swedish military campaigns in the region during the time as well as the founding of a Swedish castle in the Karelian Isthmus (Haggrén 2015:374–375). In the north, the situation is still vaguer, and Georg Haggrén (2015:370) is even of the mind that some parts of northern Finland never truly had Middle Ages at all due to lack of state control and literary sources. In a slightly less extreme view, the Middle Ages could be said to begin around the 14th century when the first literary evidence of the presence of ecclesiastic organizations in the northern coastal region appear (Lavery 2006:25–28).
Due to these mismatching chronologies, the catchall terms adopted in this paper to refer to the study period are early Middle Age/early medieval period following the Finnish convention of dating the Middle Ages of the southeastern parts of the country (see Table 1). It is acknowledged that this definition is controversial—especially were the northernmost parts of Lapland included in the definition—but it is deemed to be the closest—and simplest—fit for the study region in question.
Approximate cultural chronologies of the study area and nearby regions.
Medieval Societies of the Bothnian Bay Region and Their Social Hubs
Though perhaps appearing to be in the peripheral zone of Europe, the Bothnian Bay region was relatively busily trafficked during the early Middle Ages. The Hanseatic League is known to have sailed in the area already during the 13th century AD (Vahtola 1990), and it is questionable whether they could have done so without the presence of a solid infrastructure in the coasts that would have enabled them to safely moor and load their ships (Kuusela et al. 2016:179). Archaeological excavations have revealed that it was at key locations along traveling routes, usually—but not always— by the inlets of major rivers, where Bothnian Bay communities had central places—social hubs— incorporating activities ranging from trade to burials and other social gatherings (see Hakamäki and Ikäheimo 2015; Kuusela 2015, 2017, 2018; Kuusela et al. 2016; Wallerström 1995a) (Fig. 2). These sites were meeting places between foreign and local traders, and consequently, they were the gateway into the inland northern Fennoscandia where, for example, the sought-after furs—a central article in the northern trade—were acquired.
Medieval social hubs in Northern Fennoscandia, according to Kuusela et al. (2016).
Though similar in some respects, the hubs diverge from each other in some significant aspects, specifically in the burial forms used. This divergence indicates that there were cultural differences between the Bothnian Bay communities, and just as much as they cannot be regarded as being colonies of southern immigrants, they cannot be considered to represent a single uniform “culture” but rather indicate a mosaic of different societies with different customs.
Gateway to the Inland
The archaeologically known hubs (Fig. 2) have been examined in detail in several recent publications (Hakamäki and Ikäheimo 2015; Kuusela 2015, 2017, 2018; Kuusela et al. 2016). They date mostly to between the 13th and 15th centuries AD, and several of them incorporate burials (especially, see Kuusela et al. 2016 for dates). The inclusion of Skäran amongst the hubs, as Kuusela et al. (2016) do, is not as strongly founded as the other sites. Though there are strong indications of the importance of the site for the local communities in burials dating from the Bronze Age until the Middle Ages (see below), as well as cooking pits and other structures, there are no artifact finds from the site currently like with the other sites. Skäran is also an exception in its geographical location, as will be observed later. Therefore, there are grounds for excluding the site from this examination, but as it does, in its part, demonstrate the variable burial practices in use in the Bothnian Bay coast during the early Middle Ages, it is included.
The hubs appear to have been mostly—but not uniformly—located on the coast and on the inlets of or along major rivers, which served two purposes. On the one hand, they were safe harbors for vessels, as well as landmarks visitors could find relatively easily. On the other hand, they were gateways into the inland as they were often located along major water routes. However, natural conditions ushered in a specific restriction on travel in the region. The winter ice caused the northern coastal zone to be unreachable by sea for roughly six months of the year—between late November to May—during which time movement inland, in turn, was relatively effortless via frozen waterways, lakes, and swamps utilizing skis and sleds (Bergman et al. 2014:49; Okkonen 2012:169–170). During the sailing season, the opposite was the case as inland was difficult to reach as swamps and vast roadless forests siphoned movement along the major traversable waterways (Bergman et al. 2014:50; Okkonen 2012:169). However, even they were often hazardous and difficult to travel due to rapids—some of which were very energetic prior to dredging and the construction of hydroelectric dams. These conditions facilitated a situation where the communities controlling the hubs held a key position in the trade network and became gateway communities (Kuusela et al. 2016, 2018). If one wished to travel inland with relative freedom, one had to be on the coast after ice set in after which sailing across the sea was no longer possible. This meant that association with the coastal communities was unavoidable for anyone coming over the sea and wishing to travel inland.
Moreover, simple access was not enough—to facilitate trade, contacts within, and knowledge of the inland communities was essential, as the vast inland region made it possible for the communities there to avoid anyone they did not wish to meet indefinitely. This ability is mentioned in the period narrative Historia de Gentibus Septentrionalibus by the Swedish priest Olaus Magnus ([1555]2002:82). Written and originally published in the 16th century after Magnus’s travels in the north, he states that the northern inland people could not be found unless they wanted to be found. Thus, the immaterial resource of information also became an invaluable part of the trading network.
The combination of these factors resulted in a situation where the northern traders, both coastal and inland, were in a strong position that guaranteed that any interaction between them and visitors would be based on the principles of peer interaction (see Kuusela et al. 2018 for a thorough analysis). This also meant that none of the parties that were involved in the northern trade during the early Middle Ages—such as the Kingdom of Sweden, the Hanseatic League, and the Republic of Novgorod—could simply force the northern traders to deal with them.
The strength of the traders’ position has some implications on a more general level regarding culture change. Systemic core-centered views implicitly maintain that the stronger cultural core will ultimately dictate the course of the interaction vis-à-vis a weaker periphery and, in time, even assimilate them culturally, as the interaction between the core and the periphery is inherently asymmetrical. Whereas these views may have a point in a general and long-term sense, “strong” and “weak” are concepts that are not solely dependent on sheer apparent strength but in the ability to exercise that strength in a given situation. Thus, it is possible that interaction between parties—whose power relations might, at first sight, appear asymmetrical— is, in fact, occurring between peers as the apparently stronger party cannot utilize their strength in the interaction relationship (see Kuusela et al. 2018). The Bothnian Bay region communities in the north were in such a position where raw strength could not be used to bypass them, as they controlled information required for the trade network to work, and this enabled them to remain peers with all parties they dealt with. Thus, medieval cultural interaction and change in the north must be studied as being the result of interaction between peers. Therefore, for example, the peer-polity interaction model (Renfrew 1982) might seem an appropriate tool for the analysis. However, like in any systemic approach, its problem lies in its perception of the acting units being macroscale while, in reality, communities and societies do not interact with each other. Rather, individuals do, and this has a very significant effect on the mechanisms of cultural interaction as it requires that in addition to a systemic view, one needs to account for local idiosyncrasies (Cusick 1998:5).
Varying Burial Practices
Burial traditions are arguably among the most central elements in the material manifestation of the beliefs, social order, worldviews, and ideologies of different societies. It is perhaps because of this centrality that burial practices and pertaining material culture tend to be conservative. Thus, it is not surprising that it is specifically in the burial practices that cultural differences often most clearly occur (see Wells 1998). It is notable that the sites examined herein are contemporary with each other and located within a relatively limited geographic region and date to the time period during which the Catholic Church was supposedly already well-established in the area (e.g., Ikäheimo 2014:19; Julku 1985:128–132; Vahtola 2004:47; Wallerström 1997:315). Accordingly, it would be where one could expect a relatively uniform Christian burial tradition across the region.
Altogether, four of the six currently known hubs have an associated burial ground, and the different burial practices are presented in Table 2. The heterogeneous burial forms include both inhumations and cremations and different types of burial structures.
Features present at the examined burial grounds.
Suutarinniemi and Valmarinniemi
Valmarinniemi and Suutarinniemi (in Illinsaari) can be said to be so closely similar as to be regarded as representing the same tradition—or more accurately, traditions, as two burial forms are present. The burials in these sites are either Christian-style inhumations in a pit dug in the ground or cremation burials. Of these traditions, cremation may be the older as in Suutarinniemi they date to the 11th or 12th centuries while the inhumations date to the 14th–15th centuries (Kuusela et al. 2016:185). However, the Valmarinniemi interments indicate some overlap of the traditions as several cremations and inhumations are potentially contemporaneous (Ikäheimo 2018a:9–10). Whereas it might seem that the inhumations of these burial grounds would be a sign of the strong influence of Christianity, some features suggest that this might not be the entire picture. This is most apparent in a couple of burials excavated in the Suutarinniemi burial ground in Illinsaari (see Kuusela 2015; Kuusela et al. 2016:188–189).
The first of these cases is Inhumation Burial 3 (henceforth, all inhumation burials are referred to with the abbreviation IB#) incorporating two cremation burials (henceforth CB1 and CB2 respectively) dating to the 11th or 12th centuries that had been manipulated during the burial in IB3. The dating of IB3 itself is slightly problematic as the radiocarbon dating is somewhat perplexing. The initial radiocarbon results (Beta-382691, 610 ± 30 BP) indicate a dating to the 14th century (AD 1300–1400 [2σ], calibrated using CALIB 14C 7.1 [Stuiver et al. 2018]). However, due to a very high δ13C level of the sample (−17.4‰), it may be subject to the reservoir effect as in the Baltic region the interval between −20.9‰ and −14.8‰ is generally seen as the threshold when marine reservoir correction must be applied on terrestrial samples (Ikäheimo 2018a:11). When corrected (see Ikäheimo 2018a, b for details), the dating of the burial would be 1510–1870 AD when calibrated using the marine reservoir correction option in CALIB 14C 7.1. This result is somewhat unlikely for both archaeological and historical reasons. A historically known—and excavated—cemetery was in existence nearby Suutarinniemi in the late 15th century (Kallio-Seppä et al. [eds.] 2011), and a map from the year 1648 displaying the site of the Suutarinniemi burial ground exists (Fig. 3 and 4), with no signs of a used or recently used burial ground evident. This evidence implies that Suutarinniemi was no longer in use during the mid-17th century, and likely there was no longer any local knowledge of its existence during that time, or Claesson would have marked the site in some way. As other dates from the burial ground (Kuusela et al. 2016:185) indicate use in the 14th and possibly early 15th century, it is possible this particular dating is off or—perhaps more likely—the marine reservoir correction exaggerates the age difference between the uncorrected and corrected dates (see Ikäheimo 2018b:111). For the discussion that follows, however, this is not a serious issue, as the focus here is on the archaeological features of the burial, and dates of other features in this burial exist that—when coupled with archaeological observations—mitigate the problematic date.
Illinsaari complex in Ii with individual sites and late prehistoric and medieval shorelines marked.
1648 map by Claes Claesson displaying Illinsaari. The cape where Suutarinniemi burial ground is located is by the compass rose.
When observing the position of the cremation burials within IB3, we note that CB1 was located above the deceased in the grave on top of the individual’s left knee (Fig. 5) indicating this deposition is secondary as the cremation dates to the 11th–12th centuries (Ua-50693, 926 ± 40 BP, 1020–1190 AD [2σ], calibrated using Stuiver et al. 2018). CB2, on the other hand, was evidently disturbed, with the intact half of the burial being located on the right side of the deceased. CB1 contained firedamaged grave goods of bronze and silver, all fragmented into small pieces that were meticulously gathered within the deposition that formed CB1. The grave fill of IB3 was littered with cremated human bone fragments, and when both the horizontal and vertical distribution of these fragments are observed within the fill, it is of note that the distribution is relatively even (Fig. 6). The even distribution of cremated bone fragments in the fill and the careful secondary deposition of CB1 within the fill of IB3 indicate that the association of the cremations with IB3 is likely, not coincidental, and the cremations played a part in the burial ritual itself. This conclusion is corroborated by the Valmarinniemi burial ground, where similar cremation burials have been discovered (Ikäheimo et al. 2017; Taavitsainen et al. 2009). As in Suutarinniemi, the integration of the cremations into the inhumations appears to have been intentional at Valmarinniemi. As Valmarinniemi was excavated in the early 1980s and a full report was not compiled up until 2016, the available documentation of the excavation does not make a spatial analysis of cremated bone in the Valmarinniemi burials an easy task. However, an indication of spreading the cremated bone evenly in the fill of an inhumation was observed in at least one case (Ikäheimo et al. 2017:102–103). The proximity of several of the cremations to the inhumations (Fig. 7) also suggests that the practice may have been common.
A) Drawing of Inhumation Burial 3 in Suutarinniemi; B) photograph of IB3. Cremation Burial 1 and disarticulated human bones on top of the deceased have been removed. Cremation Burial 2 can be seen by the right side of the deceased. Note: the cardboard arrow in the photograph does not point north. Photographed by Janne Ikäheimo, Laboratory of Archaeology at the University of Oulu.
A) Horizontal distribution of cremated bone fragments in Inhumation Burial 3; B) vertical distribution of cremated bone fragments in Inhumation Burial 3.
Valmarinniemi burial ground with cremation burials marked in black. Map collated by the author from maps ARKA 11:8, 11:10, 11:13, and 11:27 held at the Laboratory of Archaeology at the University of Oulu.
Aside from the cremation burials, other features in both Valmarinniemi and Suutarinniemi burial grounds hint at non-Christian customs. One such case is IB2 in Suutarinniemi that nominally again appears as a rather unremarkable Christian-style burial with the deceased inhumed in a supine position with arms across their abdomen. However, an occipital bone of an elk or a deer was placed on top of the deceased’s head (Kuusela et al. 2013:128) (Fig. 8). Both the cervid bone fragment and the deceased have been radiocarbon dated, and the results indicate that they are contemporary, belonging to the 14th or 15th centuries. Like with IB3, the deceased in IB2 also had a high δ13C level (−20.3‰), which implies that marine reservoir correction needs to be applied. However, this correction has no significant effect on the dating results (deceased individual, Ua-50694, 563 ± 36 BP, [2σ with reservoir effect correction using Stuiver et al. 2018] 1320–1350 AD [5%], AD 1390–1460 [95%]; cervid bone Ua-50695, 554 ± 34 BP, [2σ], using Stuiver et al. 2018] AD 1310–1360 [48%], AD 1390–1430 [52%]).
A) Drawing of Inhumation Burial 2 in Suutarinniemi; B) photograph of IB2. Note: the cardboard arrow in the photograph does not point north. Photographed by Janne Ikäheimo, Laboratory of Archaeology at the University of Oulu.
The inclusion of the cervid bone in the burial may be interpreted as a local addition to the burial akin to the treatment of the cremation burials in connection with inhumations. The fact that the animal bone in IB2 was a skull fragment becomes intriguing when yet another factor in the burials is considered—the inclusion of disarticulated human bones with primary burials.
The inclusion of a disarticulated human skull—or piece thereof—is documented in at least two, possibly three, burials in Suutarinniemi: IB3, IB12, and IB13. Additionally, IB3 and IB12 included other disarticulated bones, at least some of which are human. IB3 included the base of a human skull and a scapula placed on the pelvis of the deceased, as well as a human femur placed across the pelvis, a part of human pelvis, spine and adjoined ribs below the deceased, and an unidentified long bone placed on the left side of the deceased’s head (Fig. 5). In IB12 (Fig. 9), a human skull was placed on top of the right ankle of the deceased. The mandible had likely been articulated when the skull was placed in the grave, and the skull had fallen to its side post-depositionally, leaving the mandible disarticulated on top of the deceased’s ankle. The skull had probably been resting against the edge of the punt-like coffin in which the deceased was buried. In addition to the skull, an unidentified long bone had been laid to rest beside the left leg of the deceased. In IB13 (Fig. 10), a disarticulated bone was also placed on top of the feet of the deceased, but it was in such poor condition that it could not be recovered. Based on shape it may have been a fragment of a skull.
A) Drawing of Inhumation Burial 12 in Suutarinniemi; B) Photograph of IB12. The skull above the right ankle of the deceased has been removed; the long bone can be seen beside the left leg.
A) Drawing of Inhumation Burial 13; B) photograph of IB13.
The contemporary Valmarinniemi site also exhibits this practice. Table 3 details all the disarticulated human remains in both Suutarinniemi and Valmarinniemi. The incorporation of these disarticulated bones on burials appears to be a primary deposition in most cases, as only in a few burials in Valmarinniemi could it be determined that additional bones in a burial had originated from an older burial that had been disturbed (Koponen and Pelttari 2016:119, 143, 166, 218). In Suutarinniemi, however, in any of the aforementioned graves, no signs of a previous burial or grave-cut were discernible, and it is the opinion of the author, as the excavating archaeologist, that the disarticulated bones were part of the primary burial (i.e., they have been buried together with the deceased). Thus, the inclusion of these “additional” human remains in a burial may indicate a non-Christian custom that was adapted into a seemingly Christian burial tradition.
Disarticulated human bones in the burial grounds of Suutarinniemi and Valmarinniemi.
Kyrkudden
Kyrkudden, located roughly 60 km north of Valmarinniemi along the river Tornionjoki, exhibits quite a different burial tradition than the two former sites. Though contemporary, for the most part, the burial ground in Kyrkudden was in use far longer than either Suutarinniemi or Valmarinniemi, as the youngest burials are dated to the 17th century. Nevertheless, the burial form most prevalent in Kyrkudden is archaic, considering the late dating. The excavated burials in Kyrkudden consist of low burial mounds of stones partly mixed with soil with some containing timber “houses-for-the-dead”-type structures (Wallerström 1995a:114–115). The use of a stone setting was common in the north during the Iron Age but would have been archaic during the early Middle Ages. There does, however, appear to be a difference here with the western and eastern shores of the Bothnian Bay, as on the eastern side of the bay, the youngest known cairn burial dates to the 7th century AD (Mäkivuoti 1996:100–104), while the western side has a few late burials of this form, Kyrkudden included (see Spång 1991; Skäran will be examined below). The use of stone structures in burials was also long-lived in some inland parts of north and northwestern Fennoscandia as well as on the coast of the Barents Sea (Hansen and Olsen 2014:107–113; Schanche 2000).
The burial form in Kyrkudden was predominantly inhumation, though fragments of cremated human bone indicate that cremation was practiced as well. The archaic burial practice evidenced in Kyrkudden seems to have been resilient, as several of the burials date to 15th century and some even later (Wallerström 1995b:117–118, 130). Though the Catholic Church was already supposed to be well entrenched in the area, it appears that it had little control over the burial practices of the society burying its dead in the Kyrkudden burial ground. It is also noteworthy to point out the distinct difference of the Kyrkudden burials to those of the contemporary Valmarinniemi and Suutarinniemi that were located at the distances of 60 and 120 km from Kyrkudden, respectively— perhaps a few days travel using water routes during the sailing season. The differences in the burial form are distinctive enough to plausibly hypothesize that differences also existed in the burial ceremonies and, thus, possibly in religious ideologies. That being said, Kyrkudden also exhibits similarity with them in the coexistence of cremation and inhumation burials (Wallerström 1995b:132–134).
Skäran
The fourth burial ground is in Skäran, and as Suutarinniemi and Valmarinniemi resemble each other, Skäran has some common features with Kyrkudden. It is a site with a long period of use, with dates ranging from the end of the Bronze Age in the last millennium BC until the Middle Ages. Interest in this paper is focused on the burials dated to the Middle Ages. Like in Kyrkudden, the burials in Skäran are low mounds composed of stones mixed with earth with the predominant burial form being inhumation (Larsson and Rathje 2001:14; Rathje 2003:10–15). Unlike in Kyrkudden, none of the excavated graves in Skäran contained wooden frames, but one burial included a rectangular burial structure—or a cist—made of stone (Larsson and Rathje 2001:14), possibly indicating a similar idea as Kyrkudden’s timber structures. When the first burial was excavated in 2000, and subsequently radiocarbon dated to a very late date—the 15th–17th centuries—the excavating archaeologists assumed the dated material to have been contaminated (Larsson and Rathje 2001:19). A later excavation, coupled with new dates, affirmed the initial results, thus suggesting that Skäran is a late example of the use of an ancient burial form with dates indicating a use of the burial ground between the 11th and 15th centuries (Rathje 2003:18–20; see also Spång 1991). Interestingly, during the time Skäran was still in use, a Christian church was already standing in Bygdeå only 30 km or so from Skäran (Rathje 2003:20), once more indicating the somewhat limited influence the Church had on local populations and their customs.
Summary of Burial Practices
What the examples presented above demonstrate is the resilience of old practices alongside new ones. As burial practices pertain closely to the ideology and identity of the community, it is not surprising that they would be slow to change. The different way new impulses were adopted—or not adopted— in the study region highlights an inherent feature of peer-interaction networks—that the interacting units make the decisions that lead to culture change irrespective of each other. Thus, the choice of what new cultural elements to adopt, and in what manner, was ultimately dictated by decisions within each society. As these decisions were not dependent on each other, these changes could— and did—take varying forms. However, at the same time, a macrostructure—the network itself—created similarities between the hubs that pertain to the network itself, as shall be discussed below.
Places of Contact
All of the hubs are somehow different when compared with each other, but a contextual analysis does also reveal partial similarities. Common to most of the sites is their geographical location along routes to the inland, indicating that they were likely meeting and trading places (Kuusela et al. 2016). Skäran forms the notable exception to this pattern, as it is not located along a major river. However, its location is also indicative of ease of access, as it is located on a site that would have formed an ideal natural harbor during the early Middle Ages (Kuusela et al. 2016:191).
Most of the sites—Skäran once more being the exception—have finds which have been analyzed in previous publications in regards to the geographical regions they point to, indicating a farranging contact network of the communities living in the hubs spanning the entirety of Europe and points beyond (Kuusela et al. 2016:187–188; see also Kuusela et al. 2018:771–772). However, the sites and assemblages of Pirttitörmä in Illinsaari, Gamla Kyrkbyn, Kyrkudden, and Rutelo are of specific interest as they indicate that the hubs may have also been sites where local political structures were renegotiated. It is on these four that attention shall be focused on next.
Certain aspects of the material assemblages of the sites are important in this connection, and it is appropriate to draw an analogy to the coastal market places of the historical period to highlight these. The market places along the Bothnian Bay coast during the historical period were multifaceted. Naturally, they served the purpose of trading places, but additionally, they were sites of meetings and festivities in addition to which symbols of authority and power were frequently incorporated within their landscape. Most pronouncedly, in the form of churches (Ylimaunu 2007:27–29). It is from a similar multifaceted perspective that the sites will be examined in the following.
Manifestations of Wealth and Status
The role of the hubs as feasting sites between local and foreign traders has been examined elsewhere (Kuusela 2018), but in this paper, their possible role as sites of local and regional renegotiation of sociopolitical structures is considered. A detailed review of the archaeological material and their links to feasting practices regarding Gamla Kyrkbyn, Kyrkudden, and Pirttitörmä has been published previously (Kuusela 2018), whereas the material of Rutelo will be examined more closely in this paper.
The aforementioned sites produced a varied assemblage of imported artifacts or fragments thereof, and a common feature is that these objects appear to have often been discarded—even when in apparently good and serviceable condition. For instance, at Pirttitörmä, Illinsaari several metal artifacts were found around a fireplace mixed with burnt bone and other refuse (Hakamäki and Ikäheimo 2015:18–19), whereas others were found discarded around—or within—a pit feature (Hakamäki and Ikäheimo 2015:19–20). The same is true of Gamla Kyrkbyn, where a significant amount of imported artifacts have been discovered (Wallerström 1995b). The most poignant example of treating such objects in a manner suggesting display and purposeful discard, however, is apparent in Rutelo.
In contrast to the site’s rather undistinctive structural remains, the artifactual evidence in Rutelo is interesting. It consists mostly of imported metal artifacts—several bronze/copper brooches and other jewelry (see Kuusela 2012:67–68; Kuusela and Tolonen 2011:80), as well as a few iron artifacts consisting of a strike-a-light steel, complex iron curb bits and a small javelin head. None of these artifacts appear to have a clear association with any structures, though several jewelry pieces were found near a small hearth in a similar manner as in Pirttitörmä. Additionally, all artifacts have been found close to the surface as if having been discarded there. What is of interest is that two bronze/copper brooches have leather thongs tied around their arcs in a manner suggesting they were suspended (Kuusela and Tolonen 2011:80) (Fig. 11), possibly indicating display.
Penannular brooch (NM 39017:1) found in Rutelo with a leather thong tied around its arc. The scale interval is 1 mm. Photographed by Tuuli Koponen, Laboratory of Archaeology at the University of Oulu.
Few of the artifacts in Rutelo are mundane in nature, with the strike-a-light steel perhaps being the only one. The iron curb bits are a form of full-cheek single-joint snaffles (Fig. 12) (see, e.g., Kivikoski 1973:abb 1002, abb 1245; Kontny 2009:105–106) and are of some interest as they are associated with elaborate forms of horsemanship (Clark et al. 2004:45–46), such as that of the mounted warrior. To the knowledge of the author, these bits are currently the only ones of their kind known in northern Finland. Thus, the artifactual evidence strongly indicates a display of wealth and status.
Iron bits (NM 40719:2) found in Rutelo. Illustrated by Hanna Puolakka, Laboratory of Archaeology at the University of Oulu.
Richard Hodges (2012:29–31) notes that the presence of such artifactual evidence is a common feature in many medieval sites in central Europe and Scandinavia, and often they have been interpreted as being raw material for craftspeople or otherwise signs of productive sites. However, he suggests that the phenomenon should rather be interpreted as a conscious act of consumption connected with purposeful destruction of wealth during feasting (Hodges 2012:31; also, see Theuws 2004:124–126). Such wealth destruction and display finds several analogies in ethnographic literature from various parts of the world and is often connected with symbolic competition between and/or displays of status among the various elite of a society (for more on the development of the elite of the Bothnian Bay region, see Kuusela 2013a).
Association with Ritual Spaces
The Illinsaari complex and Kyrkudden display an association with ritual spaces in a straightforward manner via their association with places of burial. In Kyrkudden, the burial site and activity area, including buildings and hearths, are intertwined in the same space, whereas in Illinsaari, they are separated but still relatively close to each other (Fig. 3). In Illinsaari, another intriguing feature is the presence of a possible cremation site roughly 1 km from the Suutarinniemi burial ground. Excavations in 2016 at the potential cremation site revealed the remains of a pyre and artifacts that had accompanied the body on it (Kuusela 2017).
The presence of ritual spaces should be likened to the relationship between market places and symbols of authority or status, such as churches in the later historical market places. Considering that the hubs—like the later market places—were multifaceted sites of meetings and interactions, they were opportune sites for such display of status.
In the other hubs, signs of this relationship are not directly observable. The nature of Skäran is ambiguous in this regard, and though the site does include various structures in addition to the burials, most of them have not been excavated and remain undated. In Valmarinniemi, located at the mouth of the Kemijoki River, the burial assemblages attest to the community’s trade connections (e.g., Ikäheimo et al. 2017:98–101; Koivunen and Vahtola 1997:44–45; Kuusela et al. 2016:187–188). However, the trading site itself is known via historical sources (Vahtola 1997:84, 2004:47; Wallerström 1987:35–39, 47; Ylimaunu 2007:25, 28–29), and thus, its spatial relationship with the burial site cannot be verified. It is, nevertheless, unlikely the activity areas related to the trading site would have been located very far from the cemetery, considering that the trading place is known to have been located at the river mouth. In Rutelo and Gamla Kyrkbyn, conversely, no associated burial sites are known.
Summary of Similarities
Based on the above, it is suggested that while the differences, mainly in the forms of burials, signify cultural differences between the northern coastal communities, there are enough similarities in the functional forms of several sites to hint at a macrostructure linking the coastal communities together. In other words, though heterogeneous culturally, the societies had a common “language” of practices that are exhibited in a similar structuring of the sites of interaction. Namely, these primarily include the display of wealth and status via imported goods and their treatment and, to a more limited degree, association with ritual spaces.
Recently in an analysis of the archaeological assemblages and features of Illinsaari, Gamla Kyrkbyn, and Kyrkudden (Kuusela 2018), it has been suggested that the hubs may have been sites of feasting in addition to exchange, and in the cited study, feasting has been emphasized as an important medium of communication and interaction between local and visiting traders. The presence of wealth display indicates feasting may have served an additional purpose pertaining to the communication between the coastal communities. Displayed and discarded prestige goods point towards a competitive aspect in the interaction, and this display would have likely been aimed towards those seen as potential local competitors rather than visitors from further off.
Gateway Position—Roots of the Diversity
The reason for the observed cultural diversity may lie in the manner in which the interaction network in the north functioned. Though the network facilitated many forms of interaction, one of its primary functional roles was to act as a framework of exchange. During the study period, the northern reaches of the Baltic trade network were of considerable interest to many notable powers in the Baltic sphere. However, to understand the nature of the network, we must observe the concrete way trade could be practiced. As already noted, the northern reaches of the network were under an effect that did not repeat elsewhere in the Baltic Sea—the winter ice restricted access to the northern coast in a cyclical manner, and the roadless, swamp-riddled inland regions did the same for inland access. These two natural conditions created a cyclical pattern during which one access was closed off while the other was open, causing Bothnian Bay communities to transform into gateway communities who could supervise and control traffic between the coast and the inland. Thus, natural conditions acted as a powerful regulator of traffic, but trade was not constrained just by environmental circumstances, it was also inherently dependent on information.
Premodern trade, in general, relied heavily on information and personal relationships regulated by a delicate collection of social norms and mutual obligations between trading partners (see Hermanson 2013; Kallioinen 2012). The conditions in the north further underlined this as the inland regions of northern Fennoscandia were so vast that its inhabitants could remain hidden from the eyes of strangers indefinitely if they so wished (Olaus Magnus [1555]2002:82; see also Wallerström 2017:176–177). Thus, to be able to trade in the north in the first place, traders had to have detailed knowledge of when and where their trading partners would be. This has some implications. Firstly, it means that an intangible resource— information—was key in long-distance trade, and secondly, it facilitated the existence of separate merchant groups within the northern communities. This group consisted of the individuals who had the necessary information on the whereabouts of the inland communities and the needed contacts among them to facilitate successful trade. During the 16th century, they were known as Birkarls (Swedish, birkarlar; Finnish, pirkkalaiset) (e.g., Bergman and Edlund 2016; Vahtola 1991; Wallerström 1995a:239–242). During the time they are most well-known via literary sources—the 16th century—the organization was already waning, and its sphere of influence was shrinking. However, the system itself predates the 16th century, and during the early Middle Ages, it likely included the whole coast of the Bothnian Bay region (see Bergman and Edlund 2016; Kuusela 2013a:152–154; Kuusela et al. 2016, 2018).
The Birkarls are mentioned by Olaus Magnus ([1555]2002:84–85)—he calls them berchara—who describes the way they conducted trade with the inland communities. He mentions how the inland communities had set places for trading on a flat field or on ice, which indicates wintertime trading, where they met with each other and with the Birkarls for whom they gave gifts both of their own volition and, as Magnus states, as taxes for the king. Recent research has argued that the relationships between the Birkarls and the inland communities were far more nuanced than previously thought and that both the Birkarls and the inland communities were originally very closely intertwined within a network of gift-giving and intermarriage (Bergman and Edlund 2016; Wallerström 2017:179). The “taxes” that Magnus references were gift-giving in a reciprocal exchange network, which only later evolved into state-led taxation (see Wallerström 2017:187–189; also Kuusela et al. 2018). Thus, personal and close relationships between the traders were instrumental in the practical operation of northern trade, and each individual trader held social capital that could not be removed from the equation without disturbing the whole system. Geographical factors added another dimension to the mechanism.
The most convenient way to reach inland from the coast was to utilize the waterways, which acted as highways, especially during winter time when they were frozen over. At the same time, these routes directed the attention of the coastal traders towards specific regions. When observing the distribution of the coastal hubs and the associated waterways, it may be observed how they all lead to diverging directions (Fig. 13). This divergence would have had the effect that the coastal traders likely had few conflicts of interest with each other, as they mostly had different target regions and would not have had to compete for inland trading partners. At the same time, this would have resulted in a situation where traders of one hub would become immune to attempts of takeover by another hub precisely for the same reason they would have been immune to any other attempts of an external take over—control of the information of the inland trading partners and the confidential relationships with them was not something that could be simply taken. This effectively assured that the coastal merchants remained peers with each other. With such a mechanism in place, it was far easier for the communities to maintain their cultural distinctiveness vis-à-vis each other as no community could viably gain a lasting superiority over the others.
Major water routes associated with the trade-network hubs.
Discussion
The traditional historical view—which arguably still dominates the views of the later phases of the prehistory and early history of northern Fennoscandia—maintains that the societies in the Bothnian Bay region assimilated into the culture imposed by the Baltic powers, specifically the Kingdom of Sweden and the Catholic Church during the Middle Ages. However, a fairly reasonable counterargument may be constructed using archaeological evidence that demonstrates that communities in the region during the early Middle Ages exhibited a local character for a significant period of time after the advent of the Catholic Church in the region. Additionally, the coastal communities exhibit a difference vis-à-vis each other.
The mechanism that caused this cultural diversity is the result of the Baltic interaction network and the manner in how local societies were defined by that network, as well as specific natural circumstances that enforced restrictions on how the network could operate. When observing the network’s external operations (i.e., interactions directed outwards from the hubs), then we may note the hubs are similar to each other—they contain similar elements in similar contexts. However, when attention is drawn away from the interactions of the network and focused on interactions pertaining to the individual communities, divergence occurs. This demonstrates both the nature of the hubs and the role of the network itself for the Bothnian Bay coastal communities. Wealth display within the hubs demonstrates the political importance of the hubs—and by extension the network and, more concretely, the trade it generated—for the Bothnian Bay communities (see Kuusela 2013a; Kuusela et al. 2018). At the same time, the divergence between the different Bothnian Bay communities on burial forms demonstrates that their interactions with each other did not result in a homogenization of the northern material culture. In fact, it may be that their local customs—in this case, demonstrated by their burial forms—may have been consciously underlined as a demonstration of their identity vis-à-vis each other (see Wells 1998). Thus, it can be said that the network defined the communities in a manner. On the one hand, it caused the hubs to be and act as the interface between interaction on both local and supralocal level. On the other hand, these hubs—as interfaces of contact with others—underlined the need for the participating communities to distinguish their own identities via practices that were related to intracommunal interaction and were not required for the functioning of the interaction network on a supralocal level.
In this paper, I have attempted to demonstrate both the systemic features of cultural interaction and how local idiosyncrasies—both social and natural—have a significant part in it (e.g., Cusick 1998; McGuire 1996). Though the circumstances in the Bothnian Bay region are perhaps specific in that the winter ice created strict and cyclical restrictions on movement and interaction up until the advent of modern transportation technology, it is possible that other comparable factors might be in play in other parts of the world. The matter may become muddled because though different in some respects, networked societies do develop similarities with each other due to the systemic demands of the network—the manner of communication—itself. Such similarities may potentially mask behind them a considerable local variation that becomes evident only upon closer scrutiny.
An aspect that has not been touched upon in this study, for the obvious reason of available space allotted to a paper, is the broader arena of northern Fennoscandia. Whereas the focus on this paper has been the Bothnian Bay region, the vast inland areas were also an integral part of the network. Archaeological evidence from the inland regions of northern Fennoscandia seems to indicate that, at least as far as burial practices go, a similar diversity is observable there as in the coastal region (see Hakamäki and Anttonen 2017; Hakamäki et al. 2013; Huurre 1983:389–390; Jarva et al. 2001; Taskinen 1998). Thus, northern Fennoscandia promises to be a fertile ground for future research concerning cultural diversity and interaction of societies within such an environment.
Conclusions
This study examined the medieval cultural diversity in northern Fennoscandia and its resilience during the time when the influence of the Catholic Church was strengthening in the area. By examining the sites of social hubs—combined trading, meeting, and gathering sites—it may be noted that the local societies in the north exhibited a significant degree of variation in their material culture vis-à-vis each other, specifically in burial traditions. At the same time, the functional layouts of the hubs are similar, and the same spheres of action—trade, wealth display, and association with ritual spaces—are present in many of them. This diversity, on the one hand, and similarity, on the other, signifies both interconnectedness between the communities in the Bothnian Bay region during the Middle Ages and their distinctiveness from each other. The similar structure of the social hubs analyzed herein indicates that though culturally distinct from each other, the northern communities also had a common language of practices that enabled them to communicate and interact with each other effectively.
Acknowledgments
This work was supported by the Finnish Cultural Foundation (Grant 00180598).
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