THE SAXONS: CUSTOMARY REVENUES AND EXTRAORDINARY CONTRIBUTIONS

The English Constitution looks ever backward. Precedent lies behind precedent, law behind law, until fact shades off into legend and that into a common beginning, the Germanic character. Standing upon the eminence of 1689, one sees the Petition of Right, and then in deepening perspective, Confirmatio Cartarum and Magna Carta. The crisis of 1215 points to the Charter of Henry I, and behind that are the good laws of Edward the Confessor. The Anglo-Saxon polity looks back of the era of Alfred, to the times when Hengist and Horsa were yet unborn, and the German tribesmen were still living in their forests beyond the Rhine without thinking of migrating westward. And there, behind the habits of those barbaric ancestors of Englishmen, lies the national character, the Anglo-Saxon sense of right and wrong, of loyalty, justice, and duty. The growth of the English Constitution has been as subject to the laws of evolution as the development of man himself. The germ of national character evolved habits of thought and action, and these habits, or as they are better termed, institutions, were beaten upon by conditions and fused with the institutions of another people, until at last they took on the shape of free government.

An account of the advance toward the laying of taxes by representatives of the people must begin with some notice of the idea of taxation which actuated the German tribesmen. Tacitus writing of them as they were at the beginning of the Second Century A. D. makes this remark:Amongst the Germans “It is customary amongst the states to bestow on the chiefs by voluntary and individual contribution a present of cattle or of fruits, which, while accepted as a compliment, supplies their wants.”[1] Here, then, is the earliest idea of a tax, a voluntary contribution for the support of the princeps. It was prompted by the essentially personal relationship existent between people and chieftain, the sense of attachment of the people to the leader. Direct taxation laid by the princeps upon the tribe, was as unknown in Germany as it was foreign to the Germanic spirit.

When the conquering Saxons, therefore, swept westward across the German Ocean, they carried with them scarcely more than a semblance of taxation. Between men and leader the personal relationship still subsisted, but as time went on, the Anglo-Saxon king became less the father of the people, and more their lord.Amongst the Anglo-Saxons Lord of the national land he was as well, but he did not rule by reason of that fact. The two claims upon popular support were therefore distinct, the one as personal leader, the other as lord of the national land; and during the major part of the Anglo-Saxon era they afforded a sufficient means for the maintenance of the king and his government. Until the moment of a supreme emergency the king did not have to seek extraordinary sources of income.

As lord of the national land, the king had a double source of revenue. The folkland, or land subject to national regulation[2] and Revenue of the Anglo-Saxon kings alienable only by the consent of the Witenagemot, presented the king with its proceeds, much of which went for the maintenance of the royal armed retainers and servants. Deducible from this right to the public lands, was the claim of the king to tolls, duties, and customs accruing from the harbors, landing-places, and military roads of the realm, and to treasure-trove. Aside from this, the king was one of the largest private landowners in the kingdom, and from it he derived rents and profits which were disposable at will.

The other sources of the royal revenue, which at least in the beginning may be said to have accrued to the king by reason of personal obligation, were the military, the judicial, and the police powers. By reason of the military power vested in him, the king could demand the services of all freemen to fulfill the trinoda necessitas,—service in the militia, repair of bridges, and the maintenance of fortifications. Further, in accordance with the system of vassalage incident to his military power, he had the right of heriot,[3] according to which the armor of a deceased vassal became the property of the king. The judicial authority, also, was a fruitful source of income; from it the king adduced a right to property forfeited in consequence of treason, theft, or similar crimes, and to the fines which were payable upon every breach of the law. The third great power vested in the royal person was the police control; under it the king turned to account the privilege of market by reserving to himself certain payments; also the protection offered to Jews and merchants was paid for, and the king pocketed the bulk of the tribute. Beyond these,—and here we have the analogy of the later royal claim to purveyance,—the districts through which the king passed or those traversed by messengers upon the king’s business, lay under obligation to supply sustenance throughout the extent of the royal sojourn.

It is apparent that an extraordinary occasion had to arise before this large ordinary revenue should prove to be inadequate to meet all reasonable royal necessities. The whole matter is shrouded in obscurity, yet it is unlikely that this extraordinary occasion arrived before the onslaught of the Danes. There is no record of an earlier instance.

It was in 991[4] that the Saxon army under Brihtnoth, Ealdorman of the East Saxons, suffered decisive defeat at the hands of Danish pirates. King Ethelred the Unready found himself at the mercy of foreign enemies, and his only recourse was bribery. Under this necessity, a levy[5] of £10,000 was made, and secured momentary peace from the truculent Danes. But it was only momentary; they returned in 994 and took away £16,000. They repeated, under various pretexts, their profitable incursions in 1002, 1007, and 1011.[6] In 1012, having been bought off for the last time, the Danes entered English pay, and the Danegeld instead of being an extraordinary charge, became a regularly recurrent tax. It continued until 1051, when Edward the Confessor succeeded in paying off the last of the Danish ships.[7] The chronicler[8] accounts for the abolition of the Danegeld after the manner of his time. Edward the Confessor, so goes the story, entered his treasure-house one day to find the Devil sitting amongst the money bags. It so happened that the wealth which was being thus guarded was that which had accrued from a recent levy of the Danegeld. To the pious Confessor the sight was sufficient to demonstrate the evil of the tax and he straightway abolished it.

But the history of the origin of the Danegeld and the mythical tale of its abolition are of trifling importance as compared with the authority whereby the impost was laid. In 991 it was apparently the Witenagemot, acting upon the advice of the Archbishop Sigeric, which issued the decree levying the tax.[9] Three years later it was “King Ethelred by the advice of his chief men” who promised the Danes tribute.[10] Similarly in 1002, 1007, and 1011 it is Ethelred “cum consilio primatum” who fixes the amount of money to be raised.[11]

The deduction is not hard to make: it was at least usual if indeed it was not felt to be a necessity for the king to take counsel with the Witenagemot before he went about the preliminaries of taxation. It is not unlikely, however, that in practice the assent of the Witan was less or more of a formality varying according to the weakness or strength of the king. A strong king’s will would dominate the Witan, whereas a weak king would be subservient to its desires and interest.

In order to arrive at a clear comprehension of the taxing power of the Witan as compared with that subsequently exercised by the English Parliament, The Witenagemot and its powers it is essential that one understands the make-up of the Anglo-Saxon body. As its name implies, the Witan was an assembly of the wise. Its organization was not based upon the ownership of land, nor was there any rule held to undeviatingly which prescribed qualifications for membership. Generally speaking it was composed of the king and his family, who were known as the Athelings; the national officers, both ecclesiastical and civil, a group which included the bishops and abbots, the ealdormen or chief men of the shires, and the ministri or administrative officers; and finally, the royal nominees, men who are not comprehensible in the above classes, but who recommended themselves to the king by reason of unusual or expert knowlege.[12] It is observable, then, that this assembly was by the nature of its composition aristocratic. That it was not representative in the modern sense of the term is as readily apparent. With certain restrictions the official members—the bishops, ealdormen, the ministri—were coÖpted by the existing members, while the remainder were either present by right of birth or invited to attend by reason of peculiar attainment. Nevertheless, the Witenagemot was commonly believed to be capable of expressing the national will. It had the power of electing the king and the complementary power of deposition, and exercised every power of government, making laws, administering them, adjudging cases arising under them, and levying taxes for the public need.[13]

Such in brief was the body which in 991 assented to the levy of the Danegeld. The act was of great importance; by it the Witan both exercised a right which was not to be vindicated in its completeness for the space of seven hundred years, but it laid a trap for those who, in the time of Charles the First, should be struggling for the attainment of that right, for in their action lay the precedent which the Stuart lawyers should warp into a pretext for the levy of ship-money.