In these last paragraphs we have been speaking of averages struck for large spaces; but if we come to some particular districts we shall have the greatest difficulty in allowing 120 acres to every teamland. This is the case in southern Cambridgeshire. In that county Domesday’s list of vills is so nearly the same as the modern list of parishes that we run no great risk in comparing the ancient teamlands with the modern acreage vill by vill, if we also compare them hundred by hundred. The general result will be to make us unwilling to bestow on every teamland a long-hundred of acres. One example shall be given. The Whittlesford Hundred[1472] contains five vills and we can not easily concede to it more land than is now within its boundary. In the following table we give for each vill its modern acreage, then the number of its teamlands, then the result of multiplying that number by 120.
Whittlesford Hundred.
| Sawston | 1884 | 10 | 1200 |
| Whittlesford | 1969 | 11 | 1320 |
| Duxford | 3232 | 21[1473] | 2520 |
| Hinxton | 1557 | 16[1474] | 1920 |
| Ickleton | 2695 | 241⁄2 | 2940 |
| The Hundred | 11337 | 821⁄2 | 9900 |
In two cases out of five we have already come upon sheer physical impossibility. But let us suppose some rearrangement of parish boundaries and look at the whole hundred. We are giving it 9900 acres of arable and leaving 1437 for other purposes. Then we are told of ‘meadow for’ 37 teams and this at the rate usual in Cambridgeshire[1475], means 296 acres, so that we have only 1141 left. On this we must place the sites of five villages, houses, farmyards, fourteen water-mills, cottages, gardens. Probably we want 250 acres at least to meet this demand. Not 900 acres remain for pasture. The dominical flocks and herds were not large, but the lords were receiving divers ploughshares in return for the pasture rights accorded to the tenants and in some of the vills there was not nearly enough meadow for the oxen of the villeins. It is difficult to believe that 87 per cent. of a Cambridgeshire hundred was under the plough, and that less than 8 per cent. was pasture. However, we know too little to say that even this was impossible. In the twelfth century we read of manors in which there is no pasture, except upon the arable field that is taking its turn of idleness[1476]. We must remember that this idle field was not fallowed until the summer[1477]; also we may suspect that much that was not corn grew on the medieval corn-land.
The hides of Domesday.
Saddened by our encounter with the teamlands (B)—and our last word about them is not yet said—we turn to the hides, carucates and sulungs (A). With a fair allowance for errors we feel safe in believing that the total number mentioned by Domesday Book falls short of 70,000—and yet time was when we spoke of 60,000 knight’s fees of 5 hides apiece[1478]. Let us then recall once more those tales of taxation that are told by the chronicler[1479]. If Cnut raised a geld of £72,000, then, even if we allow him something from those remote northern lands which William’s commissioners did not enter, the rate of the impost can hardly have been less than a pound on the hide. We are not told that he raised this sum in the course of a single year; but, even if we suppose it spread over four years, it is a monstrous exaction, and we can hardly fancy that in earlier days the pirates had waited long for the £24,000 or £30,000 that were the price of their forbearance. And yet, as already said, our choice seems to lie between believing these stories and charging the annalist with reckless mendacity. Hereafter we shall argue that some ancient statements about hidage, even some made by Bede himself, deserve no credit; but it is one thing for a Northumbrian scholar of the eighth century to make very bad guesses about the area of Sussex, and another for a chronicler of the eleventh to keep on telling us that a king levies £21,099 or £11,048 or the like, if these sums are wildly in excess of those that were demanded. As to the value of money, the economists must be heard; but it is probable that the sea-rovers insisted on good weight[1480], and when in the twelfth century we can begin to trace the movement of prices, in particular the price of oxen, they are not falling but rising. However, we have already said our say about the enormity of the danegeld.
Relation between hide and teamland.
We are now to investigate the ‘law’ of A and its relation to B. We shall soon be convinced that we are not dealing with two perfectly independent variables. There will often be wide variations between the two; A may descend to zero, while B is high, and in some counties we shall see a steady tendency which makes A decidedly higher or decidedly lower than B. And yet, if we look at England as a whole, we can not help feeling that in some sense or another A ought to be equal to B, and that, when this equation holds good, things are in a condition that we may call normal. Perhaps, as we shall see hereafter, the current notion has been that the teamland should be taxed as a hide if it lies in a district where a teamland will usually be worth about a pound a year. But for the time we will leave value out of account, and, to save words, we will appropriate three terms and use them technically. When A = B, there is ‘equal rating’; when A > B, there is ‘over-rating’; when A < B there is ‘under-rating.’ We shall find, then, that in many counties there are numerous cases of equal rating. Thus in Buckinghamshire we count
| cases of under-rating | 136 |
| cases of equal rating | 102 |
| cases of over-rating | 115 |
In Lincolnshire we may find an unbroken series of fourteen entries each of which gives us an instance of equal rating[1481]. In both Lincolnshire and Yorkshire such cases are common, but, while in Lincolnshire over-rating is rare, in Yorkshire under-rating is very rare. Fewer are the over-rated than the under-rated counties; but there are some for which the figures can not be given, and, as immense Yorkshire is set before us as much over-rated, the balance must be nearly redressed. But further, we may see that the relation between A and B is apt to change somewhat suddenly at the border of a county. The best illustration is given by the twin shires of Leicester and Northampton, the one over-rated, the other grossly under-rated. Another good illustration is given by the south-western counties. Wiltshire is heavily over-rated; Dorset, as a whole, very equally rated; Somerset decidedly under-rated, while when we come to Devon and Cornwall we enter a land so much underrated that, had we only the account of these two counties, the assumption that is implied in our terms ‘under-rated’ and ‘over-rated’ would never have entered our heads.