Perhaps in the first place we shall think of what German writers call Freizügigkeit, the power to leave the master whom one has been serving. This power our ancestors would perhaps have called ‘fare-worthiness[125].’ If the master has the right to recapture the servant who leaves his service, or even if he has the right to call upon the officers of the state to pursue him and bring him back to his work, then we may account this servant an unfree man, albeit the relation between him and his master has been created by free contract. Such unfreedom is very distinct from rightlessness. As a freak of jurisprudence we might imagine a modern nobleman entitled to reduce by force and arms his fugitive butler to well-paid and easy duties, while all the same that butler had rights against all the world including his master, had access to all courts, and could even sue for his wages if they were not punctually paid. If we call him unfree, then freedom will look like a matter of degree, for the master’s power to get back his fugitive may be defined by law in divers manners. May he go in pursuit and use force? Must he send a constable or sheriff’s officer? Must he first go to court and obtain a judgment, ‘a decree for specific performance’ of the contract of service? The right of recapture seems to shade off gradually into a right to insist that a breach of the contract of service is a criminal offence to be punished by fine or imprisonment. Then, again, there may seem to us to be more of unfreedom in the case of one who was born a servant than in the case of one who has contracted to serve, though we should note that one may be born to serve without being born rightless. More to the point than these obvious reflections will be the remark that in the thirteenth century we learn to think of various spheres or planes of justice. A right good in one sphere may have no existence in another. The rights of the villeins in their tenements are sanctioned by manorial justice; they are ignored by the king’s courts. Here, again, the ideas of freedom and unfreedom find a part to play. True that in the order of legal logic freedom may precede royal protection; a tenure is protected because it is free; still men are soon arguing that it is free because it is protected, and this probably discloses an idea which lies deep[126]:—the king’s courts, the national courts, are open to the free; we approach the rightlessness of the slave if our rights are recognized only in a court of which our lord is the president.
The thirteenth century will also supply us with the notion that continuous agricultural service, service in which there is a considerable element of uncertainty, is unfree service. Where from day to day the lord’s will counts for much in determining the work that his tenants must do, such tenants, even if they be free men, are not holding freely. But uncertainty is a matter of degree, and therefore unfreedom may easily be regarded as a matter of degree[127].
Then, again, in the law books of the Norman age we see distinct traces of a usage which would make liber or liberalis an equivalent for our noble, or at least for our gentle. The common man with the wergild of 200 shillings, though indubitably he is no servus, is not liberalis homo[128].
Lastly, in our thirteenth century we learn that privileges and exceptional immunities are ‘liberties’ and ‘franchises.’ What is our definition of a liberty, a franchise? A portion of royal power in the hands of a subject. In Henry III.’s day we do not say that the Earl of Chester is a freer man, more of a liber homo, than is the Earl of Gloucester, but we do say that he has more, greater, higher liberties.
Therefore we shall not be surprised if in Domesday Book what we read of freedom, of free men, of free land is sadly obscure. Let us then observe that the villanus both is and is not a free man.
The villein as free.
According to the usual terminology of the Leges, everyone who is above the rank of a servus, but below the rank of a thegn, is a villanus. The villanus is the non-noble liber homo. All those numerous sokemen of the eastern counties whom Domesday ranks above the villani, all those numerous liberi homines whom it ranks above the sokemen, are, according to this scheme, villani if they be not thegns. And this scheme is still of great importance, for it is the scheme of bót and wer. By what have been the most vital of all the rules of law, all these men have been massed together; each of them has a wer of two hundred shillings[129]. This, we may remark in passing, is no trivial sum, though the shillings are the small Saxon shillings of four pence or five pence. There seems to be a good deal of evidence that for a long time past the ox had been valued at 30 pence, the sheep at 5 pence[130]. At this rate the ceorl’s death must be paid for by the price of some twenty-four or thirty oxen. The sons of a villanus who had but two oxen must have been under some temptation to wish that their father would get himself killed by a solvent thegn. Very rarely indeed do the Leges notice the sokeman or mention liberi homines so as to exclude the villani from the scope of that term[131]. Domesday Book also on occasion can divide mankind into slaves and free men. It does so when it tells us that on a Gloucestershire manor there were twelve servi whom the lord had made free[132]. It does so again when it tells us that in the city of Chester the bishop had eight shillings if a free man, four shillings if a serf, did work upon a festival[133]. So in a description of the manor of South Perrott in Somerset we read that a certain custom is due to it from the manor of ‘Cruche’ (Crewkerne), namely, that every free man must render one bloom of iron. We look for these free men at ‘Cruche’ and see no one on the manor but villani, bordarii, coliberti and servi[134]. Of the Count of Mortain’s manor of Bickenhall it is written that every free man renders a bloom of iron at the king’s manor of Curry; but at Bickenhall there is no one above the condition of a villanus[135]. Other passages will suggest that the villanus sometimes is and sometimes is not liber homo. On a Norfolk manor we find free villeins, liberi villani[136]
The villein as unfree.
For all this, however, there must be some very important sense in which the villanus is not free. In the survey of the eastern counties he is separated from the liberi homines by the whole class of sochemanni. ‘In this manor,’ we are told, ‘there was at that time a free man with half a hide who has now been made one of the villeins[137].’ At times the word francus is introduced so as to suggest for a moment that, though the villein may be liber homo, he is not francus[138]. But this suggestion, even if it be made, is not maintained, and there are hundreds of passages which implicitly deny that the villein is liber homo. But then these passages draw the line between freedom and unfreedom at a point high in the legal scale, a point far above the heads of the villani. At least for the main purposes of Domesday Book the free man is a man who holds land freely. Let us observe what is said of the men who have been holding manors. The formula will vary somewhat from county to county, but we shall often find four phrases used as equivalent, ‘X tenuit et liber homo fuit,’ ‘X tenuit ut liber homo,’ ‘X tenuit et cum terra sua liber fuit,’ ‘X tenuit libere[139].’ But this freeholding implies a high degree of freedom, freedom of a kind that would have shocked the lawyers of a later age.
Anglo-Saxon ‘freeholding.’