Two Sides of the Same Coin: Microhistory, Micropolitics, and Infrapolitics in Medieval Archaeology

3.1 Foundation Rituals

Santa Lucía is an isolated medieval chapel in Labastida on the banks of the River Ebro in a landscape dominated by vineyards in the region of La Rioja Alavesa (the Basque Country). The present-day church (Figure 2) is a multi-layered construction, since its apse and the beginning of the nave were built in the eleventh–twelfth centuries, while the rest of the building has been transformed and rebuilt in several historical periods. The study of the written documentation and the open-area archaeological excavation undertaken have allowed us to observe a long occupational sequence that began in recent prehistory. After a long hiatus, the site again became of interest in the early Middle Ages, giving rise to the village of Torrentejo (small stream). In the tenth–eleventh centuries, a church was built associated with an aristocratic building perpendicular to the slope, in a context dominated by a dense network of local lords. In 1075, King Sancho IV of Peñalén donated the half of the village with the church of Santa María de Torrencillo to the San Millán monastery, specifying the boundaries it had at the time (Becerro Galicano Digital [doc. 597]: www.ehu.eus/galicano/id597). The monastery then tried to buy other properties in the village to become the largest local proprietor. Once it had reached this position of dominance, it undertook the reconstruction of the village church. The orientation of the new house of worship was altered, while the old one remained partially in use while the head of the new monastic church was being built. Converted into a parish church, it has remained as the last testimony of the village following its depopulation in the late Middle Ages.

Figure 2

Santa Lucia of Torrentejo (Labastida, Álava).

A surprising discovery was made during the excavation. A “structured deposit,” which has been interpreted as a foundational deposit, was found about 2 m south of the church façade (Figure 3). It consisted of two holes at the circulation level inside which two small earthenware jars had been carefully placed. In the first of them, covered with another fragmented ceramic form, a complete juvenile chicken was found; the second was inverted, and an eggshell was recovered. The archaeological context is contemporary with the reconstruction of the church and can be interpreted as a ritual foundational deposit.

Figure 3

Excavation of the foundational deposit, Santa Lucia of Torrentejo (Labastida, Álava).

This is not an isolated find in the context of the Basque Country. Similar deposits have been identified in several localities. They correspond to the foundation of town walls (Vitoria-Gasteiz, Salvatierra), the transformation of another church (Zaballa), and the probable foundation of a domestic building (Mavilla, Estabillo). The foundational deposits that provide for the deposition below the floors of animal remains or bird sacrifices are well known in other European contexts from various historical periods (Belarte & Valenzuela Lamas, 2013; Gilchrist, 2012). However, it is striking that in medieval Iberia they have only been identified to date in the Basque Country.

Two interpretations have been proposed to explain this kind of find. On the one hand, it has been suggested that this type of structured deposit should be related to the well-known propitiatory or foundational sacrifices that were common during the Roman period (Sánchez Rincón, 2012). Regardless of whether it is a survival from the past or the reworking of an ancient cult, the cultural horizon would have been given by the memory of antiquity.

A second interpretation aims to link these deposits with practices of popular religiosity, suggesting the coexistence of official and popular rituals within Christianity. The weak strengthening of ecclesiastical authorities in the Basque Country would have allowed the development of ritual practices that did not follow the official liturgy (Grau-Sologestoa, 2018).

However, neither explanation is satisfactory because they both aspire to attribute these “structured deposits” to a specific category or cultural genealogy to provide them with a framework of intelligibility according to the categories and concepts of Modernity thought. However, when undertaking this exercise, other dimensions of the rituality of premodern societies are left aside, in particular, the performative and significant nature of the foundation ritual (Bruck, 1999). On what occasions were these acts carried out? In what spatial and social contexts? Taking into account the features of the deposits and the associated archaeological contexts, as well as their repetitive and standardised nature, it could be thought that we are looking at participated practices attended by an audience that recognised and bestowed certain meanings on the rite. These deposits have been found in potentially conflicting sociopolitical contexts given that the realisation of the new architectures significantly transformed the spatial and social order of the local community. In the case of Torrentejo, the reconstruction of the church by the San Millán monastery, nullifying the previous place of worship, represented much more than an architectural reform. It was a sign and an instrument of domination of the local community in a critical period for San Millán. It is no coincidence that in those same years, the Becerro Galicano (1185) was produced, at the time when the situation of the monastery was most vulnerable (Peterson, 2008). But it is also the result of the monastery’s expansionist policy the village, which ended up becoming the main property owner and source of authority.

In the case of Zaballa, the transformation of a private church into a parish church was another critical moment in its history and, in general, for the local community (Quirós Castillo, 2012). Likewise, the construction of a walled enclosure in previously inhabited places, as in the case of Vitoria-Gasteiz or Salvatierra, involved an appropriation of urban space, but above all, the formation of political communities that resorted to rituals that generated a shared social memory. The case of Mavilla is much more ambiguous due to the small area excavated.

In summary, these foundation rituals must be understood as symbolic struggles aimed at generating symbolic capital through public acts that define social life. As P. Bourdieu pointed out, the legitimation and maintenance of social order is only sometimes the result of a net imposition through the use of force and is also a daily symbolic struggle for the production of common sense (Bourdieu, 1988).

3.2 Taking of Possession Rituals

On 4 October 1615, a strange ritual was held in the old chapel of Nuestra Señora de Arganzón, a church founded a thousand years ago near the royal villa of La Puebla de Arganzón (Burgos). On that day, Paulino de Gordojuela, curate of the town and representative of the bishop of Calahorra y La Calzada, and Juan Fernández de Antezana, mayor of La Puebla, took the general minister of the Franciscan province of Cantabria, the friar Juan de Domaica, by the hand and entered the chapel. Then, the friar closed the doors of the church and, after remaining inside for a time, opened them again to welcome all the people who had come to this taking of possession ritual. Next, a mass was held, the Holy Sacrament was placed in a silver monstrance on the altar, and Juan de Domaica himself gave the keys of the church to Friar Antonio de Zornoza, who from then on would be in charge of Santa María. A little later, the Franciscan minister went to drink water from the fountain near the chapel; he walked to the source of the stream that fed the fountain where there was a boundary stone and there he sat in front of the attendees. In this way, Fray Juan de Domaica took possession of the Arganzón chapel and its property to establish a Franciscan convent. Arganzón was a village founded in Late Antiquity and subsequently abandoned. Only the church with an annexed building was preserved, as well as some land, all within an enclosure.

We know of this ritual because it was recorded in a written document included in a file kept in Calahorra Cathedral Archive.^[1] Among other texts, the file includes the deed by which the Arganzón chapel was purchased to find the monastery, the donation made to the Franciscan friars, and the conditions in which the sale was made. Noteworthy among the conditions was the commitment on the part of the Franciscans to welcome the residents of La Puebla de Arganzón who annually made a pilgrimage to the old chapel where they held litanies and other religious ceremonies. It was a significant place for the local community and was part of its locative identity. Likewise, the file contains a statement from the bishop of Calahorra himself in which he recalled that the Arganzón spring belonged to him and that when he passed nearby in his litter he always stopped to drink because the water was very cool. Reading between the lines, we find ourselves looking at a property, an early medieval chapel, a place, the depopulated village of Arganzón, and a cohesive artefact charged with meaning for the local community, which was changing ownership. This change in ownership constituted a potential stressor of the established order and shared memories. Therefore, a whole series of ritualised practices were set in motion to legitimise the transfer of ownership, the taking of possession, and the maintenance of certain rights for the people of the locality. The confirmation that it was a potentially conflicting situation can be seen in other documents kept in the same archive. They describe the way in which the processions were carried out on the occasion of the Arganzón pilgrimage, the desire to move the monastery to a position closer to the town of La Puebla de Arganzón, and the request for resources to expand and modify the monastery.

The archaeological excavation of the last monastery church and the cloister built in the seventeenth century and transformed in the eighteenth showed that the fears were well founded. Although at first the medieval chapel was used as the centre of worship for the new religious community, later a new ground plan was built. Consequently, the old medieval church was deconstructed both physically and symbolically (Figure 4). In addition, the fountain was reconstructed monumentally in the eighteenth century as part of the reform of the convent by order of the friars themselves (Figure 5).

Figure 4

Deconstructed convent church of Arganzon (La Puebla de Arganzón, Burgos).

Figure 5

Postmedieval fountain of Arganzón village (La Puebla de Arganzón, Burgos).

About 40 km to the east of Arganzón is the medieval town of Maeztu (Arraia-Maeztu). Another document, this time dated 28 November 1179, recalls how the domina Teresa donated to the Cathedral and the bishop of Calahorra her house in Puente de Maeztu, which had been converted into a hospital. She also donated a granary, an orchard, the times assigned for the use of a mill and other rights. The text records how the bishop, in the presence of numerous witnesses, accepted the offering and went to the hospital where Teresa had him enter physically and take possession of it, following the local custom (et fecirum dominum eius et possesorem ut sepe dictum est secundum consuetudinem terre) (Rodríguez de Lama, 1979, n. 272, pp. 49–50). In this case, the archaeological surveys have not revealed the place where the hospital was built, although we know it was close to the chapel and the San Juan bridge, which was rebuilt in 1785 (Azkarate Garai-Olaun & Palacios Mendoza, 1996).

These documents suggest that this type of ritual was common in the taking of possession. They were ceremonies carried out publicly following customary norms. Having said that, since both documents clearly record the donation and the taking of possession, why was it necessary to resort to unwritten means of communication? In the event of disputes or conflicts, we know that the evidentiary instruments used in lawsuits were precisely the texts. If it was such a widespread practice, why are these rituals only occasionally found in preserved documents? Why are some taking of possession rituals described in detail and others only generically? Unlike the numerous texts that narrate the foundation of a place of worship, a monastery or other constructions in which the formula “built with my own hands” was used rhetorically (Larrea & Viader, 2005, pp. 200–202), in takings of possession they describe specific acts with precision.

Few studies have made this type of takeover ritual. However, a review of those most relevant from the medieval and modern periods in Iberia allows us to identify some general trends (Puñal Fernández, 2002). First of all, its presence in the written documentation is always minimal. In a study carried out on 25,000 early medieval Catalan diplomas, only five described taking of possession rituals (Rodríguez-Escalona, 2021). Second, the documents that transcribe taking of possession rituals are present in practically all the historical periods for which we have documentary records of a certain entity. The oldest known examples on the Iberian Peninsula are from the eleventh century, although there are testimonies in late medieval and modern notarial protocols, monastic funds, and other types of sources throughout the Middle Ages and the post-medieval period (Beceiro Pita, 2009; Monsalvo Antón, 2015; Oliva Herrer, 2002; Puñal Fernández, 2002; Rodríguez-Escalona, 2021; Sánchez Sánchez, 2019). Third, their geographical distribution is very widespread, as they have been found in Andalusia, Catalonia, Castilla, Galicia, the Basque Country, as well as Latin America (Smietniansky, 2016). Fourth, although some features are repeated, there are many variants or differences determined by various factors. Taking possession of a house could include lighting the fire, opening and closing the door, walking around the new acquisition, handing over the keys, soil from the ground or straw from the roof, the proclamation of the new possession spoken out loud, etc. (Puñal Fernández, 2002; Rodríguez-Escalona, 2021). In the case of land appropriation, several practices have been documented that symbolise the carrying out of agricultural work: setting boundaries with signs or markings, marking the boundaries with a plough, cutting vine shoots, pulling up grass or stones, etc. The taking of physical possession of the property, the tour of the new property, and the exclusion of the former owners constitute the basic lexicon found in different periods and places. Also, the transfer of the property has its own ritualisation, which can include the symbolic transfer through a ring, a wooden stick, a bell rope, or the keys (Rodríguez-Escalona, 2021). In summary, the repertoire of gestures and practices is wide, but they are all performed in public, reinforced through orality, and understood by local communities. Fifth, the degree of detail with which these rituals are described is different. Sometimes an almost anecdotal reference is made to the ritual, while in cases like that of Arganzón they adopt a very explicit narrative form. In the sixth place, these ceremonies that integrate gestures, oral speeches, and collective participation do not replace or diminish the importance of the written document. The preparation of a document is in itself a public act (Barrett, 2023) that is carried out at the conclusion and as closure of the whole process.

On the other hand, it must be considered that not all takings of possession have given rise to a written document and that there are also gradations in terms of the degree of detail with which the rite and the oral speech were transcribed/transferred to written memory. So why did this action only sometimes take place? I believe it was a resource that was activated in the event of conflict – potential, latent, or evident – between different agents.

Consequently, taking of possession rituals constitute a complex rhetorical mechanism that integrates different communicative languages destined to generate legitimacy in contexts of negotiation and potential contestation of rights. The microhistorical approach reveals, in short, that it was not enough to have the legal backing of the written text, but that it was also necessary to weave memories and consensus into symbolic and spatialised universes, even if they were contingent and tactical (Torre, 2011).

3.3 Micropolitics and Foundation and Taking of Possession Rituals

Foundation and taking of possession rituals are two forms of micropolitics aimed at producing legitimacy, building balances, and generating consensus between conflicting interests and social groups. Foundation rituals and takeovers are two forms of micro-politics aimed at producing legitimacy, building equilibrium, and generating consensus among opposing interests and social groups. Although written proofs were the instruments used in medieval and modern courts, political action unfolded on different scales and through different mechanisms that were not mutually exclusive.

The archaeological study of ritualism is a controversial subject, both because of the ontological difficulty in overcoming the Western opposition between ritual and everyday life (Bruck, 1999), ritual and ceremony (Groot, 2008), and because of the tendency to attribute a ritual meaning to those records that are not easily understood (Merrifield, 1987).

Taphonomic approaches to ritual have also not been lacking (Groot, 2008). However, in recent years, there has been a large increase in archaeological and historical studies that have addressed the social meaning of ritual in social life by resorting to anthropological approaches, especially in Scandinavia and the Anglo-Saxon sphere (Pluskowski, 2011).

According to the anthropologist Stanley Jeyaraja Tambiah, “ritual is a culturally constructed system of symbolic communication. It is made up of patterned and ordered sequences of words and acts, often expressed in multiple media, whose content and arrangement are characterised in varying degrees by formality (conventionality), stereotypy (rigidity), condensation (fusion) and redundancy (repetition). Ritual action in its constitutive features is performative in these three senses” (Tambiah, 1985, p. 128). As a communication instrument, by definition rituals are participatory acts directed at audiences who not only attend the ritual and recognise the message and the meaning of the signs but also participate in the ritual by attributing values and building custom and habitus. In other words, ritual is not just communication, but also a powerful mechanism for constructing reality and creating social relationships. In the words of C. Bell, “ritualisation, as a strategic mode of action, is concerned with power and the legitimation of social order” (Bell, 1992, p. 170). From this perspective, when trying to define their circumstances and meanings in terms of social practices, it is not so important to determine whether these rituals have their roots in the Roman world or in certain traditions or forms of religiosity.

These approaches can be applied to both foundation and taking of possession rituals. However, there are important differences between the two, at least regarding the performative process. In material terms, the foundation rituals analysed are more visible because they involve making “structured deposits.” But in turn, they have no textual translation and are therefore invisible in the historical documentation. This is due to the fact that the symbolic capital generated in the participated ceremony is immediately transferred to the new architecture, so that there is a direct association between the act and the result. Instead, in the case of a taking of possession this transfer occasionally occurs. Is it a mechanism for reinforcing the message or a multilayered communication mechanism, in the sense that it targets a diversity of social groups? As a starting point, it would have to be argued that gesture, speech, and writing take on different functions throughout the process, which is not limited to the rite itself. Thanks to the donation of the Maeztu Bridge Hospital, we know that rituals, in their performative dimension, were part of local customs. Although the oral and gestural messages may be indispensable, this is not the case with the written message. And although the bias dependence on written evidence when it comes to the history of past societies places other communication mechanisms in a secondary role, this context forces us to resituate the production of the written record at a subordinate level with respect to gestures and orality. The rituals are aimed, first of all, at an audience for which micro-politics are effective and assertive. In other words, micropolitics articulated through rituals are potent mechanisms in the creation of social memories (Fentress & Wickham, 1992). Once the act of taking possession is finalised, the production of a written record enters the scene. It marks the conclusion of the ceremony by generating formal legitimation instruments that are intended to be used in other instances. In this respect, the recourse to writing does not aim to reinforce the meaning of the ritual, as some authors have pointed out (Puñal Fernández, 2002), since it operates on other levels of legitimacy and application. Gestures and speaking generate memories, traditions, and experiences that are powerful instruments for promoting social peace.

In summary, foundation and taking of possession rituals aim to rework, sanction, and negotiate social relations. The recourse to a diversity of communication mechanisms and forms of sanctioning these rituals illuminates blind spots of social life that are only occasionally reflected in material or written records. Nevertheless, they are of remarkable importance for understanding the mechanisms by which social life is organised.

4.1 Poaching

Zornoztegi is a village situated on an elongated hill on the eastern plain of Álava. The site was occupied continuously from the late Roman period to the thirteenth century (Figure 6). After that it was progressively abandoned and by the fifteenth century, it only had one inhabitant. The excavation of this deserted village has provided a detailed account of a non-hierarchical peasant community (Quirós Castillo, 2019). While it is true that it has been possible to recognise social differences within the local community, especially from the eighth century on, they have never been substantially relevant. The wealthy peasants had a lifestyle and material culture very similar to that of their neighbours. This conclusion has been obtained by studying some of the records found during the open-area excavation. In particular, it is worth focusing on the archaeozoological remains because they provide information, not only about dietary patterns but also, above all, about the activities that were carried out in the village and the characteristics of the local economy. As is common at historical sites, three species are best represented: cattle, pigs, and sheep/goats. The study of cattle slaughter patterns shows the predominance of adult and elderly specimens, which leads to the belief that most of the cattle were raised as work animals. The sheep and goats were also mostly adult individuals and were raised to produce wool, milk, and other secondary products. Pigs, on the other hand, reveal different types of patterns. But what draws our attention is the presence, in very small numbers, of red deer and roe deer. Peasants occasionally hunted deer between the late Roman period to the late Middle Ages.

Figure 6

Zornoztegi deserted village (Salvatierra, Álava).

Among the different forms of infrapolitics that James C. Scott mentions most frequently, poaching is one of the most widespread mechanisms among peasant societies. Hunting has been in the Middle Ages a mechanism of identity construction of the elites, so that there are numerous rules that exclude and pursue poaching (Morales Muñiz, 2001). Thus, the medieval provides a golden opportunity to evaluate the importance of poaching as a form of hidden resistance by the weaker members of society. The study of archaeozoological remains found in villages and peasant settlements constitutes, therefore, a procedure to identify poaching. And in this case, the rubbish reveals hidden practices.

Despite the fact that hunting and fishing were considered important economic activities for people of different social statuses in the medieval period, there is a growing consensus that considers hunting and the consumption of major wild species a characteristic of high status (Loveluck, 2013). Some surveys carried out in Britain (Sykes, 2015), France (Clavel & Yvinec, 2010), and Italy (Salvadori, 2015) revealed the paucity of wild animals in the different assemblages. Furthermore, these surveys challenged some of the previous historical accounts that defended the importance of forests and uncultivated spaces during the early Middle Ages, after the collapse of the Western Roman Empire. Studies by scholars such as M. Montanari on the diet of early medieval societies had argued that game was part of the diet of all social groups. Large game hunting (deer, wild boar, and roe deer) would have been reserved for the dominant groups, although it was a “community affair” as a socialising moment that brought together all the inhabitants (Montanari, 1979). However, F. Salvatori has shown that the consumption of wild animals (deer, wild boar, hares) never exceeded 1 or 2% of all Italian contexts between Late Antiquity and the late Middle Ages. Furthermore, there is a correlation between high-status sites and the consumption of wild species. Indeed, it can be argued that large game hunting constituted a critical instrument in the identity construction of medieval aristocracies and nobility (Salvadori, 2015).

The studies carried out on the archaeozoological remains found in the rural villages, high-status sites, and small towns of Alava (Basque Country) close to Zornoztegi confirm this trend (Grau Sologestoa, 2019). Normally, the percentage of wild animals rarely exceeds 1% of the number of identified specimens found. There are, however, some exceptions. At Aistra, a high-status site, there is a large presence of deer and roe deer, especially in the sixth- to seventh-century phase, when they account for more than 5% of the total. Although this data is to be expected, bearing in mind that traces of collective feasting have been found in this aristocratic enclave (Quirós Castillo & Reynolds, 2023), the values found in other villages are more striking. Particularly noteworthy is the discovery of wild animals such as deer and roe deer in the early medieval village that preceded the founding of the small town of Salvatierra. Also, in the medieval village of Zaballa, the percentages are considerably above the average between the eighth and fifteenth centuries, including the consumption of deer (Quirós Castillo, 2012). In general, however, in almost all the rural villages excavated to date in Álava, wild animals (Grau-Sologestoa, 2015) have been recovered in greater or lesser quantities. Taking these data into account, it can be suggested that poaching of large animals was widespread among rural villages in the medieval period in Alava, as the rest of Iberia (Morales Muñiz & Morales Muñiz, 2001). Although not a frequent activity, it was undertaken by the peasants. James C. Scott’s observations have shown that poaching was understood by the peasantry as a form of symbolic and ideological dissidence by coming into possession of what was denied to them (Scott, 1990).

In summary, although peasants had access to forest resources, wild animals played little part in their diet. Nevertheless, poaching was frequent in the medieval period in Iberia.

4.2 Hiding the Crops: Underground Silos

In the early medieval period, the domestic spaces of the depopulated areas of Zornoztegi or Zaballa consisted of individual domestic units that contained buildings, enclosures, and open spaces that could be interpreted as intensively cultivated market gardens (Figure 7). However, one of the most visible elements in all these villages was an area within the domestic space in which several pits of different characteristics and sizes were concentrated. These have generally been identified as grain-pits. Without a doubt, the presence of globular or cylindrical holes excavated in the rocky substrate is one of the most common features of the rural settlements of Iberia and other places in the Mediterranean (Sigaut, 1978). Their presence is so frequent and their visibility in excavations so evident that they have become one of the main themes in the study of ancient agrarian practices.

Figure 7

Medieval silos of Zaballa (Iruña de Oca, Álava).

Having said that, they are difficult artefacts to interpret. First, because they had generally been re-filled with domestic waste, as they were reused as a rubbish dump. Therefore, inferring their original function is not easy. In fact, not all pits were silos designed for the anaerobic storage of cereals, nor were silos the only means of storing cereals, fruits, and other foods in the past. Second, they were abandoned precisely when they were no longer able to maintain their anaerobic conditions because they had been altered to the point that they could not be closed hermetically. Therefore, it is difficult to estimate the dimensions and characteristics of the pits when they are in use. Third, due to their polyfunctional and polysemous nature, they are not easily traceable through the mechanisms and instruments generated by the central powers. In addition to the dimensional criterion, and the location of these silos in relation to domestic structures or other constructions has made it possible to propose a diversity of readings. Some authors have considered that certain types of silos constituted a mechanism in the hands of the peasantry to mitigate the systemic risk of pre-industrial agriculture, storing grain reserves to face years of scarcity. On other occasions, the presence of large silos in castles, churches, and other places in the hands of the elites has led to the belief that they would have been instruments for storing income with which to speculate and take advantage of the lean years. Sometimes they have been related to phases of agricultural growth at a time when an increase in their size is noted. At other times, they have been linked to commercial practices. In Iberia, most medieval silos are associated with domestic units and individual buildings, but in Languedoc, “silo fields” were set up for the entire community to share their management and risk. Furthermore, several ethnoarchaeological projects carried out mainly in the Maghreb have recovered important information about the use of these grain pits in contemporary times (Alonso et al., 2017). Fourth, there is a profound asymmetry between the numerous silos found in archaeological excavations and their paucity in written documentation. In donations, sales, or acts recorded in medieval texts, references to barns and granaries are more common than those that mention silos. And furthermore, they appear in the hands of peasants or farmers. This is the case, for example, of the donation made by Alvaro Díaz and his wife Sancha of their bodies and souls to the monastery of Valpuesta in the year 1132, which included a threshing floor, a well, a land, and a silo (Ruiz Asencio, Ruiz Albi, & Herrero Jiménez, 2010, n. 168, pp. 401–404).

Now, perhaps the grand paradox of grain pits lies in the fact that, on the one hand, they constitute the most visible entity in archaeological excavations, to the point that it is believed that more than 80% of the early medieval rural sites in Iberia could have been characterised thanks to the finds of silos (Vigil-Escalera Guirado, 2013). On the other hand, they are practically invisible in written documentation. But they were also invisible when they were in use. The fact that they were underground and located in certain parts of the villages has led to the belief that storage in silos by the peasantry allowed part of the crops to be hidden. Ethnoarchaeological evidence has confirmed this behaviour on several occasions (Ouerfelli, 2013).

In summary, it is not intended to argue that poaching and all grain pits empowered the peasantry in terms of infrapolitics, and in fact, the silos established around churches were mainly there for visibility (Roig Buxó, 2013), and under certain circumstances, wild animals might be hunt by commoners. Nevertheless, in some cases, underground storage could have favoured those concealment practices (Tejerizo García & Carvajal Castro, 2021).

In other words, we do not have to look for a specific artefact or archaeological record that defines subaltern infrapolitics, but rather we should understand in terms of their practices and agency the conditions in which certain features favoured these forms of active resistance.