Young King Henry, Part 3

When Henry II of England crowned his son, Young King Henry, as a co-ruler, he could not have predicted that the son would attempt to overthrow him rather than wait until the father died on his own. The younger had been given little authority of his own originally, but after the rebellion he was given more autonomy. This gave him the funds he wanted to travel about with William Marshal, attending tournaments and making a name for himself.

For some reason, however, Henry had a falling out with William in 1182. A contemporary historian who knew William wrote a biography of him, in which he suggested that the problem was William having an affair with young Henry's queen, Marguerite of France. Henry's sending his wife back to France in 1183 might support this notion, but a modern historian thinks he did this just to keep her safe because he was starting another family war.

Young Henry demanded the Duchy of Normandy be handed into his care. This would give him a strong revenue stream. His father kept Normandy, but agreed to increase his son's household budget. Frustrated, young Henry demanded his brothers Richard and Geoffrey pay homage to him for their lands (Aquitaine and Brittany, respectively), since he would be their king some day. Richard refused, but Henry made alliances with some of the barons in Aquitaine who did not like Richard. War broke out, with Henry senior joining Richard to defend Aquitaine.

While young Henry was pillaging monasteries for funds to pay mercenaries in June 1183, he came down with dysentery. Seeing that he was dying, he received last rites on 7 June. On his deathbed, he sent word to his father that he wished to be reconciled. Henry senior would not come to see him personally—an overabundance of caution told him it might be a trap—but he sent a ring in token of his forgiveness. Young Henry died on 11 June, clutching the ring.

His body was carried to be entombed at Rouen Cathedral (see illustration). He had run out of money, and his funeral procession had to rely on charity as they traveled. His mother, Eleanor of Aquitaine, lobbied with others to have him declared a saint. The Archdeacon of Wells even wrote a sermon stating that there were miraculous happenings around the funeral escort as it traveled. Nothing came of this.

Despite his patricidal leanings, he was considered a good and charismatic figure. Gerald of Wales called him "admirable for gentleness and liberality... had a commendable suavity... commended for his easy temper... remarkable for his clemency." The Occitan troubadour Bertran de Born called him "the best king who ever took up a shield." Bertran even joined Henry in the war against Richard. What could a troubadour bring to the fray? Well, he was also a baron, and we will learn more about him next time.

Louis, Eleanor, Annulment

King Louis VII of France had a problem. His clever and wealthy wife, Eleanor of Aquitaine, was really getting on his nerves. On the Second Crusade, she contributed to a blunder that cost thousands of French lives, and they argued over whether to stay ion Antioch and help her uncle, Raymond of Poitiers, or go to Jerusalem. Louis also (according to Odo of Deuil, eyewitness to the Crusade) suspected her of an improper relationship with her uncle, although that may simply have been because the Aquitainian culture was far more emotional and expressive than the Capetians.

She had also not been able to deliver a son and heir, although after 13 years they had two daughters. With their relationship severely strained after the Crusade, Louis sought a way out of the marriage. For that, Louis turned to Beaugency, an important town at a crossing of the Loire.

Beaugency, coincidentally, had been the site where another royal marriage was a topic: in 1104, Philip was excommunicated by the first Council of Beaugency because he had put away his first wife, claiming se was too fat, so he could abduct and marry another man's wife. The Second Council of Beaugency was called in 1152 to find a way to get Louis out of his marriage to Eleanor. Abbot Suger had been an advocate of the marriage, but after his death in 1151, Bernard of Clairvaux's view that the two were too closely related became an issue.

Also in 1151, Henry, Count of Anjou, became the new Duke of Normandy and went to Paris to pay his respects to his liege lord, Louis. Historians such as Walter Map, Gerald of Wales, and William of Newburgh all suspected that something, some spark happened between the 18-year-old Henry (future king Henry II of England) and the 30-year-old Eleanor that also might have contributed to Eleanor wanting to be released from the marriage.

The archbishops of Reims, Bordeaux, and Rouen attended the Council, presided over by Archbishop Hugues of Orléans. Archbishop Samson of Reims represented Eleanor (who was there, as was Louis).

They settled on annulment on the grounds of consanguinity. Sure, they had a common ancestor, Robert II of France (c.972 - 1031), but that was a long way back and didn't prevent the marriage in the first place. But here they were, looking for a reason, and being third cousins once removed, however distant it seemed, was sufficient. The marriage was declared null and void. Eleanor did not object. Their two daughters were declared legitimate, since the couple had married in good faith. Louis gained custody of the daughters. Aquitaine would remain Eleanor's possession.

One would think that the attractive and wealthy Eleanor would be glad to be free from the stiff and monk-like Louis. She was, however, an attractive and wealthy woman, which in 1151 did not allow her independence and agency. Believe it or not, her life was in peril. I'll explain tomorrow.

William FitzAldhelm, Governor of Ireland

The illustration is a 19th century portrayal of King Henry II of England in Waterford, greeting the Irish delegates whom he intended to place under his rule. Of course he could not be everywhere and preferred to stay in England, so he gave the administration of Ireland over to Anglo-Norman nobles. One of these was William FitzAldhelm (or FitzAdelm, or FitzAudelin, or FitzAldelm).

His family had come over with William the Conqueror in 1066. When Henry II's 1171 attack on Ireland proved successful, Henry sent FitzAldhelm and Hugh de Lacey to receive the allegiance of the King of Connaught, Rory. FitzAldhelm was put in charge of the city of Wexford, but when the Lord of Leinster, "Strongbow" (Richard de Clare, 2nd Earl of Pembroke), died in 1176, FitzAldhelm was made Henry's deputy over the whole of Ireland and ward to the earl's daughter Isabel (one of the wealthiest heiresses in Wales and Ireland).

Unfortunately for FitzAldhelm, Henry was working out how to use his sons to control his Angevin Empire. His youngest, John, was soon to be a teenager, and Henry named John the Prince of Ireland a mere year after FitzAldhelm's rule over the island, leaving FitzAldhelm Wexford and Leinster. As it turns out, however, FitzAldhelm was once again put in charge of Ireland in 1181 as Henry's dapifer ("steward").

Around that time he founded the monastery of St. Thomas theMartyr at Dublin, a monastery of Dromore, and the Abbey of Athassel in Tipperary.

Gerald of Wales gives us a description of FitzAldhelm: 

This FitzAdelm was large and corpulent, both in stature and shape, but of a reasonable height. He was a pleasant and courtly man; but whatever honours he paid to any one were always mingled with guile. There was no end of his craftiness - there was poison in the honey, and a snake in the grass. To outward appearance he was liberal and courteous, but within there was more aloes than honey.

He died in 1204/5 and was buried at the Abbey of Athassel.

How did all this come about? The taking of Ireland, I mean; it wasn't just a matter of Henry saying "Here I am; bow down." Tomorrow we'll take a look at what the Anglo-Norman Invasion of Ireland involved, and what the pope and the Irish Church thought of it.

Prince John in Ireland

Prince John (24 December 1166 - 19 October 1216) had been made Lord of Ireland by his father, Henry II, in the 1177 Council of Oxford. He took a tour of Ireland in the second half of 1185 as a first step to creating a Kingdom of Ireland as part of the Angevin Empire. 

John may have had reason to be bitter from the start. His father had sought the pope's blessing to declare John King of Ireland, but Popes Alexander III followed by Lucius III were not in agreement, so John went as "Lord" instead of his hoped-for title "King." He arrived in Waterford with 300 knights and numerous soldiers and archers in April 1185, which of course caused anxiety among the Irish who saw an army rather than a diplomatic mission.

We have Gerald of Wales to thank for details*: his Topographia Hibernica tells how John was greeted by several Gaelic Irish leaders whose long beards made John and his men first laugh and then abuse the Irish by yanking their beards. On his tour through Ireland, he promised land grants to his retainers, further angering the locals.

His supposed goal of setting up administrative structures to maintain Anglo-Norman rule was a failure. He alienated the Irish, he ran out of money to pay his men (and lost some through desertion as well as in battles against Irish forces), and he had little or no skill as an administrator. His opposition in Ireland was not all Irish, either. Hugh de Lacey was an Anglo-Norman baron who had been made Lord of Meath by Henry years earlier. John complained to Henry that de Lacey prevented John from collecting tributes from the Irish leaders. This may well be true: Lacey had established a firm presence, and John's ham-handed approach to Ireland was disrupting a comfortable, pre-existing arrangement.

The Lord of Meath was not to remain a problem for John, however: he was killed a year later by an Irishman, Giolla Gan Mathiar Ó Maidhaigh. John was immediately sent back on hearing the news to take possession of de Lacey's lands.

It is unlikely that the Anglo-Norman plan to take over Ireland would ever be considered a positive event, but John's feckless attitude on his first tour certainly was not beneficial. Of course, there was already an Anglo-Norman presence (Hugh de Lacey, for example). In fact, there was already an Anglo-Norman "Lord" of Ireland, appointed by Henry years earlier but replaced by John at the Council of Oxford. His name was William FitzAldhelm, who was actually sitting at the Council of Oxford when Henry announced John's appointment to replace William. I'll tell you about him tomorrow.

*The illustration is from a copy of the Topographia: it shows the killing of a white mare that is then made into a stew in which the new king bathes before his courtiers eat the stew. (I wouldn't make this up.)

Instruction of Princes

The British Library contains a unique manuscript, acquired from the Cotton Library, labeled Cotton Julius B XIII. It is the sole known copy of Gerald of Wales' De principis instructione ("Instruction for a Ruler").

Writing Mirrors for Princes was a fairly common theme in the Middle Ages and Renaissance—there was a strong desire for educated men to offer advice to those that would grow up to rule them. There also exists a work by a Carolingian mother, Dhuoda, who wrote a guide specifically for her son.

Gerald draws on other works besides his own experience. He quotes the Bible, Gildas, and the Itinerarium Regis Ricardi ("Journey of King Richard") an account of Richard Lionheart on the Third Crusade.

Gerald had plenty of knowledge of how royals acted as well as strong opinions on how they should. He accompanied young Prince John on a tour of Ireland in 1185. The 19-year-old Prince of Ireland was clearly in need of instruction. Gerald's assessment of John and his brothers makes clear that John's excellence was expected as a future attribute, as opposed to his brothers' already existing admirable qualities.

This is not a generic guide promoting good behavior, but a history of specific incidents in recent history. For example, he clearly lays out as exemplary behavior how Henry II so wisely negotiates with other countries, takes advice from popes and prelates, and tithes to finance the Third Crusade. He lays out the problems when Henry's sons rebelled. He also talks about other rulers, such as Barbarossa "taking the Cross." He also offers negative examples, such as deceptions perpetrated by the enemy during the Crusades, and the rebellions of Henry's sons.

And speaking of negative examples, just how bad was Prince John during the tour through Ireland? How big an impression did he make on the country he was handed? We have a bad opinion already of the time he was king, but how bad was he as a prince? Let's visit John and his first expedition to Ireland next time.

Gerald and Henry's Sons

Gerald of Wales (c.1146 - 1223) wrote about Henry II and his sons, giving a different facet to the most prominent figures in England at the time. One of his character descriptions is of a man who was Henry II's son, his namesake, and his enemy: Henry the Young King, who rebelled against his father. Although Henry tried to usurp his father's throne, Gerald paints an admirable portrait of him:

In peace, and in private life, he was courteous, affable gentle, and amiable, kindly indulgent to those by whom he chanced to be injured, and far more disposed to forgive than to punish the offenders. His disposition was so good that he could never refuse to give anything that was fitting, thinking that no one ought to leave his presence sorrowful, or disappointed of his hopes. In short, he considered that he had lost a day when he had not secured the attachment of many by various acts of liberality, and bound them to him, body and soul, by multiplied favors conferred.

This amiable and generous nature changed when it was time for war:

When in arms and engaged in war, no sooner was the helmet on his head than he assumed a lofty air, and became impetuous, bold, and fiercer than any wild beast. His triumphs were often gained more by his valor than by fortune; and he was in all respects another Hector, son of Priam, except that the one fought on behalf of his father and his country, and the other, alas! was led by evil counsels to fight against both.

Henry's second son, Richard the Lionheart, did not fare so well in Gerald's eyes:

Different as were the habits and pursuits of the two brothers, sprung from the same stock and the same root, each has merited everlasting glory and endless fame. They were both tall in stature, rather above the middle size, and of commanding aspect. In courage and magnanimity they were nearly equal; but in the character of their virtues there v as a great disparity. One was admirable for gentleness and liberality, the other distinguished himself by his severity and firmness. The one had a commendable suavity, the other gravity. One was commended for his easy temper, the other for his determined spirit. One was remarkable for his clemency, the other for his justice. The vile and undeserving found their refuge in the one, their punishment from the other. One was the shield of bad men, the other the hammer to crush them. The one was bent on martial sports, the other on serious conflicts. The one bestowed his favours on foreigners, the other on his own people; the one on all the world, the other on the worthy only. The one's ambition magnanimously compassed the world; the other coveted, to good purpose, what was rightfully his own.

Geoffrey (prince of Brittany) and John (Prince of Ireland), get less attention; John especially seems to get the "we hope he will rise to the excellence of his brothers" treatment:

The Armorican-British and the Irish dominions proclaim the well-merited praises of the two others. Both of them were of rather short stature, a little below the middle height, and for their size were well-shaped enough. Of these, the one is already distinguished by his virtues, and has attained the highest honours; the other will. The one is well versed in military affairs; the other has to be instructed in them. ... The one is already great in action, the other leads us to expect he will be great; for not degenerating from his high origin, he has equaled his most noble brothers in worth as far as his powers admit.

Later in life, Gerald spent his time writing and making a few trips to Ireland and Rome. Some of his works were devotional instruction, but he did write a text designed to advise princes how to act. (I am tempted to think he wrote this because of his time spent with Prince John.) We'll take a closer look at his advice tomorrow.

Itinerary Through Wales

Gerald of Wales (c.1146 - c.1223) provided us with extensive information on Ireland and Wales and England of his time. Serving several Plantagenet kings, he traveled in their service and wrote about what he saw and was told. Two of his several works were the Descriptio Cambriae ("Description of Wales") and the Itinerarium Cambriae ("Itinerary Through Wales"). He claims fairness in his treatment of the subject of his homeland, splitting the Descriptio into two parts, first the virtues of the Welsh, then their vices.

His writing for the Itinerarium through Wales is also better informed than his Topographia of Ireland, since he spent a little time in only a few Irish locations and gathered stories from men he deemed "reliable." He was more familiar with Wales, and he did in fact have an itinerary (see the illustration).

This tour took place while he was accompanying the Archbishop of Canterbury in 1188, preaching to raise a Third Crusade. Gerald writes the Itinerarium almost like a daily journal, recording sights and experiences as he came across them, so it is a more reliable account of day-to-day life in Wales in the last years of the 12th century, and the remnants of Roman Britain:

We went through Caerleon, passing far away on our left Monmouth Castle and the great Forest of Dean, which is across the Wye, but still on this side of the Severn, and which supplies Gloucester with venison and iron ore. We spent the night in Newport. We had to cross the River Usk three times. 

Caerleon is the modern name of the City of the Legions. In Welsh ‘caer’ means a city or encampment. The legions sent to this island by the Romans had the habit of wintering in this spot, and so it came to be called the City of the Legions. Caerleon is of unquestioned antiquity. It was constructed with great care by the Romans, the walls being built of brick. 

You can still see many vestiges of its one-time splendour. There are immense palaces, which, with the gilded gables of their roofs, once rivalled the magnificence of ancient Rome. They were set up in the first place by some of the most eminent men of the Roman state, and they were therefore embellished with every architectural conceit. There is a lofty tower, and beside it remarkable hot baths, the remains of temples and an amphitheatre. 

All this is enclosed within impressive walls, parts of which still remain standing. Wherever you look, both within and without the circuit of these walls, you can see constructions dug deep into the earth, conduits for water, underground passages and air-vents. Most remarkable of all to my mind are the stoves, which once transmitted heat through narrow pipes inserted in the side-walls and which are built with extraordinary skill. [Chapter 5]

But then comes the less reliable (but no less interesting) detail (especially since he says "in our days"):

It is worth relating that in our days there lived in the neighbourhood of this City of the Legions a certain Welshman called Meilyr who could explain the occult and foretell the future. He acquired his skill in the following way. One evening, and, to be precise, it was Palm Sunday, he happened to meet a girl whom he had loved for a long time. She was very beautiful, the spot was an attractive one, and it seemed too good an opportunity to be missed. 

He was enjoying himself in her arms and tasting her delights, when suddenly, instead of the beautiful girl, he found in his embrace a hairy creature, rough and shaggy, and, indeed, repulsive beyond words. As he stared at the monster his wits deserted him and he became quite mad. He remained in this condition for many years. Eventually he recovered his health in the church of St David’s, thanks to the virtues of the saintly men of that place. 

All the same, he retained a very close and most remarkable familiarity with unclean spirits, being able to see them, recognizing them, talking to them and calling them each by his own name, so that with their help he could often prophesy the future.

The story does not end there. He offered numerous instances of Meilyr's ability to see and speak to devils and demons and learn things from them.

Despite the more fanciful anecdotes, as a record of daily life among the Welsh and Normans, it is a valuable account for modern historians.

As I mentioned, he served several Plantagenets, and we'll take a look at what he thought of Henry II and his sons before we move on. See you tomorrow.

Funny Ireland

The Topography of Ireland by Gerald of Wales seems to have been designed to paint the Irish as an ungovernable, crude people in need of conquering, but it is also a collection of fanciful stories of what Gerald "saw" there, but of course were tales told to him by the Hibernians.

"I am aware that I shall describe some things that will seem to the reader to be either impossible or ridiculous.  But I protest solemnly that I have put down nothing in this book the truth of which I have not found out either by the testimony of my own eyes, or that of reliable men found worthy of credence and coming from the districts in which the events took place."

One of his tales about flora and fauna includes the explanation of the barnacle goose.

Another is of the bearded woman (see illustration):

Duvenald, king of Limerick, had a woman with a beard down to her navel, and also, a crest like a colt of a year old, which reached from the top of her neck down her backbone, and was covered with hair. The woman, thus remarkable for two monstrous deformities, was ... in other respects had the parts of a woman; and she constantly attended the court, an object of ridicule as well as of wonder. The fact of her spine being covered with hair, neither determined her gender to be male or female; and in wearing a long beard she followed the customs of her country, though it was unnatural in her. [Chapter 20]

He also tells the story—and this may have the ring of truth—of an island that appears and disappears:

One calm day, a large mass of earth rose to the surface of the sea, where no land had ever been seen before, to the great amazement of the islanders who observed it. Some of them said that it was a whale, or other immense sea-monster; others remarking that it continued motionless, said, "No, it is land". In order therefore to reduce their doubts to certainty, some picked young men of the island determined to approach near the spot in a boat. When however, they came so near to it that they thought they should go on shore, the island sank in the water and entirely vanished from sight. The next day it re-appeared, and again mocked the same youths with the like delusion. At length, upon their rowing towards it on the third day, they followed the advice of an older man and let fly an arrow, barbed with red-hot steel, against the island; and then landing, found it stationary and habitable. [Chapter XII]

The beginning of the story makes one think it will turn into another anecdote of Fastitocalon, but the tales of St. Brendan make me think it is possible that the seafaring Hibernians sailed far enough westward and northward to see a volcanic eruption forming an island, as the 20th century saw the new island of Surtsey form off the southern coast of Iceland.

Gerald had a more kindly attitude toward his homeland of Wales, and that will be our next topic.

The Topography of Ireland

This title is a joke, since Gerald of Wales' Topographia Hibernica ("Topography of Ireland") was mostly history.* It did include a map, seen here. To properly orient the map, you need to see it rotated 90° clockwise; the largest mass is England with Scotland at the top, the middle-sized mass is Ireland, and the small oval is Iceland.

Gerald visited Ireland twice between 1183 and 1186. Although his Welsh heritage put him at odds politically with the Norman kings of England, starting with Henry II, he was open to serving them in other matters. His trips to Ireland were official, serving the royal family as advisor. He used the experience to write two works on Ireland, the second being the Expugnatio Hibernica ("Conquest of Ireland"), the story of Henry's military campaign there. Both works were revised several times during Gerald's lifetime.

He did not travel extensively in Ireland, spending most of his time in Waterford and Cork during the time of the Topographia. Part one of this three-part work is about topography: landscaper, as well as flora and fauna. He is certainly describing things he has not witnessed personally, since he describes the Island of Inishglora, where corpses do not rot, and where you can find generations of people all in a state of perpetual "freshness."

However untrustworthy his descriptions of Ireland may be, the work served an English political purpose by painting a picture of the Irish as primitive and in "need" of governance:

The Irish are a rude people, subsisting on the produce of their cattle only, and living themselves like beasts – a people that has not yet departed from the primitive habits of pastoral life. In the common course of things, mankind progresses from the forest to the field, from the field to the town and to the social conditions of citizens; but this nation, holding agricultural labour in contempt, and little coveting the wealth of towns, as well as being exceedingly averse to civil institutions – lead the same life their fathers did in the woods and open pastures, neither willing to abandon their old habits or learn anything new. They, therefore, only make patches of tillage; their pastures are short of herbage; cultivation is very rare and there is scarcely any land sown. This want of tilled fields arises from the neglect of those who should cultivate them; for theirs are large tracts which are naturally fertile and productive.

Very few sorts of fruit-trees are found in this country, a defect arising not from the nature of the soil, but from want of industry of planting them;

There are also veins of various kinds of metals ramifying in the bowels of the earth, which, from the same idle habits, are not worked and turned to account. Even gold, which the people require in large quantities and still covet in a way that speaks [to] their Spanish origin, is brought here by the merchants who traverse the ocean for the purposes of commerce. They neither employ themselves in the manufacture of flax or wool or in any kind of trade or mechanical art; but abandoning themselves to idleness, and immersed, in sloth, their greatest delight is to be exempt from toil, their richest possession, the enjoyment of liberty.

The Topographia was considered justification for England's treatment of the Irish for centuries.

Before moving on, next time we'll look at some of the more colorful reports he made of Ireland.

*You can see the manuscript online at the National Library of Ireland here.

Gerald of Wales

Gerald of Wales (Giraldus Cambrensis, c.1146 - 1223) was a priest and a writer of history. That could be the introduction for many of the folk mentioned in this blog. Gerald was a bit different, however, in that he was the offspring of very prominent nobility and was employed by royalty for much of his life.

He was of both Norman and Welsh descent, a child of the conquerors and the conquered. Educated at the Benedictine house at Gloucester, he was employed by Becket's successor, Richard of Dover, and trusted to manage affairs in Wales such as abuses of consanguinity laws and Welsh church finances. After revealing the existence of a mistress of the archdeacon of Brecon, Gerald was appointed to replace him. The position had a small estate at Llanddew, allowing Gerald to collect tithes of wool and cheese.

His lifelong goal was to become Bishop of St. Davids in Pembrokeshire, Wales. When his uncle (then Bishop of St. David's) died in 1176, the chapter nominated Gerald. King Henry II rejected Gerald's appointment; he may have thought Gerald would be too independent—Wales was hoping to split from the authority of the Archbishop of Canterbury—and Henry had just got over the troubles he had as a result of Becket's martyrdom. Henry appointed a loyal Norman retainer, Peter de Leia. Gerald was also cousin to Rhys ap Gruffydd, a Welsh lord who was understandably hostile to Norman rule. Peter de Leia's relationship with Gruffydd was less than amiable, and Henry liked it that way.

Gerald's historical account includes this (possible) statement from Henry:

It is neither necessary nor expedient for king or archbishop that a man of great honesty or vigor should become Bishop of St. Davids, for fear that the Crown and Canterbury should suffer thereby. Such an appointment would only give strength to the Welsh and increase their pride.

Gerald consoled himself by leaving the country. He spent a year at the University of Paris, studying and teaching canon law and philosophy. In 1180, back in England and continuing to study theology, Bishop Peter de Leia offered him a minor position in the Bishop's household, which he at first accepted but shortly gave up.

Where he becomes of greater interest to modern scholars is in 1184 when he was asked by King Henry to mediate between the Crown and Rhys ap Gruffydd. After, he was sent with Prince John to Ireland, which led to his first important writing: Topographia Hibernica ("Topography of Ireland," although it was mostly history). Not long after he wrote Expugnatio Hibernica ("Conquest of Ireland"), the story of Henry's military campaign there. Both works were revised several times during Gerald's lifetime. 

This was the start of both his writing career and his work with several kings. We'll pick up with his map of Ireland—and how his writings were influential right into Tudor times—tomorrow.

The Barnacle Goose Myth

One piece of evidence that supported the idea of Spontaneous Generation in the Middle Ages was the case of the barnacle goose. (See the third part of the triptych to the left.)

The barnacle goose (Branta leucopsis*) is a diving bird that flourishes in England and Northern Europe. It weighs from about three to five pounds, and is quite edible. The "myth" part springs from a riddle in the Exeter Book.

My nose was in a tight spot, and I beneath the water,

underflowed by the flood, sunk deep

into the ocean-waves, and in the sea grew

covered with waves from above, my body

touching a floating piece of wood.

I had living spirit, when I came out of the embrace

of water and wood in a black garment,

some of my trappings were white,

then the air lifted me, living, up,

wind from the water, then carried me far

over the seal's bath. Say what I am called.

The answer is, of course, the barnacle goose.

The belief was that the goose, observed coming out of the water after a dive for food, was actually being birthed from the barnacle (see the middle illustration above) which was attached to the "floating piece of wood" of the riddle and whose coloring seemed to be a precursor to the markings of the goose. Barnacles were formed on pilings of docks that were underwater, and no one saw anything creating them, so they must have arisen spontaneously from the rot experienced by wood exposed to water. This matched the theories about Spontaneous Generation.

I alluded in yesterday's post that a pope got involved in a case of Spontaneous Generation. Because the barnacle goose was thought to come from a barnacle that generated underwater, they were fair game (ha!) during Lent. Giraldus Cambrensis (Gerald of Wales) recorded:

Bishops and religious men (viri religiosi) in some parts of Ireland do not scruple to dine off these birds at the time of fasting, because they are not flesh nor born of flesh... But in so doing they are led into sin. For if anyone were to eat of the leg of our first parent (Adam) although he was not born of flesh, that person could not be adjudged innocent of eating meat.

At the Fourth Lateran Council, Pope Innocent III forbade the eating of these geese during Lent, claiming that despite their generation they lived and fed like ducks and so were to be treated as other birds during Lent. (Was this the start of the phrase "If it walks like a duck and talks like a duck..."?)

There was also an idea that they could be born on trees (see the first part of the illustration). In Judaism, Rabbeinu Tam (1100 - 1171) declared that, even if born from trees, they were kosher and should be slaughtered properly like other animals.

I find that I have mentioned and quoted Gerald of Wales many times without giving him his due. We know a lot about his time period (late 12th - early 13th centuries) because of his reporting, which I'll talk about tomorrow. See you soon.

*Quick side note on the scientific name: branta is Latinized from the Old Norse Brandgás, "burnt (black) goose"; the Latin leucopsis = "white" + "faced."

High King of Ireland

There are two titles given to kings of Ireland: King of Tara, and High King of Ireland. These are not the same thing. "High King" was first used in the 9th century, although it was sometimes applied retroactively and anachronistically to figures of legend; "King of Tara" was first used in the 6th century, although retroactively applied to previous kings as well as legendary figures.

The Kingship of Tara is by far the older of the two, and does not necessarily denote ruling all of Ireland. It is associated with the Hill of Tara, a site that has been important since Neolithic times, with several Neolithic features including a passage tomb dated to 3200BCE, and a standing stone called the "Stone of Destiny" (brought to Ireland by the Tuatha dé Danann).

Possessing the Hill of Tara by conquering whichever tribe held it was a necessary step to claim this special kingship. In the 3rd century, the Laigin seized it from the Érainn; Niall of the Nine Hostages took it from the Laigin in the 5th century, after which it was possessed by the Ui Néill clan. 

The Hill of Tara is also associated with the title "High King." It is considered the place from which the High King rules, thanks to its legendary status. The High King of Ireland was also known as the "King of all Ireland," because unlike the King of Tara, the High King was one who united all the various kingdoms under one rule. Actually, "united" is probably too strong a word. The High King received tribute from the smaller kings, but did not directly rule their kingdoms. (With the rise of political and financial power in cities such as Dublin, Limerick, and Waterford, possessing those became more important after the 11th century.)

The King of Tara was a sacred title, and he "married the land" by having a marriage or a sexual relationship with a "sovereignty goddess" (a term found only in Celtic studies), Maeve. Gerald of Wales wrote that the would-be king sexually embraced a white mare, which was then slaughtered for a feast. Which brings us to Diarmait mac Cerbaill.

Diarmait mac Cerbaill is considered the last King of Tara to be part of the pagan ritual. Diarmait, however, also turned towards Christianity during his reign. I'll go into this dichotomy next time.

Medieval Werewolves

The European Middle Ages had plenty of werewolf stories, but they were notably different from what we portray about modern werewolves. Let's talk about some of the differences.

First, how does one become a werewolf? In the Middle Ages, it was not a curse passed along by the bite of a werewolf, but either placed on you by a spell, as in the story of William and the Werewolf, or a "lifestyle choice" by putting on a wolf skin. Gerald of Wales tells the story of a priest who encountered a werewolf couple in Ireland who needed last rites for the she-wolf. When the priest refuses, the wolf skin is opened like opening a coat to reveal an old woman.

In the tale of Bisclavret, we do not know how he became a werewolf, but he explains to his wife that he has to hide his clothes so that he can return to them after three days and become human again. In this situation, the werewolf "curse" is innate, and negated after the period is over by wrapping himself in his original human clothing.

The medieval werewolf also retained its human understanding, and did not simply become a ravenous wolf. When a werewolf in medieval tales attacks someone, it is out of a sense of revenge due to wrongs done to the human host. Bisclavret demonstrates this, and I will go into those details next time.

Regarding phases of the moon: Gervase of Tilbury tells the story of Chaucevaire, who transforms according to the phases of the moon; however, it is the dark of the moon, not the light of a full moon. The moon link may also be part of the werewolf condition in Bisclavret because he transforms without his own choice every week for three days. The author does not specify that there is a lunar link—especially since it is each week, not month—but three days is there length of time often attributed to the full moon. 

The word werewolf includes the Old English wer- meaning "man." In the Middle Ages, a werewolf is a man who becomes a wolf. Modern horror films often have werewolves, but in many cases they are larger and more monstrous-looking than ordinary wolves, often standing on two legs. For the Middle Ages, the werewolf literally became a wolf, indistinguishable from other wolves until it acted in ways that wolves would not act.

You will see this tomorrow in what is perhaps the best-known werewolf story from the Middle Ages.

To be Flemish

The term "Flemish" has been used since the 1300s to refer to a certain group of people. What does it mean to be Flemish?

The word "Flemish" was first seen in print c.1325 as flemmysshe, although Flæming had been around since at least 1150, meaning "from Flanders."  Flanders was originally a small territory around Bruges, established in the 8th century. Flanders now is the Dutch-speaking northern part of Belgium. The Flemings currently make up about 60% of the Belgian population.

Is there a Flemish language? The Flemish language is sometimes called Flemish Dutch, or Belgian Dutch, or Southern Dutch. In the illustration of Belgium to the left, the dark green area is where Dutch is spoken, the light green area is mostly French-speaking. (There is a small German area on the far right, and the lighter spot among the dark green is Brussels itself, where both Dutch and French have official status.

In 1188, Gerald of Wales (a historian mentioned, among other places, here) described the Flemings as:

a brave and sturdy people […] a people skilled at working in wool, experienced in trade, ready to face any effort or danger at land or sea in pursuit of gain; according to the demands of time and place quick to turn to the plough or to arms; a brave and fortunate people.

Gerald knew about them not because he traveled to the continent, but because many Flemings left Flanders due to population growth and the need for more land, many ending up in Scotland. In fact, the surname Fleming is fairly common these days, mostly because of Flemish families in Western Europe.

Flemings are even mentioned in the Peasants' Revolt of 1381, in a reference that raises its own set of questions, but we can talk about that tomorrow.

Arthur's Grave

In 1184, Glastonbury Abbey was devastated by a fire in the monastic buildings. A new Lady Chapel was consecrated in 1186, after which progress slowed down. Pilgrimages—and the donations they bring—had fallen off.

In 1191, however, an excavation on the grounds was undertaken, inspired by (we are told) information passed onto King Henry II from "an aged British bard." The excavation turned up a large flat stone. On the underside of the stone a leaden cross was attached. When the cross was detached, on the side facing the stone they found letters proclaiming Hic jacet sepultus inclitus Rex Arturius in insula Avallonia ["Here lies buried famous King Arthur on the Isle of Avalon"]. Several feet below this was found a large coffin made from oak containing a very large set of bones, along with a smaller set. These were understood to be Arthur and Guinevere.

Well, pilgrimages soared, of course. The relics and lead cross were put in the church; a few eyewitnesses mention them, but they are long vanished now. So...what was it about? Does anyone today really believe that King Arthur's bones were found under Glastonbury? If the king were involved, what was his return on the investment?

Arthur was considered a national hero, and legend said he would return in time of the nation's need. Henry wasn't British: he was the current monarch resulting from the Norman Conquest of Britain. He didn't even speak English. Some have suggested that his involvement was to discourage Welsh nationalism by showing that their legendary king was truly dead and would never return. I believed this for awhile, until I noticed the dates involved.

That idea doesn't quite fit history. The story that Henry had the clue to finding the body comes from Gerald of Wales, a historian writing a few years after the discovery. Interestingly, Henry had died two years prior to the excavation, so Gerald's suggestion that Henry got his information from that anonymous British bard seems spurious to me. It is more likely that the Abbey itself arranged this to increase attention and income.

Henry was a fascinating character in his own right, however, and worth looking at next time.

Not Made By Hand

17th century painted icon (ironically) representing
the "Not Made by Human Hands" tradition;
the Greek letters in the halo indicate that it
is an acheiropoieton.

Speaking of iconoclasm (as we just were in the post on the halo in art), did the Middle Ages or the Church have a position on images not made by hand? If images of the divine were blasphemous, how would one deal with Veronica's Veil, the cloth used by Veronica to wipe the face of Jesus while on his way to Golgotha? His likeness mysteriously appeared on the cloth. Was this not an icon, and proof that icons were acceptable to God?

To be honest, the early Middle Ages should not have had to deal with this dilemma, since the story of Veronica is not found in the Gospels and is not readily known until almost the 13th century. In fact, it is our old friend Gerald of Wales who first records anything in the West about the veil, which he says he saw on a pilgrimage to Rome in 1199. (Gerald is the first to point out that the name "Veronica" is Latin "vera+icon"; that is, "true+image.")*

Authentic or not, it was the start of a trend of cloths that showed the face of Jesus without having been made by human agency. Icons such as this had a name, Acheiropoieta, "not made by hands" (Greek ἀχειροποίητα).

Despite the "not made by hands" label, many items that fell into this category were made by human hands, so long as those hands were holy, or the subject was an acheiropoieton. Saint Luke was said to have painted a portrait of Mary when he visited her. If this image survived, it would be an acceptable icon. Also, human reproductions of Acheiropoieta were considered by some to be as sacred as the originals, and as acceptable in the face of the iconoclasm controversy.

An eastern Church Council of 836 declares certain items to be legitimate Acheiropoieta: the Image of Edessa, a square of cloth containing the face of Jesus; an image in Lydda (now Israel) of the Virgin that appeared miraculously on a pillar in a church; another image of Mary in Lydda that appeared in another church. Unfortunately, there was no Church Council of 836, and the document is considered fraudulent.

Acheiropoieta are usually considered to have miraculous properties. On the Island of Cyprus there is an Acheiropoietos Monastery, named so because of an Acheiropoieton that miraculously moved from Asia Minor in the 11th century to save itself from a Turkish invasion.

*To the Middle Ages, this was proof that the world is composed of patterns and symbolism. To later historians, this suggests that "Veronica" was an ideal name made-up expressly for this anecdote.

The Fighting Bishop

Tomb of Remigius, Lincoln Cathedral [link]

A "ship list" exists of the ships used by William of Normandy when he conquered England in 1066. It records who contributed the ship and in many cases the men and supplies aboard. One of the ships was provided by Remigius de Fécamp, a Benedictine monk.

The exact participation of Remigius is in dispute. According to the historian Henry of Huntingdon (c.1088 - c.1157), Remigius fought at the Battle of Hastings, bringing 20 knights along with his ship. Gerald of Wales, however, who thought so highly of Remigius that he tried to get him canonized as a saint (it never happened), said he only came along with 10 knights that were sent from the region of Fécamp.

His contribution must have been significant, because after the Conquest he was made the Bishop of Dorchester, which at the time was the largest diocese in England. But he had to continue "fighting": his ordination by Stigand, Archbishop of Canterbury was a point of contention when papal legates came to England in 1070 and pushed Stigand out of his office, also reversing the appointment of Remigius to Dorchester. Stigand's successor, Lanfranc, wouldn't touch the subject of Remigius' legitimacy, and Remigius had to travel to Rome in 1071 to seek forgiveness from Pope Alexander II and become "properly" re-appointed as a bishop.

Was there smooth sailing now that he was recognized as Bishop of Dorchester? Not quite. There were two archbishoprics in England—York and Canterbury—and each one claimed that Dorchester belonged in its territory and Remigius' loyalty was to that archbishop. Lanfranc and the Archbishop of York, Thomas of Bayeaux, appealed to Pope Alexander II who, even though he was a former pupil of Lanfranc's and held him in high esteem, refused to take sides, pushing the debate back to the king's council in England.

The council ruled that Dorchester (and Lichfield and Worcester, to which York also lay claim), belonged to Canterbury. Still, Thomas would occasionally ask for help from Remigius, such as during the consecration of the Bishop of the Orkney Islands. Remigius, not wanting to set a precedent that he "worked for" York, appealed to Canterbury to keep him away from the ceremony.

Remigius had a long and busy career, taking part in William's courts, and sitting on the commission that produced the Domesday Book. He died on 7 May 1092 and was buried in Lincoln Cathedral, where his bones, chalice, paten, and half of his crozier were recovered in 1927.

Robert Grosseteste

Robert Grosseteste (c.1170-1253) has been mentioned in several posts. His early life, beyond having been born into humble beginnings in Stowe, is unknown. One of our first notes about him is by Gerald of Wales (mentioned here), who recommended him in 1192 for a position in the household of the bishop of Hereford, William de Vere, because of Grosseteste's ability in liberal arts, canon law, and some medicine. He remained in de Vere's household until de Vere's death in 1198, after which Grosseteste drops out of the historical record almost completely.

We are sure he is the Robert Grosseteste who was appointed to the diocese of Lincoln in 1225 and concurrently as archdeacon of Leicester in 1229. The double-duties apparently made him ill within a few years, and he pared down to the position of canon in Lincoln Cathedral, and started lecturing in theology at Oxford on the side. According to Thomas of Eccleston, Franciscan chronicler for the years 1224-1258, Grosseteste joined the Franciscan school at Oxford around 1230.

Association with Oxford and reduced ecclesiastical responsibilities allowed him time for scientific theorizing and writing.

He began producing texts on the liberal arts, and mainly on astronomy and cosmology. His most famous scientific text, De luce (Concerning Light), argued that light was the basis of all matter, and his account of creation devotes a great deal of space to [...] God’s command, ‘Let there be light.’ Light also played a significant role [in] his epistemology, as he followed the teachings of St. Augustine that the human intellect comes to know truth through illumination by divine light. Grosseteste’s interest in the natural world was further developed by his study of geometry, and he is one of the first western thinkers to argue that natural phenomenon can be described mathematically. [source]

From De Sphera, on astronomy

For all his scientific interest, however, his first intellectual love was theology and the direction of the church. He clashed with the papacy several times, leading later scholars to try to label him an early Protestant. But correction is not insurrection (even though his influence can be seen in the writings of a true proto-Protestant, John Wycliffe). Now he is considered a valuable insight into the theology of his time, not a rebel.

There are 120 works attributed with confidence to him. They have not all been translated and examined yet. Focus has been on his theological and philosophical works, but many writings still exist only in manuscript form. His still-unedited scientific works may reinforce the current belief that he proves that pre-Renaissance scientific progress was further advanced than previously thought.

He died on 8 October, 1253, and was buried in a memorial chapel in Lincoln Cathedral.

Postscript: If you are curious about his Latin texts, seek
here.

A Note on Ireland

Anti-Irish sentiment has a long heritage. In the Middle Ages, Ireland was a target of Western Europe disdain for at least two reasons.

16th century map of Ireland.

Gerald of Wales (c.1146-c.1223), a royal clerk under King Henry II, accompanied Henry's son John to travel to Ireland in 1185. Gerald praised the land, but condemned the people:

They use their fields mostly for pasture. Little is cultivated and even less is sown. The problem here is not the quality of the soil but rather the lack of industry on the part of those who should cultivate it. This laziness means that the different types of minerals with which hidden veins of the earth are full are neither mined nor exploited in any way. They do not devote themselves to the manufacture of flax or wool, nor to the practice of any mechanical or mercantile act. Dedicated only to leisure and laziness, this is a truly barbarous people. They depend on their livelihood for animals and they live like animals.

This could have been an accurate account of what he saw, but could just as easily have been intended to provide justification for Henry's conquest of Ireland in order to gain for himself and his sons more lands and resources. Pope Adrian IV (the first Englishman to sit the Throne of Peter) had written a papal bull in 1155 called Laudabiliter;* it gave Henry permission to assume control over Ireland and apply Gregorian reforms.

...and that was the second reason for anti-Irish sentiment: Ireland needed to be brought into line doctrinally with the Roman Catholic Church. Catholic missions to Ireland (notably that of the Scotsman, St. Patrick) had introduced Christianity centuries before this. Christianity had survived in Ireland while it suffered in Britain due to invasion from Northern European pagan groups. But the Christianity restored in Britain afterward was closely tied to Rome, while Christianity in Ireland had developed its own practices and rituals.

Old habits are hard to break; "No Irish Need Apply" was not uncommon even in the second half of the 20th century, and Irish stereotypes and persecutions today are no new thing.

*The names of papal bulls don't always signify their topic; in this case, it is named for the opening word, which says (in English) "Laudably and profitably doth your Majesty consider how..." N.B.: scholars have argued for the last few centuries over the authenticity and authority of Laudabiliter, but for the present purpose, we can accept that it was very real for the 12th century.