The Scottish-English Border

The border separating England from Scotland almost became a little thicker last week, and this week is the anniversary of its creation, with the Treaty of York on 25 September 1237. The border had, not surprisingly, fluctuated over the years, but the Treaty of York effectively stopped Scotland's attempts to push south.

The Treaty itself was not a grandly historical moment—and historians often skip over it when discussing relations between the two countries—but the event is interesting because of the account by Matthew Paris and the relationship between the participants, King Alexander II of Scotland and King Henry III of England. The two of them worked well together when they had to; after all, Alexander had married Henry's sister Joan in 1221, and Alexander's sister had married Henry's former regent, the influential Hubert de Burgh.

But Matthew Paris (known for being less than objective or factual) made the Treaty far more interesting by lying about the signing. He had nothing good to say about Alexander, portraying him as uncivil and aggressive toward the attending papal legate, Otho, who had been invited by Henry. Supposedly, Alexander claimed that, since no papal legate had ever been to Scotland, he would not allow any papal legate to visit the country. This was untrue, since papal legates had visited Scotland under Alexander's grandfather, uncle, and father; Alexander himself had seen a papal legate earlier.

The Treaty did not end a vicious war or curtail a rebellion; in some ways, it merely ratified current conditions. Scotland gave up claims to Northumberland, Cumberland, and Westmorland, and gave up a debt of 15,000 silver marks owed to Scotland that had been given to King John. Scotland also forgave the breaking of promises to marry some of Alexander's sisters to prominent Englishmen. England, in turn, gave Scotland specific territories within Northumberland and Cumberland, with complete judicial control over actions within.

Both countries also ratified that previous treaties and agreements that did not contradict the Treaty of York would be honored.

All in all, the Treaty did not seem to do much, and yet unfulfilled aristocratic marriage promises, royal debts, and border disputes had been enough to cause war, or at least great hostility between nations. The document signed at York that day may well have prevented much strife that otherwise would have followed.

Scottish Independence...

...is a big topic these days. Today, in fact, Scotland is voting whether to stay in the United Kingdom or strike out on its own. If it did, it would be the 20th largest economy in the world, thanks especially to its top three imports. In order of their importance, they are oil, gas, and whiskey. Let's talk about the third one.

Lindores Whisky

Unlike wine, the fermented juice of grapes, whiskey is a distillation of fermented grain. Before the Common Era we find evidence of distillation in Babylon and Mesopotamia, originally for developing perfumes and medicines. We are not sure when and where the process was first adapted for drinking, but the Ancient Celts might have been using it to produce their version of the Latin aqua vitæ ["water of life"] for which their term was uisgebeatha or just uisge [pronounced "whiskey"].

Distillation of alcohol was done in 13th century Italy, using wine. Ramon Lull (1232 - 1315) even wrote about the process.

We think Christian monks brought the process to Ireland and Scotland between the 11th and 13th centuries, where the lack of grapes made it the best option for creating a strong alcoholic drink. The first recorded batch of Scotch whisky shows up in the Exchequer Rolls for 1494-95, granting eight measures of malt to Friar John Cor to make aqua vitæ. Friar John was a monk at Lindores Abbey in Fife. Irish whiskey was mentioned earlier: the Annals of Clonmacnoise in 1405 record the death of a chieftain from "a surfeit of aqua vitae" at Christmas.

The Dissolution of Monasteries (1536 - 1541) in Scotland by Henry VIII forced many monks into private production. Sad, because by this time Scotland was the world leader in production of whisky. Keep in mind, however, that whiskey at that time was not aged, and so was a very different drink from what we expect today.

You may also have noticed that I have spelled the word two ways. "whiskey" is the word used in Ireland and the United States; "whisky" is the spelling used in Canada, Scotland, and the rest of the world. Some U.S. brands use the e-less spelling despite this convention. "Scotch whisky" is whiskey made in Scotland. There is discussion these days about whether some Scottish distilleries would even move to England after independence in order to keep the same export policies and fees in place. We should know soon whether this will be an issue.

Clan Conflicts

Scotland was not always a unified country. Like most countries, it was a collection of tribes with their own loyalties and mutual enmity. Early Scotland had several Pictish kingdoms in the north, the Gaelic-speaking kingdom of Dál Riata covering the peninsulas in the west, and Alba to the southeast. Further south, in what was later called Northumberland, was the kingdom of Anglo-Saxons called Bernicia.

There was a lot of fighting, with borders shifting and territories captured and re-captured. Despite what the movies make of Scotland versus England, Scotland versus Scotland was more historically significant, as the country shaped itself through bloodshed. One of the most significant battles on the way to the future of Scotland was the Battle of Harlaw, fought over a large part of northern Scotland, the Earldom of Ross.

The dispute started with Euphemia Leslie, the Countess of Ross. She inherited Ross in 1402 upon the death of her father, Alexander Leslie, but was not in a position to keep it. She was persuaded to relinquish the Earldom to John Stewart, the Earl of Buchan and second son of Euphemia's grandfather (and therefore her uncle).

Euphemia's Aunt Mariota, her father's sister, had become the heir-presumptive when Euphemia first inherited. Seeing the Eardom go to someone else was upsetting, to say the least, and her husband Donald, Lord of the Isles, invaded Ross to take it for his own.

Donald captured Dingwall Castle and then marched on Aberdeen with 10,000 men, running into over a thousand men gathered to counter him, near Harlaw. In a battle that took place on 24 July 1411, Donald lost one-tenth of his forces and killed 500 of the enemy before giving up on Aberdeen.

The Battle of Harlaw was considered one of the most brutal in Scottish history, so much so that it was called "Red Harlaw."

Harlaw "settled" nothing, however. Within a year Ross had been re-taken by the forces of Euphemia's grandfather; then, in 1424 it was given to Mariota.

A ballad about the battle can be heard here.

Vikings & Coincidence

These may be the remains of Olaf Guthfrithsson

Not historical coincidence; recent coincidence. In the post on Vikings in Ireland, just a few days ago, Olaf III Guthfrithsson was mentioned; he had been King of Dublin from 934 until 941, and also had brief periods of rule in parts of England. One day after that post, imagine my surprise when I see an article with the title "Skeleton Discovered May Be Viking King Olaf Guthfrithsson"!

An archaeological excavation conducted in East Lothian (Scotland) in 2005 turned up the remains of a young adult male surrounded by artifacts that suggest he was very important. One of those artifacts is a belt whose clasp is clearly of Viking design.

Accurate identification of the skeleton is probably not possible, suggesting that the headline of the article was designed to generate more interest than the actual find deserves. Although modern forensic science can determine a lot from medieval bones (also coincidentally discussed in this blog in a recent post), the best opportunity for identification of a specific person is genetic comparison of DNA in the remains with known modern descendants. In this case, we have no descendants of Olaf from whom we can get DNA.

Even without positive identification of Olaf, however, the find is worthwhile, as explained by Fiona Hyslop, the Cabinet Secretary for Culture and External Affairs:

"This is a fascinating discovery and it’s tantalising that there has been the suggestion that this might be the body of a 10th century Irish Viking king. Scotland and Ireland’s archaeological communities enjoy a close working partnership, and this find and subsequent research is of particular interest to both, further emphasising the myriad ways in which the two countries’ histories are entwined."

St. Mungo

Today presents many opportunities to tie into previous posts. It is the date of the deaths of St. Rémy in 533, of Abbot Suger in 1151. It is the date of riots in Constantinople that destroyed half the city when the Blues and Greens fought, and the elevation of a new King of the Franks named Odo. Instead, however, let us talk about Kentigern, known to the Welsh as Cyndeyrn Garthwys, but whom the world now knows as Mungo.

Although he lived in the late 6th century, no complete biography exists before the 1185 version by the hagiographer Jocelyn of Furness. Jocelyn claims he used an Old Irish document; there is a manuscript  with a partial biography from the Cotton Library that might be what he refers to.

If we turn to Welsh geneaological tables from the Middle Ages, we learn that he was the son of King Owain of Rheged. If we are to believe Jocelyn, Owain raped a saint, Teneu, whose father then had her thrown from a hill in Lothian; she survived, fled to Fife, and there gave birth to Mungo.

In his twenties, Mungo started ministering in Strathclyde to those living in what is now Glasgow. Saint Ninian had already brought Christianity to the area, and he welcomed Mungo. An anti-Christian push by a later king prompted Mungo to travel to Wales where he spent time with Saint David (c.500 - c.589). Eventually, a new king in Strathclyde invited Mungo to return.

Mungo has some miracles to his name, such as reviving a dead pet robin and finding a fish in the River Clyde that had swallowed an important ring needed to prove the queen's fidelity to her husband.

Mungo is said to have died in his bath on 13 January (in either 603 or 612 or 614), now considered his feast day. He is the patron saint of Glasgow.

Thomas Arundel

Thomas Arundel, Lambeth Palace Collection

Let us talk about the "Worst Briton" of the 15th century, according to a 2005 poll of historians, and the man who may have been Chaucer's greatest enemy.

Thomas Arundel (1353-19 February 1414) was a well-born lad of 20 at Oxford when he was made Bishop of Ely. He showed no particular proclivity to the religious life (or the scholarly life, for that matter), but his father—who had considerable financial standing at the court of the increasingly feeble-minded Edward III—arranged it for his son. Ely was a very lucrative position, and Arundel might have been comfortable with it, but good and bad fortune were to follow.

The reign of Richard II, starting in July 1377, was tumultuous. The Peasants' Revolt, waves of the Black Death, financial excesses of the Crown, continuing tensions with France, and maybe just the fact that a France-raised child was now king—all these and more contributed to a general unrest in England. Parliament took steps to curb Richard's authority, creating several political crises as loyalists faced off against the elements of the aristocracy that wanted to increase their own power.

One of the elements that opposed the Crown was Arundel's brother, John FitzAlan, the 1st Baron Arundel. He helped get Thomas promoted to the prestigious position of Archbishop of York in 1388, and eventually pulled Thomas into the political intrigue, getting Thomas' support during a crisis of 1386-88. Thomas did his best to stay on Richard's good side, and succeeded to an extent: Richard even made him Archbishop of Canterbury in 1396, but then exiled him to Florence within a year when Richard had apparently regained enough power to take revenge against those who had opposed him in the 1380s. Richard got Pope Boniface IX to make Arundel the Bishop of St. Andrews in Scotland, a huge demotion.*

But how did any of this make Arundel into Chaucer's enemy?

In 1399, Henry Bolingbroke invaded England and attacked his cousin, Richard II, with the intent to take the throne from him. Arundel joined him, and upon Henry's ascendance to the throne as King Henry IV, Arundel once again became Archbishop of Canterbury, the most powerful prelate in the land. While Henry worked to reverse many of the political works of Richard's reign, Archbishop Arundel set about to change the moral climate of the realm, which he felt had become very slack.

To do that, he had to undo the damage to society perpetrated by two of his countrymen: John Wycliffe and Geoffrey Chaucer.

More on that tomorrow.

*And a huge problem, since the Avignon Crisis was going on at the time, and Scotland recognized the Avignon pope, not the Roman pope, who had already put his own Avignon-loyal bishop in St. Andrews. Boniface needed England's support against Avignon and was happy to help him in the Arundel matter.

Diplomat, Traitor, Victim?

Edward I receiving homage;
Lord Borchard de Herle is on the far right

Does a diplomat owe his loyalty to his monarch or his mission? Can they be different things? Would a career diplomat throw his future away by taking the other side of an issue? It happened at least once in history.

In Cornwall on 17 June, 1268, Borin and Helena de Herle had a son, Borchard. He had a difficult youth: there is a claim that his father was abusive to his sons; typhoid fever killed his father when Borchard was 12, and crippled his mother; at 17 he killed his brother (Leofric, who was 16) in a duel over their inheritance. At 18, Borchard left home to study law at Cambridge. The university education made him attractive to the crown, and at the age of 20 he became a diplomat under Edward I.

The role of a diplomat then was much the same as now: to represent your country in difficult dealings with other countries. He was sufficiently active in France that a book on the 13th century in France features him heavily. Closer to home, however, he made a political mis-step that would cost him his head.

In the century of Borchard's birth, conflicts between Scotland and England were numerous. Many wealthy Englishmen became landowners in Scotland, and treated the local Scottish workers poorly. Revolts of Scottish workers were common, and to one such revolt—in which English were taken hostage by the Scots—Borchard was sent to settle things. Arriving on 17 February, 1305, with authority to use force to end the problem, Borchard decided to take a different approach.

He negotiated with the captors to release the English hostages. Unfortunately for him, something motivated him to go further. He helped the Scottish peasants plan another rebellion that would result in the death of 10 English landowners; it was staged to look like they had gone against Borchard's advice and absolve him of responsibility.

Why did he do it? Did he promise them something else, like victory over the English in exchange for rewards to Borchard? Did they offer him some of the land? Did he "snap" because of an abusive father? We cannot know.

Returning to England on 29 March, his fortunes quickly went downhill. Another member of the diplomatic  mission, Henry de Bohun, reported Borchard's suspicious behavior to the king. These suspicions, and the second rebellion and deaths of Englishmen, gave Edward cause to declare Borchard a traitor. He was beheaded shortly after his return.

Tornado Surprise

Tornadoes usually form when masses of warm, moist air and higher altitude cooler air meet. The cooler air descends, the warm air ascends, and the action creates a vertical funnel of swiftly rotating air. The majority of tornadoes in the world are created in the North American mid-west, when cool air coming over the Rocky Mountains meets the warm air rising from the Great Plains. With these geographical features, North America has what is called "Tornado Alley." Without these geographical features, tornadoes have a more difficult time forming; when they do, they are usually very weak. In fact, in the 1000 years prior to the 20th century, only about 2 dozen tornadoes were recorded in all of Europe.

Artist's impression of St. Mary le Bow being destroyed

Which makes it all the more interesting to learn that a tornado—the earliest known in England and perhaps the biggest ever experienced by that country—hit London in 1091. Once again, London Bridge fell down. The church of St. Mary le Bow was flattened, and four of its 26-foot-long rafters were driven into the ground with such force that only 4 feet remained showing. Several other churches were damaged or destroyed, as well as 600 houses. Estimates of the force of the tornado seem foolish, but people have tried, and they rate it an F4 on the Fujita Scale (F0-F5), with winds at 200 miles per hour or more. If that is true, then it is truly remarkable that there were only two deaths reported.

A tornado like that hitting London now would be striking a city of more than 8 million, but in 1091 estimates for London's population range from as few as 10,000 to as many as 20,000. In October of 1091, actually, there were even fewer people in London than usual. Thanks to the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, we know that King William II was up north with his retinue and army fighting King Malcolm Canmore of Scotland (1038-1093). William prevailed, and was out of town when disaster struck. All things considered, it was probably the luckiest military campaign he ever undertook.

The Chronicle of Melrose

Melrose Abbey, on the Scottish border, mentioned in connection with St. Cuthbert, is historically significant for other reasons. Many Scottish kings are buried there, and a stone coffin found in 1812 under an aisle in the south of the abbey was speculated to be that of the "wizard" Michael Scot. And although Robert Bruce was said to have been buried in Dunfermline Abbey, his embalmed heart was supposedly buried on the grounds of Melrose, encased in lead.

The Abbey had a checkered history. Long after Cuthbert's time, it was damaged in 839. King David I of Scotland (1084-1153) wanted it rebuilt, but the Cistercians who would populate it picked a different site with more fertile land for farming. It was rebuilt and its church dedicated in 1146. In 1322, much of the Abbey was destroyed by Edward II of England (1284-1327). It was rebuilt by Robert the Bruce. In 1385 it was burned by the forces of Richard II of England (although he did grant them some money in 1389 in compensation). Rebuilding began again, but stalled. At the beginning of the 16th century, it still wasn't complete. That was probably just as well, since in 1544 the Abbey was again damaged by English forces attempting to force the marriage between Mary Queen of Scots and the son of Henry VIII. And of course, Oliver Cromwell felt the need to bombard it with cannon fire in the 1640s, even though it hadn't held a monk since 1590.

As well as majestic ruins and burial legends (and the ghostly monks said to walk the grounds), Melrose left us something else. Not directly though: it was found in the Cotton Library as Faustina B.x, and investigation traced its origin to Melrose.

Page for 1246, 1247, 1248

The Chronicle of Melrose has two sections. The first, covering from 735 until 1140 (the new founding), is a summary of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle and other works, including that of Roger of Hoveden. It adds nothing new to our knowledge. The second section, from 1140 until 1270, is unique. The handwriting changes over time, suggesting that it was added to contemporaneously by eyewitnesses, rather than compiled all at once like the first section.

As a singular Scottish viewpoint on events, it is invaluable. A 1263 battle between Norway and Scotland is part of a saga written by Icelandic historian Sturla Thordarson (1218-1284). The Chronicle of Melrose offers a second viewpoint from the Scottish side, confirming the fact of the conflict—if not precisely the same details. A series of mis-steps caused the Norwegian forces to cede valuable ground and, in deteriorating weather, they retreated. The monks' Chronicle puts it a little differently:

A.D.1263.  ... it was not man's power which drove him away, but the power of God which crushed his ships, and sent a pestilence among his troops. Such of them as mustered to engage on the third day after the feast of Michaelmas, God defeated and slew by means of the foot-men of the country. Thus they were compelled to carry off their wounded and slain to their ships, and to return home in more disgraceful plight than they had left it.

The Chronicle also gives us a list of deaths and promotions of abbots and lords and high-ranking laymen, radical weather and the appearance of comets, the ups and downs of political figures in Scotland and the northern English shires, and the earliest list extant of Scottish kings. It's another valuable tool in piecing together the complex history of the Middle Ages.

Treason

Nowadays, when the word "traitor" is used casually to refer to someone who has decided he likes "Hunger Games" better than "Harry Potter," and when Freedom of Speech tolerates numerous calumnies against political leaders, it is difficult to imagine the enormity of the charge of treason centuries ago. "Traitor" comes into English from the French traitour, which in turn is from Latin traditor, "one who hands over." It is directly connected in the medieval mind with Judas Iscariot turning over Jesus to the authorities.

If medieval kings were duly anointed and therefore had God behind them, betraying a king was akin to blasphemy. Only the harshest of punishments was suitable for treason: to be hanged, drawn and quartered; however, a woman was burnt at the stake (the quartering of her body would result in people seeing naked lady parts, and that was unacceptable in a civilized society), and nobles convicted of treason had the more genteel conclusion of beheading.

Edward III

The difficulty with treason was the flexibility of the charge. During the time of Edward III (1312-1377), the courts sometimes declared as treason crimes that others would consider mere felonies, or acts that infringed on the king's power. By this loose definition, gathering firewood in the king's hunting grounds could be prosecuted as treason. The Treason Act of 1351 clarified the position of the Crown and Parliament, splitting offenses into high and petty treason. Petty treason was the killing of your (non-king) superior, and was abolished in 1828.

High treason could be achieved by numerous actions:

• Killing (or planning to kill) the King, his wife, or his heir
• Violating the King's wife, the King's unmarried eldest daughter, the wife of the King's heir
• Warring against the King
• Providing aid and comfort to the King's enemies
• Counterfeiting the Great Seal or Privy Seal
• Counterfeiting English currency
• Killing an acting Chancellor, Treasurer, or a King's Justice

The Act took no chances, however, that new forms of treason would be thought of, and allowed for them in the future:

And because that many other like Cases of Treason may happen in Time to come, which a Man cannot think nor declare at this present Time; it is accorded, That if any other Case, supposed Treason, which is not above specified, doth happen before any Justices, the Justices shall tarry without any going to Judgement of the Treason till the Cause be shewed and declared before the King and his Parliament, whether it ought to be judged Treason or other Felony.

Changes have been made over the centuries. For instance, although the Treason Act of 1351 still holds in Scotland (because Parliament has not given Scotland the power to change it), it is no longer treason in England (as of 1861) to copy the Great Seal. Also, counterfeiting was reduced to a felony in 1832.

Occupy (Medieval) London! Part 4 (of 5)

June 12th

Wat Tyler and thousands of middle- and lower-class followers reached Blackheath by June 12th, and heard John Ball's famous sermon. Stirred with egalitarian fervor, they marched to London, crossing London Bridge unopposed the next day. Meanwhile, Jack Straw's Essex group had also arrived. They did not engage in widespread or mindless looting: their targets were symbolic of what they thought was wrong with the country. Only certain buildings were attacked.

John of Gaunt would have been a target, had he been present. The king's uncle and a shrewd and powerful politician, Gaunt was thought by the crowd to be undermining the authority of the 14-year-old monarch. What the crowd likely did not know was that the same Lollard tendencies toward social equality and against church corruption that motivated John Ball were also of great interest to John of Gaunt. Fortunately for Gaunt--and history--Gaunt was patrolling the border of Scotland at the time.

Still, the rebels found a target in Gaunt's home, the Savoy on the banks of the Thames, considered the grandest home in London. It was looted before being burned, and anything precious found therein was destroyed or thrown into the river. Legend says that a rebel who tried to keep a silver cup for himself was set upon by his comrades and killed.

On June 13th, King Richard II addressed the rebels himself, offering them several concessions. Something in the quality of the bold young boy (he was 14) calmed them, and a parlay was agreed upon. Unfortunately, while Richard was addressing one group, another large group entered the Tower of London complex. There they found who they considered to be two of the architects of their troubled land: the Archbishop of Canterbury Simon Sudbury, and the Lord Treasurer Robert Hales. Both were dragged to Tower Hill and beheaded.

On June 14th, Richard and the Lord Mayor of London,William Walworth, along with a contingent of soldiers, met the rebels at Smithfield to discuss the end of the revolt. Wat Tyler rode alone to address the king, but he was so insolent (so say reports) that Walworth hacked at Tyler's neck with his sword, whereupon a knight, Sir John Cavendish, killed Tyler by running him through with his sword.

...and then it got really interesting.

[to be continued]