Baldwin of Forde

What made Baldwin of Forde (c. 1125 – 19 November 1190) think his connections and his rise to the highest ecclesiastical position in England gave him the authority to do as he liked. He was wrong. The Canterbury Cathedral Chapter Controversy was a blot on what could have been a spotless career.

Gervase of Canterbury claimed very humble origins for him, but the truth is his father became the archdeacon of Totnes and his mother later became a nun. He was sent by the Bishop of Exeter (Robert Warelwast) to Bologna to study law, where he met Peter of Blois, whom he would later hire, and the future Pope Urban III, whom he would seriously anger. Baldwin was chosen by Pope Eugene III (the "Homeless Pope") to tutor Eugene's nephew, a clear sign of papal favor. A few years later, Baldwin was back in England in 1155 in the household of Robert of Chichester, the new Bishop of Exeter.

Robert's successor, Bartholomew Iscanus, made Baldwin archdeacon of Totnes to replace his recently deceased father. John of Salisbury wrote to Baldwin, urging him to persuade Bartholomew to provide better support to Becket in the controversy with Henry II. Bartholomew and Baldwin were apparently leaning toward the idea that the king had authority over the church in England in certain matters.

Baldwin became a monk c.1170, and then abbot of a Cistercian monastery at Forde. His background in law meant that many legal disputes came to him after being sent to the papal Curia and getting remanded back to local experts. King Henry was impressed by his handling of a secular case in which he prevented a hanging.

His support of Henry in the Becket affair is likely why Henry was determined to have Baldwin succeed Richard of Dover as Archbishop of Canterbury, despite the monks of Canterbury putting forward three different candidates. For the problems that followed, see the link above.

One thing he did as Archbishop of Canterbury that was not controversial was preside over the coronation of King Richard I after Henry's death. It happens to have been the first coronation in England for which we have any details, thanks to Roger of Howden, and was intended to be elaborate, thanks to the new king's mother. Let me tell you how it went tomorrow.

The Canterbury Cathedral Chapter Controversy

When Peter of Blois' old law professor, Baldwin of Forde (pictured here outside of Canterbury Cathedral), became Archbishop of Canterbury, Peter might have been happy about renewing old acquaintance. Baldwin, however had some changes in mind that created a controversy that no one else wanted.

The controversy surrounded the chapter house of Benedictine monks. All well and good, but Baldwin belonged to the Cistercians, who branched off from the Benedictines around 1100 because they felt the Benedictines had not been rigorous enough at following the Rule of St. Benedict. They kept the rule, but amended it with ideas from Bernard of Clairvaux.

Baldwin felt the Benedictines were too worldly: diocesan properties that belonged to Canterbury Cathedral had been put in their hands to support their management of pilgrim traffic, especially around the shrine of Thomas Becket. Baldwin also took back the Easter offerings that had been allowed to go to the Benedictine chapter by Pope Lucius III. Baldwin wanted it for the diocese.

Baldwin was also determined to move the chapter north of Canterbury to Hackington.

The Benedictines complained to the current pope, Urban III, who had also been one of Peter's teachers. They also wrote to every bishop and archbishop, and even to King Philip II of France, looking for support. Peter, who had studied law under Baldwin and had been persuasive in the past, was sent to Rome by Baldwin to argue his case. The Benedictines, however, were represented by a skilled full-time Roman lawyer named Pillius, and Peter was no match for him.

Peter argued for months, and wasn't helped by Baldwin, who continued to do provocative things back in Canterbury. The pope had ordered the demolishing of the Hackington building, but Baldwin continued the construction. Baldwin seized the manors of the chapter and excommunicated the monks. Peter followed the papal court to Ferrara in October 1187 to continue to debate on Baldwin's behalf, but Baldwin's refusal to follow papal orders incensed Urban. Urban died on 19 October—Peter's account says it was dysentery—and the new pope, Gregory VIII, was elected on 21 October. He did not take a strong stand on the issue before dying in December and being succeeded by Clement III.

None of these changes in the chair of St. Peter helped Baldwin's case, although he took advantage of the transitions to continue his changes. On 26 January 1188, Clement sent a letter: Baldwin was to cease his changes and restore everything to the way it was prior to his meddling. Once again, however, he ignored the orders until August 1189 when Richard I (who had just become king after his father's death a month before) forced him to submit to the papal resolution.

Why did Baldwin think he could so readily ignore the pope(s)? What was England's royal policy on the controversy boiling over in its most important cathedral diocese? Who did Baldwin think he was? Let's take a close look at the man who started it all next time.

Peter of Blois

Peter of Blois (c.1130 - c.1211) was well-connected; not through his family, but through people he knew growing up and going to school. One of his important early influences was the medieval platonism philosopher, Bernard Silvestris, who urged him to embrace facts over fables. He went to the University of Bologna, where he studied Roman law under Baldwin of Forde, who became an Archbishop of Canterbury, as well as under another who would become Pope Urban III.

He also spent over a decade studying theology at the University of Paris, making a living as a tutor. He tutored two sons of the Bishop of Salisbury, Jocelin de Bohon, which might explain why he spent time at Old Sarum Cathedral, of which he had a harsh opinion. He also amused himself by writing songs in the Goliard tradition; some of his works appear in the Carmina Burana collection.

In 1166 he went to Sicily to where he tutored the future King William II of Sicily. William's mother, Margaret of Navarre, had written to relatives looking for an appropriate teacher. The Archbishop of Rouen sent Peter of Blois along with a party of Frenchmen. Later, the archbishop of Rouen got Peter involved in diplomacy surrounding the conflict between Henry II of England and Thomas Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury. Peter re-made the acquaintance of one of his earlier pupils, a son of the Bishop of Salisbury, Reginald Fitz Jocelin. Reginald was to become Bishop of Bath in 1173, but getting the pope's approval was difficult because of Reginald's support for King Henry in the Becket affair. Peter's letters in his defense helped to rally support.

By 1173, Peter was in England and working as chief letter-writer for Richard of Dover, who followed Becket as Archbishop of Canterbury. 1173 was a time of upheaval in England. Some of Henry's sons had followed his heir, Young King Henry, to the court of the King of France to plan a revolt against their father. Henry's wife, Eleanor of Aquitaine, had opposed Henry, and Peter wrote to her, criticizing her for leaving her husband. 

Peter diligently wrote on Henry II's behalf to prelates and potentates in Europe, explaining that despite the rumors, Henry was not responsible for the murder of Becket. Peter's efforts helped his career. He was appointed Chancellor of the Archdiocese of Canterbury. He was also appointed Archdeacon of Bath. He was also made Dean of the College of Wolverhampton.

When Richard of Dover died, Peter's old teacher Baldwin of Forde became Archbishop of Canterbury. This looked like an excellent moment in Peter's life: someone he knew well and with whom he was now going to work closely. Instead, the new arrangement almost cost Peter his career, which I'll explain tomorrow.

Old Sarum

The earliest settlement in Salisbury was Old Sarum, and by "earliest" we mean starting at c.3000BCE. Around 400BCE a hill fort was constructed, and at the time of the Romans in the 1st century CE it was controlled by the British tribe, the Atrebates. The settlement became part of Wessex when the hill was captured by the Saxon King Cynric in 552CE.

King Alfred didn't do much with the place until the Vikings became a problem; he fortified it, making it therefore usable by others such as King Ecgberht of Wessex (ruled 802-839), and King Edgar (ruled 959-975). It was abandoned when Svein Forkbeard invaded in 1003.

Always treated as a potential defensive position more than an important municipal center, the hill was crowned with a motte-and-bailey three years after the Norman Conquest. Topographical limits kept the town small and cramped, although not so small that William the Conqueror couldn't gather all his nobles, prelates, and sheriffs to take the Oath of Salisbury, declaring loyalty to him and no other. It is likely that this occasion saw William presented with the completed survey called the Domesday Book.

Why was it called the Oath of Salisbury if the town was called Old Sarum? The Domesday Book calls it Sarisburie (from Old English Searesbyrig, "Seares fortress"). Sarisburie was often abbreviated to Sar̅, but the -r̅ was often used to abbreviate words ending in -um. Sometime in the 1200s the place started being called Sarum. Meanwhile, the Medieval Latin Sarisburie was corrupted to have an -l- in the middle. Sarum had the "Old" tacked on to distinguish it from the new town b being built near the new Salisbury Cathedral. Modern Salisbury can also be rightly called "New Sarum."

The aerial photo above shows the excavated motte-and-bailey structure at the center of the walled town. You can see the old Salisbury Cathedral foundation. For scale, the length of the Norman cathedral was 185 feet, smaller than most of its era.

Henry II had his wife, Eleanor of Aquitaine, kept at Old Sarum. Their son Richard the Lionhearted designated a plain near there for tournaments.

William of Malmesbury called Sarum "more like a castle than city, being environed with a high wall"; he certainly drew from firsthand experience, since he became a good friend of Roger, Bishop of Salisbury, who owned the land on which Malmesbury Abbey was situated, where William spent his entire adult life. William noted that the site did not have sufficient water to make it sustainable, and supposedly this was one reason why a new cathedral needed to be relocated. Peter of Blois, canon of the cathedral, described it as "barren, dry, and solitary, exposed to the rage of the wind"; a papal legate looking into the cathedral verified that the wind was so strong that divine office could sometimes barely be heard.

Once the "new" Salisbury was established, Old Sarum lost population and significance—and materials, as resources were dismantled to take to the new town. Edward II had the castle demolished in 1322. Old Sarum was one of the first sites named in the 1882 Ancient Monuments Protection Act.

Peter of Blois had very strong feelings about Old Sarum. He felt that the cathedral in Old Sarum was "as a captive on the hill where it was built, like the ark of God shut up in the profane house of Baal." Let's take a look at this colorful canon next time.

The Bishop of Salisbury

Although he presided over the founding of one of the grandest cathedrals in the United Kingdom, Bishop Richard Poore (in my opinion) should be noted for his attitude toward education.

He was from a "family of bishops." His brother Herbert preceded him as Bishop of Salisbury, and his father, also named Richard, became Bishop of Winchester. The younger Richard was Bishop of Chichester before taking on the position in Salisbury, and was later Bishop of Durham. He was elected to Durham earlier in his career, but Pope Innocent III would not allow it, knowing that King John wished for his own advisor John de Gray to have that position.

While he was at Salisbury, he moved the cathedral from Old Sarum to the town of Salisbury, founding Salisbury Cathedral in 1220. Legend tells that he shot an arrow that hit a deer, and where the deer fell was the new site. In preparation for the building project, he laid out the town of Salisbury as well.

While at Salisbury, he welcomed the new Franciscan friars (founded in 1209). He created a set of statutes to guide diocesan practices. Because they were re-issued after he moved to Durham, they are known as the Statutes of Durham. They were used by many other dioceses.

When King John died in 1216, leaving nine-year-old Henry III as king, Poore helped Hubert de Burgh take over running the kingdom, along with Archbishop of Canterbury Stephen Langton (under whom Richard had studied at Paris) and Bishop Jocelin of Wells. All four worked together to manage England until Henry reached the age of 14.

I found him interesting because of policies he instituted at Salisbury geared toward children. He instructed his clergy to choose a few children to be educated in church doctrine and prayers so that they could instruct other children. He was willing to provide some teachers with benefices for their financial support provided that they would then teach for free. He also had his clergy preach every Sunday on the dangers of children being left alone in the house with a fire going. Bishop Wordsworth's School in modern day Salisbury has a dormitory named Poore House after Richard Poore's dedication to education; it is regularly declared one of the top-performing schools in England.

Poore felt that no one should hold two benefices at a time, and a person who complained at this rule should lose both. He also did not want his clergy involving themselves in "worldly business." He was not completely harsh toward his clergy: he established a retirement house for Durham clergy.

Although claimed by Salisbury and Durham at his death on 15 April 1237, he had retired to Tarrant Keyneston in Dorset and was buried there.

So what was it about Old Sarum that made its cathedral unsuitable? Why did Poore feel the need for a new town as well as cathedral? Let's visit Old Sarum next time and see what it was like.

Salisbury Cathedral

The Cathedral Church of the Blessed Virgin Mary, also known as Salisbury Cathedral, is noted for having the tallest church spire in England, but it has other notable qualities: the largest cloister, one of the oldest working clocks in the world, and one of four original copies of the Magna Carta.

There was already a gothic cathedral in Salisbury at Old Sarum, but a decision was made to construct a new church and move the cathedra, or bishop's seat, to Salisbury town. The bishop at the time was Richard Poore (died 15 April 1237), who lived almost to see the new building finished. Fees for construction came from canons and vicars of the diocese annually until the building was completed. (Legend that Bishop Poore shot an arrow that hit a deer, and where the deer died was chosen as the new site, cannot be substantiated.)

The first of its 70,000 tons of stone were laid down on 28 April 1220 by the 3rd Earl of Salisbury William Longespée, an  illegitimate son of King Henry II, and his wife. Remarkably for a structure of it size, it was completed in 38 years, which led to a consistency of design sometimes lacking in cathedrals that took generations and had multiple architects over time. It also took 3000 tons of timber and 450 tons of lead. The spire (a later addition, in 1320) and tower alone used 6400 tons of stone and would have collapsed like many other spires if not for the addition of buttresses and anchor plates (iron braces holding stones together). Sir Christopher Wren in 1668 added tie beams above the crossing (where the nave and apse intersect, above which stood the tower), which also helped.

The copy of the Magna Carta—incidentally the best preserved of the four surviving originals—came to Salisbury because one of the men given the task of distributing copies of the document, Elias of Dereham, was also a stonemason who oversaw the cathedral's construction and became a canon of Salisbury.

The famous clock, thought to be the oldest working clock in the world, has no face. Early clocks did not have hands; rather they noted the hour by ringing a bell. It was used regularly until 1884, when it was placed in storage and forgotten. Found again in 1928, it was restored in 1956 and works to this day.

I mentioned Bishop Richard Poore who oversaw most of the building of the cathedral. There is a statue of him in one of the many niches in the cathedral. He did arguably much more important work at Salisbury than building a new cathedral, which I'll tell you about tomorrow.

The Medieval Grotesque

The word grotesque does not appear in that form until the 1560s, though now it is used to refer to illustrations and carvings from much earlier eras. It is from Italian grottesca ("of a cave") from Italian grotto ("cave") because it was first used to refer to paintings found in basements in the ruins of Classical Era Rome, specifically the palace complex begun by Nero in 64CE that had been abandoned and buried long ago.

We see grottesca used in Italy in a 1502 contract in which Raphael Sanzio da Urbino (better known to the Modern Era simply by his first name) agrees to decorate the Piccolomini Library attached to Siena Cathedral.

Not everyone appreciated the fanciful designs. One artist complained about

this insatiable desire of man sometimes prefers to an ordinary building, with its pillars and doors, one falsely constructed in grotesque style, with pillars formed of children growing out of stalks of flowers, with architraves and cornices of branches of myrtle and doorways of reeds and other things, all seeming impossible and contrary to reason... [link]

We use the word to describe three-dimensional art such as gargoyles. If you wanted to categorize types of grotesques in two-dimensional art, you will often see hybrids such as the illustration to the left. Another type is a strange juxtaposition or anthropomorphism such as a rabbit jousting with lance and sword, using a hybrid snail for a horse.

Sculptural grotesques originally were used for waterspouts in medieval architecture, but became their own genre of architectural decoration. Despite the complaint noted above, folk like the monk who designed Salisbury Cathedral did not hesitate to add grotesque figures that had no function other than to provide decoration. Salisbury, in fact, shows a more consistent architectural style than most other cathedrals, owing to its swift completion: 38 years, as opposed to generations for most gothic structures. In fact, Salisbury Cathedral is a good subject for the next post. See you soon.

Gargoyles!

Large stone buildings intended to last for centuries, such as examples of Gothic Architecture, would be exposed to ages and ages of rainwater running down the sides and eroding the mortar. The solution was to devise a channel that would carry water away from the side of the building. The channel was thought of as a "throat" or "gullet" carrying water, and the French term for that was gargouille from the root gar "to swallow."

Not all gargoyles are waterspouts. In Italian architecture, a distinction is made between the carved creature used as a waterspout and called a gargolla or garguglia, and a carving designed simply to carry water away from the building, which is called gronda sporgente, literally "protruding gutter."

A late-14th century legend of St. Romanus explained the origin of the term as the name of a dragon; a good story, but pretty silly.

Long before the Romanus legend, Bernard of Clairvaux in the 12th century commented on gargoyles:

What are these fantastic monsters doing in the cloisters before the eyes of the brothers as they read? What is the meaning of these unclean monkeys, these strange, savage lions and monsters? To what purpose are here placed these creatures, half beast, half man or these spotted tigers? I see several bodies with one head and several heads with one body. Here is a quadruped with a serpent's head; there a fish with a quadruped's head; then again an animal: half horse, half goat... Surely, if we do not blush for such absurdities, we should at least regret what we have spent on them.

The origin of gargoyles that were not waterspouts is up for debate: Bernard doesn't seem to know why they were there. One theory is that they were illustrations of sin or evil, designed to make you glad you were a good Christian. Another thought is that they guarded the church.

If a carving of a creature was not a waterspout, it was a grotesque. The medieval grotesque needs its own explanation, which you will get tomorrow.

St. Romanus of Rouen

Among other events of which he was a part, Richard Barre also was present in 1179 in Rouen for the display of the body of the 7th century bishop of Rouen, St. Romanus. The Catholic Encyclopedia makes clear that the information we have on Romanus' life is legendary and not authentic. Since his reputation  is based on it, however, let us "go with what we have." His list of miracles makes for fun reading.

A woman named Félicité was sterile, but one day an angel appeared to her husband to say a child would be born in his house. The result was Romanus. He was sent to court to be educated; there he met St. Eligius. We then leap to his adulthood, where he becomes bishop of Rouen. He was also chancellor to the Merovingian king Clothar II.

His legend—found in four differing accounts—includes many miracles. When asked to eliminate a temple to Venus, he simply pulled the dedication to Venus off the altar and the whole temple collapsed. He collapsed another pagan temple he found in the countryside by simply cursing the demons he saw dancing on it.

Needing to create some baptismal fonts and consecrate them, he realized he had forgotten to bring any chrism (holy oil used for anointing). He sent a deacon to retrieve it, but the deacon was in such a hurry that he dropped the vial, which broke and let the oil seep into the earth. Romanus picked up the pieces of the vial and prayed, whereupon the vial reassembled itself and the oil returned to the vial.

A later legend that crops up in an account of his life in 1394 tells of Gargouille, a dragon that inhabited the swamps of the left bank of the River Seine. A vicious beast that devoured livestock and humans, it was tamed by Romanus when he made the sign of the cross. The dragon lay down at is feet, whereupon Romanus put his stool around its neck and led it by this leash into the town where it was killed and either burned or thrown into the river (stories differ).

Near the end of his life he chose to retire to a hermitage. One day a woman appeared, asking for hospitality. Torn between his duty to a guest and his apprehension about allowing a woman into his quarters, he decided to show good manners and allow her in. She then disrobed and unbound her hair. Romanus called on the Lord, an angel appeared, revealing the "woman" as a demon and throwing it into a bottomless pit.

Romanus died ab out 640. Like many early medieval saints, it is likely that we know nothing historically accurate about them, but that does not stop their veneration. St. Romanus has a feast day on 23 October, still celebrated in the archdiocese of Rouen (these days simply transferred to the following Sunday).

Let me now draw your attention to the name of the dragon he tamed, Gargouille. If you say it a certain way, it sounds like gargoyle. There's a reason for that, which we will explore next time.

A Boring Civil Servant

Richard Barre was likely Norman by birth, probably born at La Barre (hence the name) in northern France c.1130. He studied law at Bologna (illustration is of the Bologna University Library in modern times) at the same time as Stephen of Tournai, who would go on to become Bishop of Tournai in 1192 (we have correspondence between Richard and Stephen from later in their careers). A fellow student wrote of Richard "May you manage the causes of bishops and the affairs of kings." As it happens, that is precisely what Richard wound up doing.

By 1165 he was in the household of King Henry II of England. One of the legal matters on which he advised the king was the dispute with Archbishop of Canterbury Thomas Becket over royal vs. ecclesiastical authority over the church. In September 1169, Barre was sent to Rome to complain to Pope Alexander about the behavior of the papal legates to England, whom Barre claimed agreed to one thing and then changed their minds the next day.

Months later, in late winter 1170, Barre was again sent to Rome to discuss rescinding the excommunication placed by Becket on royal officials. It is believed that Barre's mission was also to receive the pope's blessing to allow Henry's eldest son, the "Young King Henry," to be crowned by someone other than the Archbishop of Canterbury, as was traditional. This was absolutely not allowed.

Barre was sent to Rome again after Becket's murder in December 1170 to make clear to Pope Alexander that Henry had nothing to do with Becket's death. Shortly after this mission, Barre became Archdeacon of Lisieux and was named a royal justice. He was also made chancellor to Young King Henry in 1172, but when the son rebelled against the father Barre chose to abandon the son for the father's service.

He continued to go on missions for the Crown. In early 1198 he went to the continent to meet with German Emperor Frederick Barbarossa, King Béla II of Hungary, and Byzantine Emperor Isaac II Angelos to discuss travel through their lands and permission to gather supplies on an intended Crusade. King Henry's death in 1189 ended the Crusade plans.

After Henry's death, Barre served William Longchamp, who made Barre the Archdeacon of Ely, but when Prince John exiled Longchamp (King Richard was away on Crusade at the time, and John was managing things with the style that earned him the nickname "Bad King John"), Barre had no royal justice duties until Richard's return. Upon Richard's death, the new King John dismissed Barre from royal service; Barre returned to his duties in Ely. He died c.1202.

He wrote a work on the Bible, dedicated to Longchamp, in which he annotated certain passages; it exists in two manuscripts.

There were many people in the Middle Ages who led similar lives. Richard Barre came to my attention because of sci-fi author Duncan Lunan's theory that one of the Green Children of Woolpit was named Agnes and married him.

One of the other events from Richard's life was as odd as the idea that he was married to an alien child. That was the revealing of the body of St. Romanus. Let me tell you about that next time.

The Green Children of Woolpit

Sometime in the 12th century, an unusual find in Suffolk produced one of the Middle Ages' greatest mysteries. The event was recorded by William of Newburgh (admittedly not the most faithful historian, but this was the Middle Ages), and by Ralph Coggeshall (who published his history in 1220). Although writing later, Coggeshall says he drew on the writing of Sir Richard de Calne, the man who (we are told) cared for the children.

The story goes that villagers of Woolpit one day during harvest time found two small children—a boy and a girl—looking scared and speaking in an unknown language. More notable than the unknown language was the fact that they had green skin. The villagers took them to Sir Richard de Calne, who took them in.

The two would not eat any food put before them. This lasted for days, until they saw some green beans growing in the garden and ate them off the plant. Sir Richard kept them with him for years, teaching them English and slowly getting them to eat available food. (Over time the green of their skin faded; it was presumably because of the different diet.)

Once they had learned sufficient English, the children told this story:

“We are inhabitants of the land of St. Martin, who is regarded with peculiar veneration in the country which gave us birth.”

“We are ignorant [of how we arrived here]; we only remember this, that on a certain day, when we were feeding our father’s flocks in the fields, we heard a great sound, such as we are now accustomed to hear at St. Edmund’s, when the bells are chiming; and whilst listening to the sound in admiration, we became on a sudden, as it were, entranced, and found ourselves among you in the fields where you were reaping.”

“The sun does not rise upon our countrymen; our land is little cheered by its beams; we are contented with that twilight, which, among you, precedes the sun-rise, or follows the sunset. Moreover, a certain luminous country is seen, not far distant from ours, and divided from it by a very considerable river.”

The children eventually were baptized. The boy died soon afterward of an unknown cause. Presumably the girl lived until adulthood.

Theories in the Modern Era about the origin of the children range from natives of a fairy world, to abandoned non-English-speaking Flemish orphans who were "green" from malnourishment, to extraterrestrial beings transported here accidentally. There is, of course, no way to know.

What happened to the girl? One 20th-century author believes, based on the family tree of Sir Richard de Calne, that she was named "Agnes" and married the clergyman and scholar Richard Barre. That's as good a reason as any to look at the life of Richard Barre next.

Child of the Forest

Widukind (seen here as a memorial in Hereford, Germany) was a Saxon leader who organized the chief opposition to Charlemagne's conquest of Saxony and his introduction (enforcement) of Christianity. To Frankish forces he was a murderer, a heathen, a destroyer of churches. To the Saxons he was a freedom fighter, a great leader, and protector of their way of life.

We know little about him personally except what the Franks record. He is first mentioned in the Royal Frankish Annals as the only significant Saxon leader who did not attend the Diet at Paderborn, when Charlemagne first set down the laws he expected Saxony to follow. Widukind was staying in Denmark with King Sigurd.

In 782 he was back in Saxony and convincing his countrymen to go to war again with the Franks. One success of his led to Charlemagne retaliating with the Massacre at Verden. Widukind agreed to surrender in 785 if the Franks guaranteed no bodily harm would come to him. He was baptized in the Elbe with Charlemagne as his godfather. He is now considered a saint, with churches named for him and a feast day on 6 January.

What made him surrender? Why did he acquiesce to baptism as a Christian after resisting for so long? Of course there is a legend that explains this.

According to the legend, Widukind decided to learn more about Christianity. He disguised himself as a beggar and infiltrated the Frankish military camp. It was Easter, and he saw a priest performing Mass. At the moment of the elevation of the Host, Widukind saw the priest holding up a beautiful child. He offered this beautiful child to each member of the congregation. Widukind was amazed at this vision. Continuing to act as a beggar afterward, he was captured when one of the soldiers recognized him.

He described the scene at mass, and Charlemagne declared that God had given him this vision of the divine child Jesus. Widukind realized the significance of this and renounced paganism, embracing Christianity.

Over time he was hailed as a national hero. A tomb made for him in 1100 in Herford was discovered in the Modern Era to contain the body of a woman. Three graves in front of the altar contain the bodies of three men, two of them about 60 years old, all of them related. It is assumed that one is Widukind.

The name Widukind literally means "child of the forest." For some real "children of the forest," I should tell you about the Green Children next, and that's just what I'll do.

The Saxon Wars, Phase 2

The Saxon Wars (see Part 1) were a series of campaigns led by Charlemagne to incorporate and Christianize Saxony. A first phase was complete by 779CE, with three of the four Saxon areas conquered; Nordalbingia would come later.

There was peace for a few years after that. In 782, Charlemagne returned to Saxony with the goal of making sure their code of laws conformed to his own ideas of justice. This code of laws was the Lex Frisionum, the "Law of the Frisians." He held a gathering of Saxon nobles, but there was one notable exception: Widukind was instead staying with the Danish king Sigurd (father of Ragnar Lodbrok). It might not have been difficult to have the native peoples adopt the new laws, but it was particularly harsh regarding pagan practices.

In autumn of 782, Widukind returned and led a revolt that burned several Christian churches and invaded the Chatti, a Germanic tribe that had been converted by St. Boniface and who were firmly part of the Frankish empire. Charlemagne was busy fighting the West Slavic Sorbs (Serbs), and in his absence Widukind defeated a Frankish army at the Battle of Süntel, killing the leaders and many other nobles. Charlemagne retaliated by killing 4500 rebels in a single day, referred to as the Massacre at Verden.

Charlemagne stayed in Saxony for two solid years of fighting. The Saxon rebels were reduced sufficiently that Widukind himself gave in and had himself baptized in 785. The major battles for Frankish rule over Saxony were done, but sporadic revolts continued for another two decades. The Nordalbingian Saxons were subdued in 798 by allies of Charlemagne, the Obotrites, a confederation of West Slavic tribes near what is now Mecklenburg. The Obotrites had also helped Charlemagne put down an Engrian revolt in 796.

In 797, Charlemagne started backing away from some of the harsher penalties, and in 802 codified Saxon common law. He also established bishoprics in Paderborn, Munster, Bremen, Verden and others.

Widukind's particular entry in this blog (see paragraph two) labels him only as Charlemagne's enemy. His conversion after his strong opposition to Frankish invasion seems unlikely, but of course there's a story behind it, which I will relate next time.

The Saxon Wars, Phase 1

In January of 772CE, a church in Deventer in the Netherlands was sacked and burned by Saxons who objected to missionary work in their lands. Deventer had been founded only a few years early, about 768, by an English missionary named Lebuinus. This burning was the reason for Charlemagne's first foray into Saxon lands to conquer the territory and forcibly convert the area to Christianity.

Saxony contained four areas at the time: Westphalia, Eastphalia, Engria, and Nordalbingia in the north. Charlemagne's Frankish forces subdued Engria first. It was on this occasion that Charlemagne destroyed the Irminsul. The difficulty for the conqueror was that he had many campaigns not in Saxony, so that he would "lose ground" whenever he turned his attention to, say, Lombardy. Charlemagne would destroy Saxon strongholds and take hostages, but Saxons led by Widukind would raid Frankish lands while Charlemagne was away.

There were 18 separate campaigns between 772 and 804 needed to complete the absorption and Christianization of Saxony. During this phase he conquered Eastphalia and converted their leader Hessi in 775, then returned to Austrasia through Westphalia, leaving a few temporary strongholds there as well. At this point he felt Saxony was well in hand except for the northernmost section of Nordalbingia. More missionaries were sent by Charlemagne.

In 777, a diet at Paderborn was called to integrate Saxon and Frankish laws. Charlemagne earned the nickname "butcher of Saxons" by decreeing capital punishment for anyone engaging in heathen practices. His harsh approach put him at odds with Alcuin of York, whose position was that God's word should be spread by persuasion, not the sword. Two years later he enforced mass baptisms. There was relative peace at this time, the end of the first phase of the Saxon Wars.

In 782, the second phase would begin because Charlemagne couldn't leave well enough alone. We'll go further with this tomorrow.

As for that church at Deventer, it was rebuilt a few years after the destruction by the "Apostle of Saxony," St. Ludger.

Starkad (the Giant?) Part 2

After the killing of Vikar and receiving the blessing of Odin and the curse of Thor, the (giant?) warrior Starkad joined a Danish viking raid on Russia. The terrain had been scattered with caltrops, but Starkad and the crew donned clogs to get through the caltrops and conquer the Russians. After that event he joined the Bjarmians.

Later he went to Uppsala in Sweden for several years with the so-called Sons of Freyr who claimed descent from the god Freyr, whom Snorri Sturluson called the most renowned of the gods. Uppsala had a temple that was the center of the Norse religion. The dancing and mimes for the sacrificial rites and the jingling of bells connected to them nauseated Starkad for their effeminacy.

He left to join the Danish king Hali and fought with him against King Hugleik of Ireland. Unfortunately for Starkad, the curse of Thor was in effect, and he received the worst wound he had ever had (so far) from one of Ireland's defenders, who happened to be a name we've seen recently, Svipdag. Starkad won anyway, and looted all of Hugleik's treasure.

Starkad then was sent east to quell a rebellion, fighting against Curonians, Sambians, and Semigallians. He also fought a magical Russian warlord named Wisin, who could blunt an instrument by looking at it. Starkad covered his sword with hide and defeated Wisin. He also killed a jotun (giant) named Tania in Byzantium.

His exploits took him all over. He helped Frotho against the Saxons, but when Frotho was succeeded by his wanton son Ingild, Starkad was disgusted and went to join the Swedish king Halfdan (the father of Hrothgar and Halga of Beowulf and other legends). When Starkad heard that Ingild's sister Helga was about to marry a lowly goldsmith, he was so annoyed at the idea that he went back in disguise, castrated the goldsmith, and slapped Helga.

Ingild decided to give Helga in marriage to a Norwegian named Helgi, but to win her Helgi had to fight nine brothers who had courted her. Helgi knew he would fail, so he looked for a champion; he found it in Starkad. Starkad killed all nine himself, but—again, along the lines of Thor's curse—received so many wounds that his intestines were hanging out.

At the end of his life, weakened and with poor eyesight, Starkad went wandering until he ran into Hather. Determining that Hather was noble, Starkad decided that Hather should be the one to kill him. He told Hather to cut off his head, and then run between the head and body as they fell: this would grant him invulnerability (possibly by being splashed with the blood, as in the tale of Bothvar Bjarki). (This is where we remember that Starkad is a giant.) Hather fears being crushed by the enormous body as it fell, so does not follow Starkad's direction. When Starkad's head hits the ground, it bites at the grass, showing his ferocity even in death.

Traditions about Starkad persisted long after the first centuries of the Common Era. The late 13th-century Annals of Ryd (a Cistercian monastery in Schleswig-Holstein) record that his sword could still be seen beneath a certain bridge when the water was low.

Starkad takes up Book 6 of the Gesta Danorum. Book 7 is a collection of unrelated stories. Book 9 is about Ragnar Lothbrok/Lodbrok, about whom I wrote years ago. Book 8 covers the Saxon Wars against our old friend and frequent subject, Charlemagne. Back to the Carolingian Era next time for a little more fact and a little less fiction.