The Mugging of Bishop Adhemar

Besides sharing the story of Peter Bartholomew and his finding of the Holy Lance and his subsequent Trial by Ordeal, Raymond of Aguilers' Historia Francorum qui ceperunt Iherusalem ("History of the Franks who captured Jerusalem") offers so much more. He was attached to the retinue of Bishop of Le Puy, Adhemar, who was named papal legate and responsible for the spiritual guidance of the First Crusade. Adhemar (and Raymond) followed the army of Count Raymond IV of Toulouse.

Many Crusaders chose to head to the Holy Land by water, potentially a faster route, but prone to the changeability of the weather and severe storms. Many ships of Crusaders were lost at sea. Traveling over land had its own dangers. One was finding supplies, another was meeting up with hostile folk.

A third was meeting up with folk made hostile because you were an army that was commandeering supplies from them. The "People's Crusade," an enthusiastic and less-organized group led by Peter the Hermit—that started out early without waiting for the nobles and their armies to make better plans—alienated many of the people whose countries had to be crossed: they thought their cause would mean being welcomed and provisioned by any and all.

Count Raymond and Bishop Adhemar took the land route and had to deal with populations who were therefore understandably wary of these large Western European armies marching through their homeland. Fortunately, compared to the People's Crusade, Count Raymond's army was better able to handle opposition. That did not mean complete freedom from hostile actions, however. As Raymond records:

On a certain day, moreover, when we were in the valley of Pelagonia, the Bishop of Puy, who, in order to find a comfortable resting place, had withdrawn a little distance from the camp, was captured by the Patzinaks. They knocked him down from his mule, robbed him, and beat him severely on the head. But since so great a pontiff was still necessary to the people of God, through God’s mercy he was saved to life. For one of the Patzinaks, in order to obtain gold from him, protected him from the others. Meanwhile, the noise was heard in the camp; and so, between the delay of the enemy and the attack of his friends, he was rescued.

Adhemar survived, and reached Constantinople where Alexios I was emperor. Alexios was also very concerned about the large groups marching through his lands, even though his request to Pope Urban II for help with the Turks had been the catalyst for the Crusade. Adhemar went on to Nicaea and Antioch, where he died on 1 August 1098, never living to see Jerusalem conquered by the Europeans.

Who were the Patzinaks that attacked him? We more commonly call them the Pechenegs, and they were a thorn in the side of the Byzantine Empire in which they lived. I'll tell you who they were next time.

Raymond of Aguilers

One of our sources for the events of the First Crusade was the participant Raymond of Aguilers of Provence. Raymond was a lay canon (a lay person who has a role in the administration of a church) of the cathedral of Le Puy, and he probably joined the Crusade in the entourage of the bishop of Le Puy, Adhemar, who was also the papal legate.

During the Siege of Antioch in 1098 (pictured here: Kerbogha outside the city) he was ordained and made chaplain to Count Raymond IV of Toulouse. From his extensive Historia Francorum qui ceperunt Iherusalem ("History of the Franks who captured Jerusalem"), we learn a lot of what went on among those leading the Crusade, since he was positioned to be close to their discussions.

He was also close to the lesser population of the Crusade: he says he spent seven months sharing the sleeping quarters of Peter Bartholomew, whose story of visions and finding the Holy Lance that was used to pierce Jesus' side during the Crucifixion is told in Parts One, Two, and Three. Raymond was a firm supporter of Peter's sincerity, but even Raymond noticed that there were discrepancies between Peter's visions and the actual finding of the Lance.

Since it does not mention the demise of Raymond's patron, Count Raymond of Toulouse (28 February 1105), it is likely the Historia was probably written during the Crusade and completed shortly after, and so can be counted on as an accurate memory of events. On that score, however, we must always apply critical thinking: what motives would the medieval historian have for writing? It would be unusual to find a medieval historian who recorded events objectively. There was always an agenda to follow, such as the goodness of a patron or the holiness of an individual who deserved sainthood. Raymond is always careful to record that his observations had witnesses other than himself; however, those witnesses are often anonymous. There is circumstantial evidence that it was completed in 1101, or that at least parts were in circulation, because it is certainly a source used by Fulcher of Chartres for his history.

Raymond's original "boss," Bishop Adhemar of Le Puy, died along the way, but there's an anecdote shared by Raymond about him being "mugged." It shows how both those marching on Crusade and those whose lands were being marched through were exposed to danger. Have a Happy Easter, and I'll see you here tomorrow.

The Holy Lance, Part Three

So Peter Bartholomew was about to undergo Trial by Ordeal to verify whether he was being honest about his visions and  discovering the Holy Lance. Two fires had been lit, each 13 feet long and four feet high with a single foot of space between them. Peter, carrying the "lance" and wearing only a light tunic, would walk between them. If he and the lance were unharmed, then it could truly be believed that his visions were real and this was the spear that had pierced the side of Jesus while on the Cross. It was 8 April 1099, Good Friday.

Raymond of Aguilers, from whom we have the details of this entire incident regarding Peter Bartholomew, was the "master of ceremonies." He announced the purpose of the test to the crowd, that Peter and the lance would be consumed if Peter were lying. To this the crowd responded "Amen."

When the flames were 40 feet high, Peter bowed before Bishop Peter of Narbonne and again swore that his visions were true. The bishop handed him the lance, and Peter walked through the flames, although at one point inside he stopped briefly.

(The illustration here is by Gustave Doré, showing he moment when Peter approaches the waiting crowd and a bishop—probably Peter of Narbonne—with the fire behind him.)

Once through, he shouted Deus adjuva! "God help (me)." The crowd was amazed and elated, and rushed toward him. Some rushed to grab sticks from the fire as souvenirs of the miracle. He was surrounded by a mass of supporters.

He was dead by 20 April.

What happened? According to Raymond of Aguilers, the burns were minimal. He was, however, physically wounded in the crowd that surrounded him after the ordeal. Was it accidental? Crushed in the throng? Raymond says his spine was shattered; also, that his legs were cut three or four times. The theory is that, even though the trial was doable—the pause inside the flames, Peter says, was because Christ spoke to him—he had detractors among the nobles because of the way he tried to trade on his popularity and criticize the Crusade's leaders and take over the spiritual leadership. These detractors had their agents in the crowd, with the intent to make sure he did not survive the day, even if he survived the ordeal. Maybe God was on his side, but he had made human enemies that were determined to eliminate him. In the crowd that rushed to him after he came through the fire there were men with knives who cut him.

We have this story in far more detail than I have shared here thanks to Raymond of Aguilers, who wrote a history of this part of the Crusade. I want to talk more about his role as a historian and participant, next time.

The Holy Lance, Part Two

After the "finding" of the Holy Lance, the Crusaders in Antioch felt emboldened to break the siege around the city by Kerbogha, the atabeg of Mosul.

Peter the Hermit was sent to Kerbogha to suggest settling the conflict with a duel, but Kerbogha declined. A different Peter, Peter Bartholomew, whose "visions" led to the "buried" "Lance," joined the fight against the Muslims. Unknown to the Crusaders, Kerbogha's army had some internal conflicts and was not as powerful as it appeared. His superiors decided to teach the arrogant Kerbogha a lesson by not sending reinforcements. Kerbogha was forced to retreat to Mosul.

Inside Antioch afterward, the issue of the Holy Lance was re-examined, even though some attributed their military victory to its presence. Peter Bartholomew's vision of the Lance suggested it was buried just below the surface, but teams of men dug far down without success, until Peter went alone into the hole and "found" the lance point sticking up from the ground. Even though Peter's vision predicted a win against the Muslims, there were those who questioned Peter's truthfulness. One was papal legate Adhemar of Le Puy, who may have already been aware that a piece of the Lance was said to be in Constantinople. 

Then, Adhemar died from plague on 1 August 1098, and Peter put himself forward as the spiritual leader on the Crusade. Peter actually claimed that Adhemar appeared to him in a vision and said he had suffered in Hell for three days because he had doubted the discovery of the Lance.

Peter claimed that Christ told him the Crusaders must march barefoot to Jerusalem, and other visions from Jesus and St. Andrew expressed anger at the sins of the Crusaders. When his further visions were ignored, and the veracity of the Lance was questioned, Peter volunteered to submit to a Trial by Ordeal to prove his innocence.

As a result, he went through trial by fire on 8 April 1099, which was Good Friday*. Peter would walk through a fire. Two piles of dry olive branches were made, four feet high and 13 feet long, with a one-foot space between them for Peter to walk through. Peter came to the trial wearing a simple tunic and prepared to walk through, carrying the Lance. If both appeared unharmed after the ordeal, he would be vindicated.

..and I will leave you there until tomorrow.

*Coincidentally this post has been made on Good Friday in 2024.

The Holy Lance, Part One

One of the "side-effects" of the Crusades was allowing Western Europeans to look for artifacts connected to the Bible and the life of Jesus. One member of the First Crusade claimed to have found one of those artifacts.

Peter Bartholomew was a French peasant from Provençe who, while on Crusade, began having visions. He functioned as a soldier after the capture of Antioch on 10 June 1098 when reinforcements came from Muslims, and in the ensuing siege of the city, suffered from famine like the rest of the Christian occupiers. In this weakened state, he had visions of St. Andrew, which he shared with the Crusade's leaders.

In the visions, St. Andrew took him to the Church of St. Peter inside Antioch and showed him the resting place of the Holy Lance. This was the spear of the Roman soldier called Longinus who used it to pierce the side of Jesus while on the Cross. (The True Cross was another relic that was found in the east.) The leaders were skeptical, and Peter warned them that their disbelief would cost them three days in hell's fires. As Peter's news spread to the rest of the army, excitement grew, and the boost in morale was seen as a good thing, so Peter's story wasn't challenged. The visions also singled Raymond of Toulouse out for a special role in the Crusade. (Although Raymond would make a more humble decision later.)

Raymond and 12 select men went to the place where the Lance was supposedly buried and began digging. After a day of digging, they found nothing. Peter's vision claimed that he had seen St. Andrew place the lance in the ground; it should have been closer to the surface, but a day's worth of digging found nothing. Another twelve were chosen to continue digging, but they found nothing.

Peter was then dropped into the hole to see for himself. He urged everyone above to pray, and while they were praying and no one could see him clearly, Peter shouted the discovery of the Lance, its point sticking up from the earth.

This was fortuitous, but also questionable. As with the visions themselves initially, the sudden discovery by Peter alone was hard to believe and yet a source of great joy and morale for the troops. A letter was even sent to Pope Urban II from Bohemund of Taranto mentioning the Lance and that its presence emboldened the troops.

This morale boost was important, because Antioch was surrounded by the forces of Kerbogha, the atabeg of Mosul. The next step for the Crusaders (and a test for the importance of the finding of the Lance), came next. I'll tell you about it tomorrow. And we are not done with Peter Bartholomew.

Trial by Ordeal

Trial by Ordeal took many forms in the ancient world and the Middle Ages. In a sense, it was an appeal to God to reveal the culprit. In Old English it was called Godes dōm, "God's doom/judgement"; in Latin it was known as jūdicium Deī.

One simple method was cruentation, from Latin ius cruentationis, "law of bleeding," used in Germanic law. The belief behind cruentation was that the corpse of a murder victim would indicate the presence of its murderer by moving or spouting blood. It was used into the 18th century, even though after the Lutheran Reformation the application of a religious test in law was rejected in Denmark and Norway.

Another approach to Trial by Ordeal was the idea that God would not allow an innocent person to suffer. The accused would plunge his or her hands into boiling water, or carry red hot iron. Ordeal by fire was also tried, with the person walking at least three paces or walking across nine feet of coals. Of course this would produce burns, but they would be bandaged and re-examined in three days' time. A priest would then judge whether God had chosen to heal the innocent person's burns or let the guilty person's worsen and fester.

In Constantinople, before Michael VIII Paleologos (1224 - 1282) became emperor, he was accused of treason by Emperor John III Vatatzes and was ordered to go through trial by fire. He said he would hold the red-hot iron if the metropolitan bishop Phokas would take the hot iron from the altar with his own hands and place it in Michael's. This the bishop refused to do; the idea that innocents would not also be harmed by red-hot iron helped to discredit the practice. In fact, when Michael became emperor, he abolished the practice.

Pope Innocent III at the Lateran Council of 1215 forbade priests to take part in such things, and promoted compurgation instead.

The Byzantine Empire got the idea of trial by ordeal from the West, as the Crusades brought Western Europe ideas to Constantinople. One example they would have witnessed was the French mystic Peter Bartholomew, who submitted himself to ordeal by fire to prove his sincerity about a claim considered outlandish by others. What was he trying to prove, and how did it turn out? I'll tell you tomorrow.

William of Norwich

The first case in England of "blood libel" (although more precisely it was only child sacrifice) was the case of William of Norwich, who died about 22 March 1144. The Peterborough Chronicle, an attempt to continue the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, had this to report:

In his time the Jews of Norwich bought a Christian child before Easter, and tortured him with all the same tortures with which our Lord was tortured, and on Long-Friday hanged him on a cross for love of our Lord, and afterwards buried him—imagined that it would be concealed, but our Lord showed that he was a holy martyr, and the monks took him, and buried him reverently in the minster, and through our Lord he performs wonderful and manifold miracles; and he is called St. William.

Here is what really happened. William was an apprentice to a tanner, whose body was found on Holy Saturday 1144 in Thorpe Wood, north of Norwich. An accusation was made by William's family against Jews currently living in the city, so Bishop William de Turbeville decided to investigate. He summoned members of the Jewish community to his court to endure trial by ordeal.

Before the bishop could subject his "guests" to trials, however, Sheriff John de Chesney showed up and stopped any proceedings, since the bishop had no legal authority to do so. Jews were considered to be under the king's protection (at that time, Stephen of Blois): the Angevin kings respected the money-lending (and money-taking) opportunities their presence afforded the crown.

Bishop de Turbeville moved the body to the monastery cemetery and tried to declare William a martyr and create a cult around him for the sake of attention and donations to the church, but it was slow going. There was no evidence that Jews were involved, so no great public execution or punishment of any kind that would cause a sensation.

The bishop was not ready to give up, however. He encouraged a Benedictine monk, Thomas of Monmouth, to write a book about the event. Thomas's The Life and Miracles of St William of Norwich contained two chapters on his life and five chapters on miracles performed in his name afterward. Thomas created a story of a converted Jew who became a monk, Theobald of Cambridge, who explains to Thomas that the "ancient writings of his fathers" required an annual killing of a Christian. "Theobald" explains that this killing was ordered by a Jew in Narbonne, France, who claimed to be the Messiah.

Since the Jews at this time in Norwich had been there just under a decade, and came from Normandy, they were French-speaking, so the connection to Narbonne made sense to some. No one, however, seemed to notice that there was no evidence of an annual killing caused by Jews stretching back to the time of "ancient fathers." William's family was Anglo-Saxon, and there were many conflicts between indigenous Anglo-Saxons and the recently arrived Norman folk.

The cult of William of Norwich did not make Norwich rich, but it persisted. The bishop moved the body a few times, each time putting it in a more prominent place, ending up in a chapel built on the spot where the boy's body was found.

But now for a topic a little less grisly: when the bishop wanted to subject the Jews to trial by ordeal, what might that have entailed? There were many possible trial ideas, and I'll share them tomorrow.

Bury St. Edmunds' Darkest Day

Yesterday was Palm Sunday, so let's talk about a terrible Palm Sunday (18 March) event in 1190 in the English town of Bury St. Edmunds. We can probably blame the head of the local abbey for this. Abbot Samson of Tottington wanted to make sure his abbey was financially stable. His profligate predecessor, Hugh, borrowed a lot of money from Jews, and those debts with interest needed repayment. Several years earlier, the incident of Robert of Bury gave the abbey a chance to create a shrine to the martyred boy that would draw visitors and donations.

It was not uncommon that those in debt would stir up anti-Jewish sentiment and through death or false imprisonment of Jews manage to cancel their debts. Samson saw this option, but he also had another "problem" with Jews: by order of the king, Jews were allowed to practice their non-Christianity. The abbot was accustomed to have rights over the town similar to the king's rule over the country. The Jews were a threat to his authority, since they did not fall under it.

On Palm Sunday, preachers spoke out so strongly against the Jews that the congregation went out of the church to the Jewish quarter and dragged out from their homes and killed 57 Jewish men, women, and children. Part of the preacher's instigation was likely the memory of the death of Robert of Bury, whose shrine still exists in the crypt of the abbey church.

Abbot Samson then decreed that all Jews would be expelled from the town.

Later that same year was the massacre at Clifford's Tower in York.

In 2011, a medieval well was found to have 17 skeletons in it, all dating to the 12th or 13th centuries. Eleven of the 17 skeletons were of children. DNA analysis suggests that they were all Ashkenazi Jews and likely part of the massacre in 1190.

The story of Robert of Bury lacks any definitive records that have come down to us—such as arrest records—so it has been suggested that the frequent references to it are part of a growing story that was pushed to help justify Abbot Samson's and Bury St. Edmunds' actions.

In the abbey gardens there is now a memorial to the Holocaust that also specifically commemorates the 57 Jews killed in 1190.

And on the subject of child martyrs, we have not yet discussed the original example of blood libel in England, the story of William of Norwich. After we look at that tomorrow, we will move on to less grisly stories.

Robert of Bury

In the second half of the 12th century there was a monk in the town of Bury St. Edmunds in Suffolk named Jocelyn de Brakelond. He became chaplain under Abbot Samson of Tottington. Jocelyn says he was with Samson "night and day" for six years. Jocelyn left behind some writing about his times, in which he refers to other things he has written that are no longer extant. One is the story of Robert of Bury and his miracles.

Robert was an English boy who died in 1181. The legend says he was kidnapped on Good Friday and killed by crucifixion to parallel Jesus' death. The details—and they are few—have to be cobbled together, but they are another example of blood libel.

In the following century, the chronicler John de Taxter mentions the murder taking place in 1181 (our only source for the date). Jocelyn's only surviving reference to the event tells us "the saintly boy Robert was murdered and buried in our church; many signs and wonders were performed among the people as I have recorded elsewhere." Whatever this other record was, it has not survived.

The story spread, however. Later mentions of it say he was martyred at Easter, or that he was "crucified by the Jews." The monk John Lydgate wrote a poem called Prayer for St. Robert that implies the death paralleled that of William of Norwich, another child saint, and suggests there was a Christian accomplice. An illustration made to accompany the poem in the 15th century has images that might make sense to those who had heard the story, but that we cannot interpret properly.

In the illustration (shown above), a woman is holding a child over a well. The inscription reads "the old woman wished, but was not able, to hide the light of God." Was she the Christian accomplice? Did she later turn the boy over to Jews to get rid of him? Or is this an act post-death, in which she tries to hide the body. Was the 15th century Lydgate conflating the story of Robert of Bury with the 13th century story of Little St. Hugh of Lincoln, found in a well? The illustration also shows an archer firing an arrow into the air while the body of Robert lies behind a tree; the symbolism of this escapes us. (I wonder if there was a story in which someone prays and fires an arrow which leads them to the body.) In another part, a kneeling monk prays.

Some historians believe the story of Harold of Gloucester showed the value of having a child martyr's shrine that would lead to visitors and donations. There are no details about Robert of Bury, his family, or arrests; there is only the public blame put on Jews and a shrine created at Bury St. Edmunds.

Another theory suggests that the cult of Robert the child martyr was enhanced and expanded years later to retroactively justify an action that took place in 1190, referred to as Bury St. Edmunds' Darkest Day. I'll explain tomorrow.

Harold of Gloucester

Our next example of the accusation of blood libel is Harold of Gloucester. As with similar cases of "child martyrs," the body was found and the search was on for the perpetrator. Harold's was the second significant case in the timeline of English Jewry.

Harold's body was found floating in the river after having disappeared on 21 February in 1168. Benedictines claimed that he had been spirited away by Jews and kept until 16 March, when they tortured and killed him. They claimed that marks on the child's body showed that he had been subjected to a crown of thorns and a crucifixion.

As it happens, there were a number of Jews who were not residents of Gloucester who had gathered there to celebrate a brit milah, a bris, the ritual of circumcision for a newborn. The temporary increase in the Jewish population leant credence to the idea that Harold was kidnapped for a special ritual. Accounts of the incident made by Christian writers place it during Easter, but the dates don't line up with Easter in 1144.

This incident, although it endured (see the illustration for evidence that modern merchandising has not "let it go"), did not cause as big a stir as that of Little Saint Hugh of Lincoln. There is no record of any Jews being arrested, much less tried, convicted, or executed. Also, there was no royal involvement, as there was with Hugh when Henry III was consulted on the case. Just as Hugh's death may have been played up in order to create a shrine for Lincoln Cathedral and draw worshippers and donations, the incident of Harold's death might have had an additional, "practical" facet. Accusations against the Jews may be why the Jews of Gloucester made loans to Richard "Strongbow" de Clare for the conquest of Ireland.

After Harold but before Hugh there was Robert of Bury, whose death spawned a full-fledged cult of worship. I'll tell you that story next time.

"Blood Libel"

The death of Hugh of Lincoln led to the arrests of so many Jews because of the belief in "blood libel": that the Jews stole/kidnapped/murdered Christians to use their blood in Jewish rituals.

Where this idea started—and why it was readily believed—is hard to pin down. A 10th century Byzantine encyclopedia called the Souda has an entry that "every seven years the Jews captured a stranger, brought him to the temple in Jerusalem, and sacrificed him, cutting his flesh into bits." A 5th century story by Socrates Scholasticus 

Some thought that the Jews were recreating the Crucifixion, but stories of Jews sacrificing non-Jews are older than Christianity. The 1st century Greco-Egyptian writer Apion told the story of Mithridates entering a temple in Jerusalem in the 2nd century BCE and finding a Greek held captive who explained that he was being fattened for sacrifice.

Blood libel accusations in medieval Europe increased at the time of the Crusades, when pro-Christian/anti-Jewish sentiment was spiking. The Crusades also included attempts to force conversion on Jews which were countered by Jews killing their own children to prevent them from suffering conversion. If Jews could kill their own children, the thinking went, then they would have no trouble killing others' children. (In fact, collective homicide/suicide goes back to Masada and was seen more recently—"recent" compared to the Hugh of Lincoln incident, that is—in the Clifford's Tower incident.

There was, of course, a known precedent for Jews to cause children to bleed, and that was the bris, the circumcision ceremony. One such ceremony was tied to another accusation of blood libel. As grisly as the concept is, I want to give some more examples of "little saints" like William of Norwich and Robert of Bury. First, however, let's discuss the case of Harold of Gloucester, where the accusation led to no real action except to...finance a war? I'll try to make sense of that tomorrow.

Little Saint Hugh of Lincoln

The murder of a child is a particularly heinous act that tugs at the heart strings. In the eyes of society, the murderer of a child must be a particularly horrible individual. The death of a small English boy in 1255 created a story that stuck in the cultural memory right up until modern times.

On 31 July 1255, nine-year-old Hugh disappeared in Lincoln. A month later, on 29 August, his body was discovered in a well. The search for the murderer was on, and attention turned to the segment of society that was often blamed for criminal acts: Jews.

John of Lexington, brother to the Bishop of Lincoln, imprisoned a local Jew named Copin, accusing him of the murder and offering him amnesty from execution in exchange for a confession. John supposedly convinced King Henry III to this amnesty deal, even though there was no evidence that Copin actually committed the deed. Henry arrived in Lincoln a month after the arrest of Copin. He ordered Copin executed, and then had 90 randomly selected Jews arrested and taken to the Tower of London for an investigation and trial about the murder. Eighteen of the Jews refused to participate in the trial, claiming it was a sham, and were hanged for their refusal.

As for the remaining Jews: a Dominican friar helped free one, John, who had converted to Christianity. The remainder were condemned to execution, but Dominicans—no doubt understanding that it was highly unlikely that there was actual guilt involved—pleaded for their lives and they were released.

Matthew Paris created a colorful, detailed, and wholly fictitious scene about the death:

This year [1255] about the feast of the apostles Peter and Paul [27 July], the Jews of Lincoln stole a boy called Hugh, who was about eight years old. After shutting him up in a secret chamber, where they fed him on milk and other childish food, they sent to almost all the cities of England in which there were Jews, and summoned some of their sect from each city to be present at a sacrifice to take place at Lincoln, in contumely and insult of Jesus Christ. For, as they said, they had a boy concealed for the purpose of being crucified; so a great number of them assembled at Lincoln, and then they appointed a Jew of Lincoln judge, to take the place of Pilate, by whose sentence, and with the concurrence of all, the boy was subjected to various tortures. They scourged him till the blood flowed, they crowned him with thorns, mocked him, and spat upon him; each of them also pierced him with a knife, and they made him drink gall, and scoffed at him with blasphemous insults, and kept gnashing their teeth and calling him Jesus, the false prophet. And after tormenting him in diverse ways they crucified him, and pierced him to the heart with a spear. When the boy was dead, they took the body down from the cross, and for some reason disemboweled it; it is said for the purpose of their magic arts.

There had been previous "martyrs" whose deaths had been blamed on Jews, but the case of Hugh had royal involvement which elevated it to legendary status. A shrine was built at Lincoln Cathedral to the little martyr and "little saint," drawing visitors and donations. This may well have been Lexington's motivation for turning the child's death into a martyrdom at Jewish hands, acting on his brother's behalf, to increase traffic and money to Lincoln.

Why did Paris' description involve so many Jews? Why were 90 Jews rounded up by the king? Why was it assumed that there was more involvement than just a single murderer? To understand that, we have to talk about one of the most ridiculous accusations against medieval Jewry, the belief in "blood libel." See you tomorrow.

Financing a War

When Simon de Montfort wanted to kick off the Second Barons War, he needed funding. One of the easiest ways for most medieval Europeans to free up money was to force a cancellation of debts to the Jews. Since many of these debts were owed by Montfort's baronial friends, their gratitude would extend to supporting him against King Henry III.

One of the barons' demands of Henry was that he write off the Jewish debts. This he would not do: Henry used occasional tallages (taxes) on the Jews to fund his own endeavors. His healthy balance sheet needed Jews to be able to collect what was owed them so that he could access take it.

In April of 1264, Montfort encouraged his followers and others to begin widespread persecution and even execution of the Jews, destroying their records of debt. One of the main centers of the Jewish population in England was in Canterbury, where about 20 Jewish households accounted for about 100 or so Jews. There had been, in fact, a widespread persecution of the Jews a couple years earlier, when lay and clerical citizens attacked and burned some of their houses, although no one was killed that time.

A member of Montfort's rebellion, the brutal Gilbert de Clare, occupied Canterbury and instigated "The Massacre of the Jews." An unknown number of Jews were killed and their property looted, and several Jewish women were forcibly baptized. Any remaining Jews fled Canterbury. The most prominent member of the Canterbury Jewry was Solomon, son of Josce. When he returned in 1265 (he fled abroad during the troubles), Henry III returned his property to him.

Montfort's son Henry and the 6th Earl of Derby, Robert Ferrers, led a pogrom that killed all the Jews in Worcester. Montfort's son Simon led the attacks in Winchester. In London, a chief Montfort supporter, John Fitz John, led the attacks and is said to have killed two of the leading Jewish figures with his bare hands; a total of 500 Jews in London were killed. In 1264 and 1265, attacks were made in Lincoln and Cambridge, and financial records were destroyed.

Anti-Jewish sentiment was always bubbling just under the surface, looking for a reason to burst forth and lead to atrocities. There were often single incidents that were blamed on the Jews. Even if that blame was proven false, the ill feeling left its mark and was ready to be invoked to justify later attacks. One such that stayed in the public consciousness and could not be expunged was the story of little Saint Hugh of Lincoln, which I will share with you tomorrow.

War Comes to Oxford

By the early 1260s, Oxford had become a place where scholars went to teach and learn. Violence was not unknown, as conflicts between students and townspeople were common. Town vs. Gown is not only a common phrase to express this conflict, it was the very first post in this blog.

Oxford became a center for another conflict, however, at the same time that the colleges of Balliol and Merton were beginning. This conflict was a little more widespread and is called the Second Barons War.

The First Barons War was a rebellion against King John and led to the Magna Carta in 1215. John's son Henry III had his own troubles with the barons who were always looking for ways to increase their own power and reduce the king's authority. Simon de Montfort, the 6th Earl of Leicester, in April 1263 called fellow barons to meet him at Oxford where they discussed rebellion against Henry's policies.

Oxford was a significant meeting place, because a few years earlier it was the site of the Provisions of Oxford, a series of reforms forced on Henry in 1258 in exchange for the barons agreeing to shore up the royal treasury (Henry had depleted it fighting in Sicily on behalf of the pope). The barons and their armies marched on London and trapped Henry in the Tower, taking him prisoner. Montfort took over the government, but his authority did not last long and Henry escaped.

Henry reached out to Louis IX of France to arbitrate. Simon de Montfort agreed to this. Louis declared the Provisions of Oxford annulled in January 1264. Henry prepared for the inevitable breakdown of negotiations and took his forces to Oxford (more centrally located than London) and made it his military headquarters. On 12 March in 1264 he suspended all teaching until Michaelmas (29 September).

Montfort, wishing to make sure he had funds to fight a war, did what many medieval nobles did: he made sure people would have money and be grateful to give it to him by eliminating their cash debts. He did this by attacks against Jews, the moneylenders, and therefore ensuring that debts would not have to be repaid. Let us go into some of the specific atrocities tomorrow.

Who Was First at Oxford?

The claim of Balliol College to be the first college at Oxford has been challenged by both University College and Merton College. Balliol was believed to be founded in 1263; in 1266 a royal writ exists that refers to Balliol in that its existence depends upon money from John Balliol.

Merton College can also trace its origins to the 1260s. Walter Merton was Bishop of Rochester and chancellor to Henry III and later Edward I. He wanted to create an independent college and set up funds to keep it self-governing. Officially, it was founded in 1264, and it claims to be the oldest college in Oxford. Its argument is that it had statutes as of 1264, whereas Balliol did not get a set of statutes until set up by Dervorguilla of Galloway (John Balliol's widow) in 1282.

University College has a grand claim: that it was founded by Alfred the Great (849-899) in 872. They attribute their college arms to Alfred and celebrated their millennium in 1872. More realistically, it was founded by William of Durham. William was archdeacon of Caux in northern Normandy. When students rioted at the University of Paris in 1229, he may have been the leader of students who left the continent and settled in Oxford. What is true is that he died in 1249 and left 310 marks in his will to support scholars in Oxford for the study exclusively of theology (this changed in the 16th century). University College was not officially recognized, however, until c.1280.

So which one has the better claim to be the oldest college in Oxford? Is it decided by who first devoted funds to scholars whether or not they were officially recognized  (University)? Or the first to have official statutes (Merton)? Or the first recognized by a royal document that acknowledges the name and existence of the institution despite the lack of statutes (Balliol)?

It's all one to me. It is interesting, though, to look at what else was happening in 1263 and 1264 in Oxford, what with Henry III suspending classes in March 1264 when he occupied the city. Check back tomorrow and I'll explain.