John Doe & Richard Roe

The term "John Doe" is familiar to just about everyone who knows anything about the North American* legal system. Who are these men, and where did the tradition for these names start?

We find the names being used in legal documents in England as early as the reign of King Edward III (1312-1377). But there is a slightly earlier instance recorded that seems to have escaped the notice of online encyclopediæ. It is the story of the Widow of Tours that is part of the legend of St. Ivo, and it was recorded in the Fordham Law Review by a lawyer who discovered the tale while vacationing in France.

Ivo ... lodged with a certain widow. One day he found his widow-landlady in tears. Her tale was that next day she must go to court to answer to the suit of a traveling merchant who had tricked her. It seemed that two of them, Doe and Roe, lodging with her, had left in her charge a casket of valuables, while they went off on their business, but with the strict injunction that she was to deliver it up again only to the two of them jointly demanding it. That day, Doe had come back, and called for the casket, saying that his partner Roe was detained elsewhere, and she in good faith in his story had delivered the casket to Doe. But then later came Roe demanding it, charging his partner with wronging him, and holding the widow responsible for delivering up the casket to Doe contrary to the terms of their directions. And if she had to pay for those valuables it would ruin her. "Have no fear," said young Ivo, "You should indeed have waited for the two men to appear together. But I will go to court tomorrow, for you, and will save you from ruin." So when the case was called before the Judge, and the merchant Roe charged the widow with breach of faith, "Not so," pleaded Ivo, "My client need not yet make answer to this claim. The plaintiff has not proved his case. The terms of the bailment were that the casket should be demanded by the two merchants coming together. But here is only one of them making the demand. Where is the other? Let the plaintiff produce his partner!" The judge promptly approved his plea. Whereupon the merchant, required to produce his fellow, turned pale, fell a-trembling, and would have retired. But the judge, suspecting something from his plight, ordered him to be arrested and questioned; the other merchant was also traced and brought in, and the casket was recovered; which, when opened, was found to contain nothing but old junk. In short, the two rascals had conspired to plant the casket with the widow, and then to coerce her to pay them the value of the alleged contents. Thus the young advocate saved the widow from ruin.
[John H. Wigmore, "St. Ives, Patron Saint of Lawyers" in Fordham Law Review, 1936]

Wigmore does not say in his article whether this was the origin of the names John Doe and Richard Roe. If the tale was in fact part of the life of the young Ivo, who died prior to the examples found in English court documents (as opposed to being tied to his reputation for cleverness and helpfulness by later generations), then it is either a possible origin for the names, or an example of usage that exists prior to the examples usually noted.

Or it is just a nice story.

*"John Doe" is used in the USA and Canada; the United Kingdom, New Zealand and Australia use "Joe Bloggs." To be fair, there are numerous other names for "typical" or "anonymous" individuals, in English-speaking countries and others.

The Patron Saint of Lawyers

Everyone has an intercessor in Heaven, even lawyers.

Ivo of Kermartin (17 October 1253-19 May 1303) was born in Louannec, in Brittany. He studied civil law at the University of Paris, mingling with students such as Roger Bacon and Duns Scotus. He stood out from the crowd by abstaining from meat and wine, fasting with bread and water during Lent and Advent, and sleeping with a stone or book as a pillow. He also studied and prayed and helped the sick while his fellow students were having fun. In 1277 he went to study canon law in Orléans before returning to Brittany as a judge.

He gained a reputation for being a strong "advocate for the poor," helping to pay court expenses for those with little means and representing those in need before other judges. Butler's Lives of the Saints says of him:

Once, not being able to reconcile a mother and a son who pleaded violently against each other, he went and offered up mass for them, and they immediately came to an agreement together. He never took a fee, but pleaded all causes without any gratuity.

He also studied Scripture and was ordained to the priesthood in 1284. His presence in their dioceses was desired by several bishops.

He always rose at midnight to matins, and said every day mass with incredible devotion and fervour. In his preparation he continued long prostrate, quite absorbed in the consideration of the abyss of his own nothingness, and of the awful majesty of him to whom he was going to offer sacrifice, and the sanctity of the victim. [Butler]

He also used his own funds to build a hospital. He was canonized in 1347 by Pope Clement VI. Besides attorneys, widows and orphans, he has been named the patron saint of "abandoned people," bailiffs, Brittany, canon lawyers, judges, and notaries.

The Haruspex Stone

The inexpertly carved stone

The city of Bath in England has been an important location for human beings for millenia. The spring there produces 240,000 gallons of 114° (Fahrenheit) water every day. This phenomenon amazed our ancestors; they attributed it to divine forces, most notably the goddess Sulis. When the Romans came, they named the place Aquæ Sulis [Latin: The waters of Sulis], and equated Sulis to Minerva, the Roman goddess of wisdom. The Romans used the spring for an elaborate system of channels and pumps and rooms for bathing, both for relaxation and for health.

In 1965, beneath the Grand Pump Room of the Roman complex, at the level of a Roman-era temple to Sulis Minerva, the stone pictured here was discovered. The inscription reads "DEAE SVLI L MARCIVS MEMOR HARVSP DD" and stands for "To the goddess Sul, Lucius Marcus, a grateful Haruspex, donated out of his devotion."

The presence of a Haruspex in Bath raised eyebrows. A Haruspex [Latin (roughly): entrail observer] was one who predicted the future by examining the guts of animals (as well as other natural phenomena). This was a very old practice, known to Romans and before them the Etruscans. Its presence can be established in the East prior to Greco-Roman times as well. Haruspices (the plural) were not common—only 60 existed at a time—and practiced an art that, like astrology, not everyone believed in but that they might turn to for special occasions. The presence of a Haruspex in Bath in a location so far from Rome suggests how significant Bath/Aquæ Sulis was to the locals at that time.

Curiously, the inscription has been "edited." "MEMOR" is actually carved as "MEMR" with the "O" added above the second M. "HAR" is centered on its line, with "VSP" in smaller letters crammed afterward, throwing off the symmetry of the inscription. The "MEMOR" looks like a necessary edit after the carver's accidental omission of the "O." "HAR" might have needed the addition because the rarity of the position meant the abbreviation wasn't familiar to people who didn't know that "HAR" meant a Haruspex. Another theory is that the carver simply was not very literate, and that Lucius Marcus had to have him edit the stone after the initial carving.

1066: The Other New King

Edgar and his sister, St. Margaret, landing at
Wearmouth after their ship was blown off course

Yesterday was the anniversary of the Battle of Hastings, when the forces of William the Conqueror (mentioned many times; see one of them here) defeated the English and killed King Harold Godwinson. The link in the previous sentence for the Battle of Hastings tells more of the story than is generally known, namely that Harold's army had been on the march and fighting for weeks prior to Hastings. Also not generally known is that someone was proclaimed King of England the day after the Battle of Hastings, and it was not William of Normandy.

Edward the Confessor supposedly saw the impending trouble with succession to the throne of England and saw a way out: he had a nephew who was the legitimate heir: Edward (1016-1057), called "the Exile, who had fled to Hungary after being ousted from England after the defeat of his father (Edmund II "Ironside," c.989-1016) by King Cnut. Edward the Confessor had called Edward the Exile back to England to make him his heir. Sadly, the Exile died very soon after his arrival back in England in 1057. History does not record a reason, but it is possible that he was eliminated by the Godwinsons, who were very powerful and wanted to see Harold succeed to the throne.

Edward the Exile had left children behind on the continent, however. Edgar the Ætheling (c.1051-c.1126) was only a teen in 1066, but his youth was no bar to the succession. The witenagemot, the council of wise men that approved the succession in Anglo-Saxon England, met in London and chose Edgar as king the day after Harold fell at Hastings, and sent for him to return to England and lead the opposition to William of Normandy.

The men who chose him, however, chose not to defend their choice and resist William as his forces approached; instead, they negotiated with William for a peaceful turnover of the kingdom. In December, the aristocracy of England met with William at Berkhamstead to submit themselves to his rule and hand over Edgar. William took Edgar and some other English leaders into custody in order to ensure future cooperation.

In 1068, Edgar fled captivity with his mother and two sisters (Margaret and Cristina) to return to Hungary, but their ship was blown off course and landed in the north of England, where they were taken in by Malcolm* III Canmore, king of Scotland. Malcolm married Edward's sister Margaret (who later became Saint Margaret). Edgar had an "on again, off again" relationship with William and an adventure-filled life. He was still alive in 1125 according to William of Malmesbury, so his date of death assumed to be c.1126.

*Malcolm was the model for the character in Shakespeare's MacBeth.

1066: What Really Happened, Part 2

from "Fifteen Decisive Battles of the World" by Sir Edward Creasey, 1851

The Battle of Hastings took place on this date 947 years ago, and a king died. Many people know this, and are aware that it was a turning point in the history of what we call Western Civilization. Fifteen months and one day ago, I posted this, explaining some of the details of the political situation that led to Hastings. Fifteen months ago, I posted this, explaining some of the events that took place just before Hastings that made Harold's forces the underdog. There is always more to tell, however, such as: how did the battle actually play out?

Sources for the Battle are surprisingly numerous, although all must be considered through the filter of historical prejudice (for instance, English sources emphasize the size of William's army over Harold's). We can collate them, however, and make an educated estimate as to the chronology of the battle.

The first point to remember is that William had two weeks since making shore at Hastings to arrange his army, since Harold was defeating a Norwegian invasion up north. Inexplicably, the Normans had not taken the high ground during this fortnight. Harold's army arrived on 13 October; William arranged his Norman forces in case of a night attack. The morning of the 14th, Harold began to arrange the English on Senlac Hill*; before they were completely organized, however, William attacked at about 9:00 in the morning.

The battle likely included several Norman retreats (mentioned by several sources), both real and feigned, which caused the English to follow with sometimes disastrous results, finding themselves outside their defenses and their advantageous high ground and prone to being surrounded and killed when the Norman retreat reversed course. Even with these events, however, and the general exhaustion of Harold's army, the English might have held off longer against the Normans. Late in the day, however, a stray arrow hit Harold in the head, possibly piercing his eye. Harold's brothers already having died earlier in the day, the army was left with no clear leader.

The English went into retreat, pursued by the Norman cavalry. This would have been in the evening, when darkness made pursuit risky. The English probably paused at a broken rampart which they attempted to use for defense, and there is an account that many of the Norman cavalry perished when they rode headlong into a ditch. Still, the English were done with the battle. William returned to his camp at Hastings, and began a campaign that lasted many months to subdue the rest of the country.

William assumed that his way to the throne was clear. There was, however, another claimant to the throne of England—a legitimate claimant. We will look at that story tomorrow.

*There is a claim that the battle took place not on Senlac Hill but on Caldbec Hill a mile away. The author's evidence has swayed some, but tradition has not yet given in.

The King's Shopping List

Speaking recently of Dafydd ap Gruffydd and medieval food prices put me in mind of some of the data we have on the household of King Edward I in the late 13th century. The "royal household" was responsible for organizing all domestic arrangements—from funds to furniture, from beer to bacon—for up to 600 people.

When it came to food, the royal household had two kitchens: one for the king, and one for the rest of the household. Cinematic scenes of the king presiding over a large feast hall were a rare event in the Middle Ages. He usually ate in his private chambers with a few close family members or staff, joining the crowd for special occasions such as Holy Days. The store of spices was reserved for the king, and included caraway and cumin, ginger and sugar, almonds and rice and pepper.

Although the household in general may have had less in the way of flavoring, it had plenty in the way of food. Records for the kitchen supplies of 1291-2 survive and give an idea of how much was consumed. Beef, pork, and mutton were the primary meats, with chicken and duck and enormous numbers of eggs supplementing. The Christmas meal for 1291 included 1742 chickens, 22 pheasants, 17 dozen partridges, 16 dozen mallards, six dozen plover.

A six-month span in this year's budget saw the following items purchased for consumption:

• 10 quarters* of wheat
• 10 quarters of malt (to make beer)
• 1500 cattle
• 3000 sheep
• 1200 pigs
• 400 slabs of bacon
• 3000 quarters of oats (to feed horses)

An attempt was made to curb the expenses of the royal household in 1300 with the Statute of St. Albans, which trimmed the list of those attached to the Court who were entitled to free meals. Instead, cash was offered to members of the Court to find their provender elsewhere. Although accounts show that the savings was a temporary effect—the cash amounts rising over a few years—cash instead of food would have made less work for many of the staff involved in organizing the household.

*a quarter was one-fourth of a hundredweight; a hundredweight was equal to 112 pounds; so a quarter was 28 pounds.

The Four Sons of Aymon

The brothers on Bayard arrive in Dordogne. c.1470

Yesterday I mentioned that the Ardennes region in northeast France was a wild area prone to generating legends. One such legend is that of The Four Sons of Aymon.

"Duke Aymon of Dordone" was a literary character attached to stories of the court of Charlemagne. (Charlemagne's era was so revered that, like "King Arthur," in centuries afterward his court became the nucleus for legends and fictitious characters.) Aymon had four sons: Reynaud, Alard, Guiscard, and Richard.

When the Duke presents his sons to Emperor Charlemagne, Reynaud distinguishes himself in tournament and is given the magical horse Bayard, with the ability to leap across valleys and accommodate any number of riders on its back. Unfortunately, Reynaud kills one of Charlemagne's nephews over a chess game and the four brothers flee on Bayard.

The four brothers flee to the Ardennes where their cousin, the sorcerer Maugis, creates a castle for their protection and gives Reynaud a magical sword, Froberge. They do not stay there long, going to Gascony to aid its king against an eastern threat. Reynaud distinguishes himself with Froberge; the king of Gascony rewards him with the king's sister in marriage and a castle.

The legend is full of great adventures and feats of derring-do, but the overarching plot requires a reconciliation between the brothers (especially Reynaud) and Charlemagne. Eventually, Roland (another significant figure in Carolingian stories) prevails upon the Emperor to accept the brothers back into his favor. There are conditions. Reynaud must go on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land; this task is made more difficult for him, however, because the other condition is that Bayard must be returned to Charlemagne.

Reynaud makes the pilgrimage, but returns to find he is now a widower. He hands his sons over to the emperor to raise and goes to Cologne where he becomes a humble builder in church construction. When he is killed by co-workers who are envious of his ability and thrown into the river, his body magically exits the waters and rides in a cart back to his brothers.

Like many other medieval romances, The Four Sons of Aymon was repeated and changed numerous times in various countries and languages. In this case, versions (with various alterations in detail) exist in Dutch, German, Italian, and English. Its popularity endured: during World War II, a play based on the story was produced in Belgium and suppressed by the occupying German forces because of its theme of resisting authority. The play enjoyed a popular underground existence.

The College of Sorbonne

A university meeting

Today is the birthday of the founder of the Sorbonne. The Collège of Sorbonne is arguably the best-known college in France, its name becoming synonymous with excellence, especially in the field of theology. It was founded in 1257 by Robert de Sorbon.

Robert de Sorbon (9 October 1201-15 August 1274) was born in a lower-class family in the Champagne-Ardennes region of northeast France, a wild part of the country prone to spawn legends and tales of adventure. Robert joined the church and studied at Reims and Paris. His devout bearing brought him to the attention of Louis IX, and he was named canon of Cambrai (next door to the Ardennes region) in 1251.

He became a teacher in 1253; in 1257 he created a college in Paris which he called Maison de Sorbonne [House of Sorbon] to teach theology to students who could not otherwise afford a university education. The Maison grew in popularity, however, and was endorsed by the King and by Pope Alexander IV (previously mentioned here and here). The College of Sorbonne grew to become the heart of the University of Paris (which produced such lights as Jean Buridan as well as conflicts). Sorbon became its chancellor until his death in 1274.

Sorbon created an academic environment that was (in the words of one scholar) "as opposed to mere hostel foundations and elementary forms of collegial living."

... Robert of Sorbon, formulated the central idea of the future college system in exemplary fashion: vivere socialiter et collegialiter, et moraliter, et scholariter*—a formulation which implies the existence of a study community organized in the form of a brotherhood and living together in regulated and moral fashion. [P. Glorieux, Les Origines du collège de Sorbon, quoted in A History of the University in Europe: Volume 1, Universities in the Middle Ages]

Among the students were Pope Clement VI and Nicholas Oresme.

*[roughly] "To live socially and collegially and morally and scholarly"

The Annals of Xanten

Yesterday's post on St. Anthony's Fire mentioned the Annales Xantenses, the Annals of Xanten covering 790-873. The manuscript was found in the Cotton Library (as Cotton Tiberius C XI), and assumed to be annals of the Abbey of Xanten on the mouth of the Rhine. Another theory is that it was compiled by Gerward, a 9th century royal historian connected to the monasteries of Lorsch and Ghent.

Either way, it is a depressing account:

845
In that same year the heathen broke in upon the Christians at many points, but more than twelve thousand of [them] were killed by the Frisians. Another party of invaders devastated Gaul; of these more than six hundred men perished. Yet owing to his indolence, Charles ... agreed to give them many thousands of pounds of gold and silver if they would leave Gaul, and this they did. Nevertheless the cloisters of [...] most of the saints were destroyed, and many of the Christians were [led] away captive. 

846
According to their custom the Northmen plundered eastern and western Frisia and burned down the town of Dordrecht, with two other villages, before the eyes of Lothair ..., who was then in the castle of Nimwegen, but could not punish the crime. The Northmen, with their [boats] filled with immense booty, including both men and goods, returned to their own country.At this same time, as no one can mention or hear without great sadness, the mother of all the churches, the basilica of the apostle Peter, was taken and plundered by the Moors, or Saracens, who had already occupied the region of Beneventum. The Saracens, moreover, slaughtered all the Christians whom they found outside the walls of Rome, either within or without this church. They also carried men and women away prisoners. They tore down, among many others, the altar of the blessed Peter, and their crimes from day to day bring sorrow to Christians. Pope Sergius departed life this year.

847
After the death of Sergius no mention of the apostolic see has come in any way to our ears.

848
On the fourth of February, towards evening, it lightened and there was thunder heard. The heathen, as was their custom, inflicted injury on the Christians. [source]

All very sad. Also, not all accurate. Pope Sergius II died 24 January 847 and was succeeded by Pope Leo IV on 10 April 847. The slowness of communication—perhaps exacerbated by the constant invasions from "Northmen" (Norse)—must have made them think that the papacy was left vacant for a longer time than it was.

St. Anthony's Fire

Victims of ergotism by Peter Bruegel

Diagnosing medieval diseases has its difficulties. Modern research must rely on accurate recording of symptoms and knowledge of potential causes. And yet, we manage to estimate the likeliest causes of the ailments of long-gone centuries.

Geoffroy du Breuil of Vigeois was a Benedictine who recorded events from 994-1184 in his Chroniques. He mentions preparations for the First Crusade and the Cathar heresy. He also talks about an outbreak in France of an illness that caused rampant gangrene. This is believed to be a case of St. Anthony's Fire.

St. Anthony's Fire was so-called because it was most successfully treated by monks of the Order of St. Anthony. The order was founded in 1095 by Gaston of Valloire and his son, because the son had been cured from the symptoms by the relics of Saint Anthony the Great. The symptoms of St. Anthony's Fire were not only gangrene that caused limbs to fall off but also convulsions, diarrhea, psychosis, headaches, nausea, vomiting, and an uncontrollable itching feeling.

Now we equate St. Anthony's Fire with ergotism, caused by the fungus Claviceps purpurea which infects rye, barley, and other grains. Ergotism also explains a plague in 857, mentioned in the Annales Xantenses. It is also a proposed explanation for anecdotes of bewitchment found in the Middle Ages and later, including in Puritan New England.

David Griffith and the Ultimate Torture

We have discussed the ultimate torture—to be Hanged, Drawn, and Quartered—here and here. Now let us take a brief look at the man whose crimes against the king were considered so heinous that this punishment was created for him.

Dafydd ap Gruffydd (1238-3 October 1282) was Prince of Gwynedd and the grandson of Llewelyn the Great, who ruled all of Wales and was on such good terms with King John that he married John's daughter. Unfortunately for Llewelyn's descendants, the kings of England did not get along well with the rulers of Wales. It did not help that the rulers of Wales had difficulties with challenges from their own subjects, either.

In 1255, Dafydd and his brother Owain challenged their older brother, Llewelyn (named for their grandfather). In a battle that lasted about an hour, Llewelyn defeated his younger brothers and had them imprisoned. Although Owain stayed in prison until his death in 1282, Dafydd was soon released (perhaps his youth was considered a mitigating circumstance).

But Dafydd did not learn his lesson. In 1263 he joined King Henry III (most recently mentioned here) in attacking his brother again. Despite the differences between England and Wales, Henry in 1267 acknowledged Llewelyn as the rightful Prince of Wales. Once again, Dafydd was reconciled with his older brother.

Not yet having learned his lesson, however, Dafydd (and other minor Welsh nobles) joined with the newly crowned King Edward I (whose long career would give him plenty of experience with traitors) in 1274 to try to conquer Wales again. This conflict resulted in the Treaty of Aberconwy, which agreed that Llewelyn (hereafter called "Llewelyn the Last") would rule, but with his death Wales would become subject to England. Prior to his death, his rule was limited to lands west of the River Conwy; the Welsh lands east of the Conwy (about 25% of the size of Llewelyn's) were put in the hands of King Edward's new friend and ally, Dafydd ap Gruffydd! Again, in the spirit of treaty-making, Dafydd was restored to friendly relations with his brother.

Dafydd's grasp of reality was scant, however, and he apparently did not realize how much of his "success" he owed to the generosity of Edward, rather than to his own political and military skill. Edward started a massive fortress-building campaign along the Welsh border, and started establishing English presence within the borders. By the spring of 1282, the discontented Welsh were assembled by Dafydd and attacked Hawarden Castle during Easter Week, beginning the final military conflict between the two countries. Llewelyn felt obligated to support his fellow Welsh in their misguided endeavor. In December of 1282, Llewelyn was killed.

Dafydd had been captured in June 1282. Edward wanted a particularly significant way to make Dafydd suffer and to make of him an example for those who might turn against the king that they had once supported. He summoned Parliament to try Dafydd for high treason, the first official case of this crime. Dafydd ap Gruffydd became the first known person of prominence to suffer the following fate:

He was tied to a horse's tail and dragged through the streets to the place where he was hanged. His body was cut down before death was certain; he was revived, then he was cut open and his entrails pulled out and set afire so that he could see it all happening.* His body was then cut into 4 pieces, the parts going to different parts of the kingdom to be put on display. The person given the task of seeing all this done, Geoffrey of Shrewsbury, was paid 20 shillings for the job.

The execution took place on 3 October 1283.


*Supposedly, the extra-vicious nature of the punishment was recompense for having started the revolt during Easter week.

Medieval Prices

Marketplace, from 16th c.
Les Livres du gouvernement des Princes

Yesterday we talked about the gold bezant and the difficulty in understanding what it was worth. We only know what things were worth in history when someone records what they paid for something. We know, for instance, that Cécile Dorel was "worth" 10,000 bezants. Thanks to the efforts of others, however, we have some idea of the purchasing power of certain currencies.

Here is a page that lists several prices, gleaned from medieval records in England. It offers the different years those prices were recorded, so that one can try to account for changing value over time.

First let us look at relative value:
1 pound = 20 shillings
1 shilling = 12 pence
1 pence/penny = 4 farthings

Also, an English groat was worth 4 pence. Keep in mind that Marco Polo considered a bezant to be worth 20 groats, or 80 pence; this would make a single gold bezant the equivalent of 6.66 shillings, or one-third of a pound.

Let's say we found three gold bezants while we ransacked Constantinople in 1204 as part of the Fourth Crusade. (This was alluded to here; some day I will decide to tackle that complex story.) We take them back to England, and we decide to spend them. We have a whole pound to spend. What shall we do?

According to the above webpage, if we wanted to buy livestock we could get 10 pigs, or we could buy about 500 chickens. Chickens came two to a penny, but if we just wanted eggs, that penny could get us two dozen. If we wanted to enjoy the country life but didn't want to farm, we could rent a cottage for four years (5 shillings/year). That's going to be a one- or two-room affair. In town, renting a merchant's house (which would have several rooms for personal and commercial use) would require about 10 bezants, not the three we have.

If we bequeathed the bezants to our descendants (and assuming they maintained their worth), our great-great-grandsons could have bought three peasant-quality swords for joining the Hundred Years War.

If, however, we just wanted to spend the money on a feast for our neighbors, we could provide a real Babette's Feast.
Good wine (2 gallons) = 20 pence
Sheep to roast = 17 pence
Pig to roast = 24 pence
10 chickens = 5 pence
80-pound cheese wheel = 40 pence (this will last far beyond the fast date)
Salted herring (20) = 15 pence
Dried fruit (raisins, dates, figs, etc.) =  20 pence (1-4 pence per pound; let's be lavish)
Spices (cinnamon, sugar, cloves, etc.) = 20 pence (1-3 shillings per pound; we won't get too much)
Let's get a couple ceramic cooking pots = 1 pence

At this point, we've spent just over 160 pence of our 240.

Alternately, we could probably forgo all of this materialistic pleasure and buy a book. One book. If we were lucky, we'd have three pence remaining and could buy 2 pounds of tallow candles by which to read it.

The Bezant

Coins from Kingdom of Jerusalem in British Museum
(l. to r.) dinar (1162-75), Arabic bezant (1140-80),
Christian bezant (1250-) [source]

Yesterday's post mentioned 10,000 bezants being paid as a bride price. Let's discuss the bezant.

Discussions of items of currency in history break down into two parts: "Where did it come from?" and "What is it worth?" The first part is far easier to deal with. You might guess that the name bezant comes from its relationship to its place of origin: Byzantium.* Gold coins could be called after a particular place because they were not that common: few places minted them, silver and bronze being the more common metals used (hence, of course, the traditional use of gold, silver, and bronze for medals in competition). Gold coins were used for special occasions or for attention-getting: gifts, tributes, awards or, as we saw yesterday, impressing your fiancé's guardian.

Gold coinage started in antiquity in the Middle East and eastern Mediterranean and slowly spread westward as trade increased. Of European merchants, those from Italy had the most familiarity with eastern gold coins from the east and used the term bezant to refer to gold coins from Egypt (the dinar in the above picture); Marco Polo used bezant to refer to the gold coins he saw in East Asia.

What was a bezant worth? That depended on a lot of factors, and there was no "gold market" like we have today that monitors fluctuations in price. The best we have in most cases is a comparison to other coins. Marco Polo describes one bezant as worth 20 groats or 133.33 tornesel. This tells us only that gold coins were proportionally far more valuable than other metals. The gold coins that were minted in England in the 10th and 11th centuries were decreed to be worth nine times the value of a similar-sized silver coin. Suffice it to say that any gold coin had much more purchasing power than most coins in circulation that the average person would be likely to use on a daily basis. Unfortunately, we do not have lists of prices of everyday items or services from history...but we do have some, which we will look at tomorrow.


*Byzantium was re-named Constantinople in 330CE; later, of course, it became Istanbul in 1930. Enjoy the song.

The Power of Gold

Yes, it's the witch-weighing scene
from "Monty Python and the Holy Grail"

There is a medieval anecdote in the so-called "Chronicle of Ernoul" that, though fanciful, is based on a true story. The author, "Ernoul," names himself in his Chronicle and says he was a squire of Balian of Ibelin, one of the Crusader nobles who helped take and maintain (for a short time) Jerusalem. He tells a story of a bride (Lucie) who was put on a large scale by a suitor, who offered her guardian (Raymond III of Tripoli) the lady's weight in gold for the privilege of marrying her.

The true story is just as demonstrative of the power of gold, however, and doesn't need a set of scales.

The lady was Cécile Dorel, who inherited lands in Tripoli upon the death of her father. Raymond III (1140-1187), Count of Tripoli, was her uncle. Raymond was approached by two men for Cécile's hand in marriage (and the coastal lands in Tripoli that she now possessed).

One of the men was Gerard de Ridefort. His origin is uncertain, but by the time of this story he was in the service of Baldwin IV of Jerusalem and held the title Marshal of the kingdom, putting him in charge of all mercenaries and disbursement of spoils of war. This would have been a noble match between Gerard and Cécile, but Raymond III acted differently. He married Cécile to the nephew of a Pisan merchant. Why? The bride price was too handsome to ignore. The bride price was money or valuables offered to the family of the bride by the groom or his family in order to ensure the marriage (feel free to read "buy the woman"). The Pisan nephew, whose name was Plivano, offered 10,000 bezants for Cécile. Bezants varied in weight and value, so it is difficult now to determine exactly how much that bride price was worth in today's money. It was clearly, however, an amount not to be ignored—and not easily matched—and so Plivano had his bride.

Gerard took the loss poorly and fell ill. He swore off women, apparently, and became a Templar, going on to a great career in that order. That, however, is a another story.

Controlling Sicily, et alia

The growing power and importance of Sicily in the Middle Ages was mentioned here. But the solution they found didn't quite last; controlling Sicily was an ongoing issue for many. Generations later a different pope faced the "problem of Sicily." That was Pope Nicholas IV.

Nicholas (born Girolamo Masci, 1227-1292) was a humble Franciscan friar before he was elected the first pope from the Order founded only 79 years earlier by Saint Francis.

In the four years that he was pope, he had few ambitions. Resolving the current Sicilian question was one. There were two men claiming control of Sicily, Charles II of Naples and James II of Aragon. Unfortunately for James (who was actually resident in Sicily), Charles promised to recognize the pope's suzerainty over Sicily—meaning that Sicily would be beholden to the papal state and offer it regular tribute. Charles, therefore, got the pope's blessing, and Nicholas brokered a treaty with King Philip IV of France and King Alfonso III of Aragon to expel James II from Sicily.

No sooner had the Pope completed this task than another concern reared its head: the kingdom of Acre in the Middle East fell to the Mamluks. Failing to get a Crusade started, Nicholas sent missionaries to the east to increase Christian conversions.

He also made some financial changes in the Vatican. One of them was to disburse among the cardinals one-half of the Vatican's income. As it turned out, the power this gave to the College of Cardinals would create problems for later popes. Nicholas also created a detailed system of evaluation and taxation for English and Welsh parishes. The records created for his Taxatio provide historians with a valuable look at the status of English and Welsh churches at the end of the 13th century.

He died peacefully on 4 April 1292, at the age of 64.  His death would trigger the difficulties that led to the story of the Pope Who Quit.

Trial by Combat—Marriage Edition

There is a lot more to say about Trial by Combat than can be put into a brief post. The history includes interesting anecdotes and surprising facets. One such facet is seen in the picture to the left. It comes from the 1467 Fechtbuch [German: "fight book"] of Hans Talhoffer (c.1415-1482), who was mentioned in the above link on Trial by Combat. Talhoffer produced at least five books on fencing, and apparently trained people for Trial by Combat.

As for the picture, translations of the captions should explain all:

Here is how a man and woman should fight each other, and this is how they begin.
Here the woman stands free and wishes to strike; she has in the cloth a stone that weighs four or five pounds.
He stands in a hole up to his waist, and his club is as long as her sling. [source]

That is correct. Trial by Combat was available to women—at least, it was as late as 15th century Germany. Supposedly, this was a method used by married couples to settle disputes...serious disputes. Since men were considered the superior sex, something needed to be done to even the odds between them, hence the hole in which he stands, reducing his mobility. Note also that they do not use cutting weapons: their blunt instruments are intended to bludgeon the opponent into submission, not cause the opponent to bleed to death.

Remember that non-aristocracy had to seek permission from a court to engage in a lawful Trial by Combat; hence the term "judicial duels." Husbands and wives could not just decide to dig a hole in the front yard and fight it out amongst the neighbors. There are no known recorded examples of such trials or their outcomes, but the casual way in which Talhoffer describes his sample fight (there are more illustrations in his manuscript) suggests that there was nothing shocking about this in his time.

Donating America

Christopher Columbus is about as late as a "medieval" blog should deal with, but to me it seems appropriate. The world that Columbus sailed from was still very much entrenched in the culture and technology of the Middle Ages (even though its artworks are considered part of the Renaissance). But the discovery of a new continent—and the new era of exploration of which it was a part—made radical changes to any remaining "parochial" attitudes of the Old World.

But what was the plan for the land he was to find? Was there a plan? Didn't he intend simply to find a new route to India for trade purposes?

Maybe not. On 4 May 1493, Pope Alexander VI (1431-1503) issued a papal bull, Inter caetera [Latin: "Among other (works)"], which granted to the kingdoms of Spain (Castile and Aragon) all lands west and south of a line 100 leagues west of the Azores or Cape Verde islands. If you look at the map below, the line on the right shows the boundary, west of which the lands belonged to Spain. Everyone involved realized very quickly that Columbus had discovered new lands, not the expected ones.

Portugal objected to this authority granted to Spain. It felt it had some precedent for authority over these new lands.

Inter caetera was not the first papal bull regarding the disposition of the New World. Pope Nicholas V (1397-1455) had presented a bull on 18 June 1452 called Dum diversas [Latin: "Until different"], allowing Alfonso V of Portugal (1432-1481) to seek out and capture pagans and seize their kingdoms. Portugal believed that Spain's rights granted by Inter caetera conflicted with Portugal's rights granted by Dum diversas. Spain and Portugal tried a diplomatic solution, to no avail. Spain urged the Pope (who was Spanish) to help. The result was a new bull, Dudum siquidem [Latin: "A short while ago"] that gave Spain:

all islands and mainlands whatsoever, found and to be found, discovered and to be discovered, that are or may be or may seem to be in the route of navigation or travel towards the west or south, whether they be in western parts, or in the regions of the south and east and of India. [Dudum siquidem, 26 September 1493]

 The intent was clear, and Spain started sending conquistadors.

In truth, there were several bulls over the years that granted authority to different countries to take over other lands. A specific subset of these dealing with the New World is known collectively as the "Bulls of Donation." Spain and Portugal finally came to an agreement with the Treaty of Tordesillas in 1494, dividing up the New World between them.

Trial by Combat

The dueling area was typically
60 feet square.

One of the things "everyone knows" about the Middle Ages is the idea of Trial by Combat: the act of fighting to determine who is right in a dispute. It was a custom followed primarily by Germanic culture; it was later brought to Great Britain.* It was recognized as a valid part of German tribal law as far back as the early 8th century in the Lex Alamannorum [Latin: "Law of the Alemanni"; the Alemanni were a Germanic tribe on the Upper Rhine].

The Fourth Lateran Council of 1215, in an effort to tamp down this sanctioned violence, tried to ban Trial by Combat in favor of Trial by Jury. "Judicial duels"—that is, a fight sanctioned by the local legal system—were too unpredictable a measure of justice. German countries kept up the practice, however. The 15th century fencing master, Hans Talhoffer, detailed the ways in which judicial duels could be carried out, and listed seven offenses that merited such a trial: murder, treason, desertion of your lord, unlawful captivity, heresy, perjury, rape.

Commoners were required to take their dispute to court first in order to have Trial by Combat sanctioned by the local legal system. Nobility, however, could take it upon themselves to duel over a dispute, leading to the "gentleman's duel" of later years. The combatants would each bring a "second" to help arrange the particulars, everything from the location to making sure the horses are saddled properly. Sometimes these seconds would meet separately to discuss a more peaceful solution that the combatants could not discus face to face due to their pride.

The combatants had some duties, too, besides fighting. They would attend (separate) church services prior to combat, and make a donation to the church. They had to be ready to begin the combat by noon, and it had to be concluded by sundown.

The last official judicial duel is unknown, but we know that King Charles I of England intervened to prevent a couple, one in 1631 and one in 1638. In 1818, Abraham Thornton, already acquitted of the murder and rape of Mary Ashford, had an accusation brought by Mary's brother, William. Thornton claimed the right to Trial by Combat; the court decided that he was justified, since the "evidence" for his guilt was circumstantial and disputable, and because Parliament had never removed the right to Trial by Combat from the books. Ashford backed down. The following year, Parliament abolished Trial by Combat.

*It is not to be confused with Trial by Ordeal which involved causing an accused to suffer some ordeal that would "prove" his guilt or innocence.

Cosmati Floors

Cosmati floor, Westminster Abbey church, during a recent cleaning.

When discussing the rebuilding of Westminster Abbey yesterday, I mentioned labor coming from outside of London; sometimes it came from far outside of London. Records mention workers named Matthew and Henry de Rems who likely came from Rheims in France. Richard Norman and Richard of Caen would have come from Normandy, probably for their expertise in stonework. Other expertise in stonework came from even farther away than Normandy. For in front of the high altar, Henry III commissioned a floor in the Cosmatesque style.

It wasn't known as "Cosmatesque" at the time; that is what we call it now, because the style was made popular by the Cosmati family of Rome. The Cosmati (members of whom were active for generations, from at least 1190 until at least 1303) used opus sectile [Latin: "cut work"] in stone to design intricate inlays. We know some dates for members of the family because they occasionally signed their work.

Cosmati floor from Rome.

The Cosmatesque floor in Westminster (created in 1268) is also signed, though not with a name known to be a member of the Cosmati family. A brass inscription proclaims (in Latin) "the third King Henry, the city, Odoricus and the abbot put these porphyry stones together." Another inscription reads "The spherical globe here shows the archetypal macrocosm." Explanation of the floor's symbolism has filled pages of speculation; you can find what Westminster itself has to say here.

A TV program made about the Cosmati floor during and after its recent restoration can be found on YouTube.

Building Westminster Abbey - Part 2

I started this here with the origins of what we now call "Westminster Abbey." A major rebuilding campaign began about 1245 by Henry III (1216-1272), who desired both to enhance the resting place of Edward the Confessor, whom he admired, and to create his own royal burial site. (Like Edward, Henry was buried in Westminster long before the construction was complete. Edward was re-interred in 1269 in a newly completed shrine.)

The task of reconstruction was enormous, and the fact that it took so long had nothing to do with a casual attitude to getting it done. The pace of some stages of work was staggering for the time. We have some of the records involved. Numbers of laborers fluctuated depending on the season and the finances available. There were some financial realities that caused occasional work stoppages. Only two people were paid a continuous wage: the two masters of the works, Master Henry and Master John of Gloucester.

Records for part of 1253 (end of April until early December, when most work would have paused for the winter), list the following workforce:

For wages of 39 white cutters [freestone masons] 14 marblers, 20 layers, 32 carpenters, together with John of St. Albans, 3 painters, 13 polishers, 19 smiths, 14 glaziers and 4 plumbers, £14 12s. For the wages of 150 laborers with Keepers, clerks and the charges of two carts daily £6 16s. [quoted in John Steane, The Archaeology of the Medieval English Monarchy]

The labor would have come from local hires or specialists who traveled from all over England to join the project. What about materials, however? The two Masters of the Works would travel to find suitable materials (we know this because the records showed them being paid double for travel expenses). For convenience, "buying local" would be best, and we know that many suppliers were London-based. For example, Richard of Eastcheap had apparently managed a monopoly on the wood used for scaffolding and ramps. Agnes of London not only was a major source of burnt lime used for concrete, she was responsible for organizing 440 cartloads of sand to the work site. Other references exist for two cartloads of charcoal provided by Roger of Barking, and carved stones from Roger of the Tower. Henry of Bridge supplied ironwork, especially nails. A 1265 record mentions a Richard who submitted a bill for 16.75 hundredweight* of lime. Some of these names re-occur for other building projects, such as the Tower of London.

The materials themselves would have come from all over. Some master masons came from Oxford, and   it is known that the Windsor Castle upgrade used stone quarried in Whately, a mere few miles from Oxford. Much of the material might have come from storage very close by: the southern end of London Bridge was home to a public works yard that maintained large stocks of timber, stone and ironwork to aid in the necessary upkeep of the Bridge.

*A hundredweight in England was approximately 116 pounds.

Building Westminster Abbey - Part 1

Panel from Bayeaux Tapestry; Edward's body carried to Westminster.

The Collegiate Church of St. Peter at Westminster was begun on a site near the Thames where a vision of St. Peter was seen by (appropriately) a fisherman. The fisherman, named Aldrich in the anecdote, may be fictional, but the abbey was fact: we know that a church was there by the early 970s when King Edgar supported St. Dunstan in establishing a community of Benedictine monks. (Edgar was obviously very interested in supporting abbeys: see his other mention here.) The Aldrich story would explain the practice of the Abbey receiving an annual tribute of salmon from Thames fishermen—a tradition that is carried on to this day, with a single salmon being presented to the Abbey annually.*

The Abbey's real prominence came during the reign of Edward the Confessor (1042-1066), who decided it would be suitable for his burial place, but only after some serious upgrading. Edward's building campaign—the first in the Norman Romanesque style to be built in England—resulted in a larger structure whose details are now lost to us, except in the stylized image we find on the Bayeaux Tapestry. Edward died 5 January, 1066 with the Abbey decades away from completion (in 1090), but he made sure it was consecrated while he was still alive, so that he could be buried there right after his death. (The Tapestry even seems to show—in the upper left of the picture above—the work still progressing even while the funeral procession approaches.) The Abbey was used for the coronation of William the Conqueror in late 1066, after that whole Invasion mess. Very little of this era's structure survives now.

Westminster Abbey, as we know it today, was reconstructed during the reign of Henry III. We have more records of materials and workmen surviving from that era, which I will share with you next time.


*At least, some sources report this; however, it is not found anywhere on the Company's website. I'm dubious.

Button, Button

Bronze-Iron Age buttons as ornament. [source]

Although evidence of buttons exists as far back as the classical era, it appears that they were used as ornamentation on clothing rather than a way to fasten clothing,

the earliest known being found at Mohenjo-daro in the Indus Valley [now Pakistan]. It is made of a curved shell and about 5000 years old. [Ian McNeil, An Encyclopedia of the History of Technology]

Rows of buttons as a necessary part of clothing were unknown. Usually a single button—a flat decorated surface with a loop attached to the back—was put on clothing to pin up a single fold of fabric.

The first evidence of "functional buttons"—used to attach clothing so that it fit snugly about the body—is found in art. Statuary on the Adamspforte ("Adam's gate") at Bamberg Cathedral (carved c.1235) in Germany shows a button holding clothing together.

By the late 1300s, buttons were being applied to all sorts of clothing in order to make it fit more closely to the body. One of the modifications that made buttons work well was the addition of reinforced button holes to clothing, which spread in the later 1200s.

A late medieval button from England [source]

Besides a change in fashion, was the addition of buttons and buttonholes significant? Well, one theory (shared by James Burke of Connections fame and Lynn White, author of several essays and books on the history of technology) is that the spread of better-fitting clothing made people warmer in cold weather and therefore increased their health...or, at least, decreased susceptibility to any illnesses that were exacerbated by cold temperatures.

This seems odd to the modern age, because we take form-fitting clothing for granted. Didn't they have looms and weaving? Of course. But much form-fitting fabric in the Middle Ages didn't appear until the development of knitting.

But that's a story for another day.

Hildegard of Bingen

Hildegard of Bingen shown with a psaltery.

One of the oldest known composers of liturgical music—and perhaps the earliest medieval dramatist—was a nun who lived in Germany in the 12th century known as Hildegard of Bingen (c.1098-1179).

What little we know of her early years tells us that she was the youngest of several children born to a lower-class family in Sponheim, Germany. Whether because she was sickly, or because she was very young and not likely to be able to inherit much, or because she was said to have mystic visions at an early age, she was given to the church while still very young (between the age of eight and 14).

Although cloistered, she was exposed to some education, learning enough rhetoric to be a forceful and compelling speaker and enough music to play the psaltery (a dulcimer-like instrument, shown above). She used a Latin in her writing that was very simple (she devised her own letters and made words up). There is some debate regarding whether this was due to a lack of formal education or the deliberate need to create her own form of expressing herself. Her writings on theological matters and on her visions led to attempts to canonize her. The canonization process stretched over centuries, until two recent popes (John Paul II and Benedict XVI) started referring to her as a saint; Benedict XVI declared her officially a saint in 2012. Her feast day is 17 September.

Outside of the church, she is mostly known for her music. Sixty-nine musical compositions are known to have been produced by Hildegard, and many modern recordings of them are available. They are monophonic, possessing a single melody, and are often closely related to the text with which she accompanies each musical piece. Because she does not use musical notation as we know it today, there is much room for interpretation of her work.

Here is a sample:

Harald Tangle Hair

Praise the northern tribes of Europe and their tendency to give descriptive names to significant people, so that we can remember them in our history lessons!

Harald (already showing unkempt hair in this depiction)
receiving the kingdom from his father.

When Halfdan the Black (so-called because of his hair color, not for any defect of character) died c.860, he left to his son, Harald, a very small territory called Vestfold, mostly on the southern coast of what is now Norway. Norway at the time was divided into several small areas, each ruled over by different tribes. Harald, with the help of his uncle Guthorm, established firm rule over Vestfold. With this, he may have been content, but then...

According to the Heimskringla,* Harald proposed marriage to Gyda, the princess of a neighboring kingdom, Hordaland. Although Hordaland was no larger than Vestfold, Gyda thought it fitting to demand that she marry no less than the king of all Norway. The fact that there had never been a "King of all Norway" did not deter her ambitions—or Harald's. He took a vow never to cut or comb his hair until he achieved the title "King of Norway." This, of course, immediately gave him a new title anyway, and he was called "Harald Tangle Hair" or "Harald Shockhead" in the following years.

He fought a large battle c.900 in which he defeated two of his most prominent rivals in Norway, after which there was so little resistance to his goal of conquest that he could rightly be called King of Norway.

The tangle of his hair was matched, however, by the untamed nature of his lust. He is believed to have fathered many children with different mothers (he never married Gyda, that we know of), including between 10 and 20 sons, many of whom wanted to rule the kingdom (or, at least, part of it) after his death or even before. Rule of Norway passed to his youngest son, Hakon the Good (called so because of his Christian faith), but another son, Erik Bloodaxe (called so because of his Norse faith) spent 15 years trying unsuccessfully to take the crown away.

It is likely that you have never heard of "Harald Tangle Hair" before—at least, not by that name. It took much of his life to unite Norway and be proclaimed king, but he did achieve his goal, and therefore he could reverse his earlier vow. When he started cutting and combing his hair again, he was rewarded with the epithet "Fair hair" (Norse harfagr). "Harald Fairhair" is how we call him these days, forgetting his youthful vow.


*Heimskringla is the best known of the Old Norse kings' sagas. It was written in Old Norse in Iceland by the poet and historian Snorri Sturluson (1178/79–1241) ca. 1230. The name Heimskringla was first used in the 17th century, derived from the first two words of one of the manuscripts (kringla heimsins - the circle of the world). [Wikipedia]

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.

The Prayer Rope

When your religion is centered on a holy text, and a majority of the population cannot read, how do you bridge the gap between a devotional spirit and the obligation to  certain prayers? A prayer rope.

The creation of the prayer rope, the use of which arose with monasticism in Egypt in the 3rd or 4th century CE, is attributed to St. Pachomius. Considered a precursor to the Christian Rosary, it gave early monks a mnemonic device for achieving their daily prayer goals.

The prayer rope was a circle of knots, intended to be fingered as one went through the daily devotions. Carrying it by itself was a reminder to pray, but the knots would remind one of the specific number of prayers needed to meet a daily obligation. Prayer ropes have been found with as few as 10 knots (and wearable on a finger) and as many as 500. Some numbers can be assumed for a reason: 33 for the years of Jesus' life, for instance, or 150 for the Psalms. Beads are sometimes present at intervals along the rope.

Construction of a prayer rope was not a random act. They were usually made from wool, to represent Jesus' flock. A cross was attached to the place where the two ends of the rope were joined, with sometimes a tassel added. Although traditionally a black rope to represent our sinful state, the tassel often had red in it, to represent Jesus' blood. When weaving and knotting one, the maker should be praying the entire time.

Not to be worn as a necklace or dangling from one's clothing, the rope is carried wrapped around the left wrist. When in use, the left hand holds the rope, counting the knots between thumb and forefinger. The right hand is left free to make the Sign of the Cross.

The prayer rope is still in use in many parts of the world.

The Other Peasants' Revolts

The Peasants' Revolt of 1381 was mentioned last year over a five-day span, but the events in London weren't the only expression of lower class unrest that month. Word of the rebellion in London sparked similar group actions elsewhere in the kingdom. Revolts took place in Bury St. Edmunds, Cambridgeshire, Ipswich, St. Albans, Thetford, and numerous other locales. At a time when 90% of the population was agrarian and existing in a system in which they could feel controlled and oppressed, it was easy to get large crowds stirred up. The ruling minority, on the other hand, took a little longer to muster an armed resistance capable of suppressing the rioting.

In the north of England, for instance, word of rebellion in London reached John of Gaunt on June 17 in Berwick-on-Tweed on the border of Scotland. He was too far from London to do anything about the events there, but he sent messengers to his castles in Yorkshire and Wales to be alert. By this time, Wat Tyler had been killed in London a few days before, and the Revolt there was being dispersed, but John did not know that.

Also on the 17th, word of the revolt came to York, inspiring the lower classes to attack the estates held by Dominicans and Franciscans. York and Scarborough were in upheaval for months until the established authorities were able to re-assert control with the help of armed men.

The Oldest Political Alliance

King John I of Portugal weds Philippa of Lancaster, 1386
(Chronique de France et d'Angleterre, Jean Wavrin, 15th c.)

When Edward III is mentioned in this blog, it is often in connection with the Hundred Years War between England and France. Expanding his "little island's" authority was an important feature of his long reign. So it might come as a surprise to learn that he was responsible for a non-aggression treaty with another European power—a treaty that has been in effect for almost 600 years!

It didn't hurt Edward to have a friend on the continent. It gave him a potential place to land ships if he needed to march through (or against) Spain for any reason. The alliance helped Portugal as well. During political troubles in the 1380s, John the Good (called João in Portugese) defeated his rivals; England recognized him as the rightful king of Portugal right away. Spain would not recognize his right to rule until decades later. England reinforced the 1373 treaty in 1386 with the Treaty of Windsor, as a result of which King John I of Portugal married Philippa of Lancaster, daughter of John of Gaunt, Edward III's 4th son.

Does the treaty have any real significance in the modern world, considering the United Nations, NATO, etc.? Well, it is said that during World War II, Portugal refused to join the Axis powers in order to stay loyal to a 550-year-old document!

In the first paragraph, I said the treaty had been in place for "almost" 600 years, but wouldn't the date of 1373 mean it was in place for 640 years? Or, given that the treaty wasn't ratified until 1386, couldn't I have said "over" or "more than" 600 years? Well, I must be honest: the treaty wasn't always in effect during that time. From 1580-1640, due to marriages between the royal families of Spain and Portugal, Portugal was obligated to drop the treaty with England, Spain's enemy at the time.

The Liberal Alcuin of York

Tiffany window of Charlemagne and Alcuin
at LaFayette College (1898)

Alcuin of York has been mentioned before, primarily in his relationship to intellectual puzzles. This does a disservice to a man who was revered as a scholar and saint, and is one of the primary movers behind the Carolingian Renascence.

We know little about the early life of Alcuin (c.735-804). He came to the cathedral school of York under Archbishop Ecgbert (died 766), who took a great interest in Alcuin's schooling. It was here that Alcuin blossomed into a scholar of liberal studies, helping to develop the curriculum of the York cathedral school to embrace the Trivium (Grammar, Rhetoric, and Logic) and Quadrivium (Arithmetic, Music, Geometry, and Astronomy). Alcuin himself wrote a textbook on the former, leaving the latter to his student, our old friend Hrabanus Maurus (previously mentioned here).

Sometime after Ecgbert died, Alcuin became the head of the school.* In 781, on his way home from a trip to Rome to see the pope (his mission was to petition the pope to confirm York as an archbishopric, the second in England after Canterbury), he met, for the second time, Charlemagne, who convinced him to stay and help promote learning in Charlemagne's kingdom.

Alcuin settled in the palace school at Aachen in 782, working alongside several of the intellectual lights of the 8th century, such as Peter of Pisa, a grammarian brought there to teach Latin, and Paulinus of Aquileia, a theologian and grammarian who became a good friend of Alcuin's, maintaining a relationship through letters even after Paulinus left the court to take up the position of Patriarch of Aquileia.

The other way that Alcuin was "liberal" is in his attitude toward pagans. Charlemagne followed the not-uncommon Christian royal practice of outlawing paganism, offering conquered pagan peoples the choice of conversion or death. Alcuin objected to this, and made his reasons clear to Charlemagne:

"Faith is a free act of the will, not a forced act. We must appeal to the conscience, not compel it by violence. You can force people to be baptized, but you cannot force them to believe."

Charlemagne eventually abolished the death penalty for paganism.

Alcuin died on the 19th of May 804.

*This school still exists today as St. Peter's.