Mechthild of Magdeburg

And God said to the soul:
I desired you before the world began.
I desire you now
As you desire me.
And where the desires of two come together
There love is perfected.
—Mechthild of Magdeburg*

Mechthild (Matilda) of Magdeburg has been mentioned a couple times this week as an exemplar of mysticism whose story was translated and shared by Henry of Nördlingen with other mystics.

She was born about 1210 in Saxony. At the age of 12, the Holy Spirit made her acquaintance and visited her daily. Her interactions with the Holy Spirit prompted her to leave home about 1230 and go to Magdeburg to join the Beguines, a group of lay Christians who lived in semi-monastic communities and vowed not to marry.

Her visions and revelations continued, and she was convinced by her confessor, Henry of Halle, to record them. She wrote a book which God wanted her to call Fliessende lieht miner gottheit in allu die herzen die da lebent and valscheit ["Light of my divinity, flowing into all hearts that live without guile"], but is now known as 

 Das fliessende Licht der Gottheit ["The Flowing Light of Godhead"], which became an inspiration for other mystics in the decades to follow. Her writing is interspersed with the occasional poem, such as the one above.

Some of her ideas were enlightening for the Middle Ages trying to understand the afterlife:

She divides hell into three parts; the lowest and most horrible is filled with condemned Christians, the middle with Jews, and the highest with Pagans. Hell, purgatory and heaven are situated one immediately above the other. The lowest portion of purgatory is filled with devils, who torment the souls in the most horrible manner, while the highest portion of purgatory is identical with the lowest portion of heaven. Many a soul in the lowest Purgatory does not know whether it will ever be saved. [Catholic Encyclopedia]

Some have suggested that her vision of the three helped to inspire Dante's Divine Comedy. In Canto XXVIII of Purgatorio, there is a Matilda gathering flowers. This figure is usually identified as Matilda (1046-1114), a Grancontessa of Tuscany, who supported several popes, but a "Matilda" who lived much closer to Dante and was known for her religious visions might be a better identification.

In 1270, she joined the Cistercian nuns at Helfta, and was respected by all. Some think she lived until the 1290s, but there are no definitive records of her after 1282.

*From Teachings of the Christian Mystics, edited Andrew Harvey

Henry of Nordlingen

The walled town of Nördlingen in Bavaria

Henry of Nördlingen was an interesting character. We don't know when he was born, nor when he died, but we know that he was very active for many years in the "German mystic" circles.

The British Museum holds a manuscript which contains 58 letters written by Henry between 1332 and 1351; in fact, they are considered the earliest collection of personal letters written in German.

His life's goal—the only goal of which we know, based on the letters—was to guide and advise mystics, of which his mother was one. He wrote letters to, or visited, several mystics in order to encourage them. Among his correspondents were Christina Ebner, Margareta Ebner (no relation to Christina), Henry Suso, Johannes Tauler, and others.

He translated the memoirs of the 13th century mystic Mechthilde of Magdeburg, and used it as an example to other mystics to write their revelations. He also sent them books on theology, such as the works of Thomas Aquinas. His activities and letters shed a great deal of light on the thread of mysticism running through 14th century German religious society.

He was also a preacher in his own right; he was very popular, traveling to Avignon and Switzerland, where he was welcomed by the "Friends of God," a group inspired by the teachings of another German mystic, Meister Eckhart (c.1260 - 1328). He left them and preached in Alsace during the height of the Black Death there, then returned to Germany in 1350. His last known correspondence was with Christina Ebner in 1351; after that, we have no knowledge of the end of his life.

Christina Ebner-Mystic Writer

From the Church of St. Sebald in Nuremberg;
Christina Ebner stands to the side of the Virgin and Child

Christina Ebner was born on Good Friday (26 March) 1277, to a well-off Nuremberg family. Her mother taught her to be very devout, and from the age of seven Christina asked to be allowed to become a nun. At the age of twelve she was granted her request, and her parents took her to the Dominican nuns of the Monastery of St. John the Baptist in Engelthal (near Nuremberg).

After one year there, however, she was taken with an illness that recurred thrice per year for the next decade, and then frequently thereafter. Difficult for her, but during her illnesses she had visions, which she was encouraged to write down by her confessor, Father Conrad of Füssen.

She consequently wrote a biography that recounts her whole life, and she kept writing right up until 1353 (she died 27 December 1355/6). Her first account was called Leben und Offenbarungen [Life and Revelations]. She also wrote a book that recounted mystical visions experienced by other nuns in her monastery, called Schwesternbuch [Book of Sisters], and later another book of revelations called Offenbarungen [Revelations]. In this last book, she also recorded her impressions and ideas on certain historical events, such as the 1348 riots in Nuremberg, an earthquake, and the conflict between the papacy and the Holy Roman Emperor Louis IV.

Christina's fame drew several visitors to her, including Holy Roman Emperor Charles IV. Another was Henry of Nördlingen, priest, traveler, and spiritual advisor, who gave her a book by the mystic Mechthild of Magdeburg. In fact, Henry deserves his own entry, which he will get tomorrow.

Not Made By Hand

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Haloes

(photo credit Conor Hogan, 2014)

The picture here is medieval, although not from the Middle Ages. It's of the dome of Our Lady of Victory Church in Lackawanna, NY. It was taken and sent to me by someone who asked "Why is the halo triangular?" It turns out that there have been many ways over the centuries to express saintliness or godliness through the use of different styles of halo.

"Halo" comes from the Greek ἅλως, which means the "shining disk" of the sun or moon.* There have been many representations of haloes in art throughout the whole of art history. Sometimes they are represented as rays shining out from the head of a special person. Often they are circular. The circle may be portrayed as a disk behind the saint's head, looking like a large dinner plate floating so that his or her head is perfectly centered in the circle. In the Renaissance (see the top image here), when realistic perspective became a goal in art, the halo was often shown as if it were a perfectly round and flat disc that was attached to the back of the head, so that at an angle you would see it as an elliptical hat (check out the fancy hats here). Later, it was fashionable to portray it as a simple lighted "hoop," as we see in this 15th-century painting.

There were some special haloes, used in only certain circumstances. Members of the Holy Trinity could be seen with a halo that had three rays (or sets of three lines) extending from the head to the circumference. We see that in the diagram to the right. A halo made of stars was used only for the Blessed Virgin Mary (here is a sample, connecting her to the EU flag), because of the woman whose head was surrounded by 12 stars mentioned in the Book of Revelation who gives birth to the child who was to rule all nations.

Which leaves the triangle. The triangle also represented the Trinity, but was used solely for depicting God the Father. This was perhaps because the triangle is the obvious symbol for the Trinity. It could be because God the Father rules in Heaven, and "heaven" or the area above the earth was sometimes represented symbolically as a triangle. Earth's symbol was a square, due to the four cardinal directions and the "four corners of the earth," and if you look from one horizon to straight up and then down to the far horizon, you have drawn a triangle with your eyes.

So, the church in Lackawanna, NY, drew from some old symbolism for the depiction of God on the dome; clearly, it was not built by iconoclasts.

*You can see examples of the meteorological phenomena that inspired the word here.

Ars Nova: Jean de Muris

Treatise on Musical Intervals, by Jean de Muris

Jean de Muris was mentioned in the post on Ars Nova as the author of Ars novæ musicæ [New technique of music]. He did more than that, however: he was also a mathematician and philosopher, an astronomer, a colleague of Philippe de Vitry, a lecturer at the Sorbonne.

Born near Lisieux about 1300 (he died c. 1351), he studied at the University of Paris and spent a lot of his time there as well as at Evreux, Fontevrault and Mezières-en-Brenne. He wrote a few books—perhaps as many as five (we are not sure whether some were written by him, but similar style is a reason for ascribing some works to him).

There are over 150 manuscripts of copies of works attributed to Muris. At one point, a work that criticized the Ars Nova was considered to have been written by him, but later it was determined that someone else wrote it. Muris certainly approved of the new style in his works. One of these, the Quæstiones super partes musicæ ["Questions on the parts of music"], can be read (in Latin) here.

Here's a section in English:

What is music? Music is the mistress art of the arts, containing in herself the beginnings of all methods [...], confirmed in the nature of all things, remarkably internalized proportionally, delightful to the intellect, loved by the ear. Music gladdens the downcast, rewards the eager, thwarts the envious, comforts the weak, keeps awake the vigilant, awakens the sleepers, nourishes love, honors its possessor, if music, which was established at last for the praise of God, has pursued its just goal. [link, p.239]

This embodies the Ars nova, which brought formal music out of the Church and made it complex, expressive, and secular. 

Ars nova

from Italian manuscript J. IV.115,
an example of Ars Nova notation

Beginning in the early 1300s there was a change in musical style, an evolution from monophony (a single melody) to polyphony, in which two or more lines of melody intermingled. The result was to give music a richer, more expressive sound.

The Church didn't like it.

Pope John XXII rejected it (as he tried to reject elections of which he did not approve). The sacred monophonic chant of the Church was being mixed with secular tunes. Music was becoming "fancy" and "frivolous" in ways that did not suit the pope.

The new style caught on, however, and there was no turning back. Two books describing the new technique helped to spread the new ideas. They were Ars novæ musicæ [New technique of music] by Jean de Muris c. 1320, and Ars nova notandi [New technique of musical notation] by Philippe de Vitry in about 1322. Because of these titles, 20th century historians refer to this style and period of time in music (the 14th century) as the Ars Nova. This new style developed at the same time in France and Italy. In France, one of its greatest exemplars was the poet Guillaume de Machaut. A sample of his musical composition is found in this post.

Among the new forms of non-sacred music given to us by the Ars Nova are the Madrigal, usually a song of love for two voices, and the Ballad, a story with a non-religious theme which was meant to be sung in public. The music in the manuscript of the Roman de Fauvel is an example of Ars nova.

The Story of Fauvel

Fauvel holds forth.  

A 14th century manuscript is an amazing example of a "multi-media" piece of fiction.

The story? It's about a horse ... a horse that becomes a politician.

The Roman de Fauvel ["Story of Fauvel"] is dated to as early as 1310, although the author is unknown. It is an allegory, in which a fawn-colored (French fauve) horse decides he is unhappy with the stable and moves himself into the largest room in the nearby house, altering it to suit his needs (like adding a crib for fresh hay). Fortuna (Fate) makes him the head of the house, and leaders both secular and religious come to listen to him, increasing his fame. Ultimately, Fauvel marries Lady Vainglory and begins a life of begetting corrupt leaders that will usher in the end times.

The original story was expanded by Chaillous de Pesstain*, who added musical notations to it—in fact, 169 snippets of musical notation to accompany the story. This particular copy is found in the Bibliotheque Nationale in France as manuscript BN fr. 146 (which you can see online here).

The Roman de Fauvel gave birth to a modern idiom. To "curry" is to groom a horse, and the leaders in the story would curry Fauvel in order to ingratiate themselves to him. "To curry Fauvel" became a saying to indicate trying to please someone so that they look kindly upon you. After the 17th century, this was misunderstood in English as "to curry favor," to try to get a favor from someone by flattery.

*And that's about the sum total of all we know about him. He may have been just the scribe of that particular manuscript.

The Death(s) of King Harthacnut

Harthacanute's death at the wedding feast
[Cambridge University Library, Ee.3.59, fo. 7r]

He was the son of King Cnut, and his royal name was Cnut II (of England) or Cnut III (of Denmark), but he is more usually known to us as Harthacnut. His parentage ascent to the throne has been mentioned before, but today we are going to talk about the cause of his death...or the causes of his death.

Harthacnut died on 8 June 1042, when he was only 24 years old. He was attending a wedding for one of his former stallers, Tovi the Proud. (A staller was a Norse official, a constable or standard-bearer.) Tovi was getting married for the second time, to Gytha, daughter of the powerful Osgod Clapa.

Anyway, he was drinking a toast to the bride when, as the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle put it:

A.D. 1042.  This year died King Hardacnute at Lambeth, as he stood drinking: he fell suddenly to the earth with a tremendous struggle; but those who were nigh at hand took him up; and he spoke not a word afterwards, but expired on the sixth day before the ides of June.  He was king over all England two years wanting ten nights; and he is buried in the old minster at Winchester with King Knute his father.  And his mother for his soul gave to the new minster the head of St. Valentine the Martyr: and ere he was buried all people chose Edward for king in London.  And they received him as their king, as was natural; and he reigned as long as God granted him. [Translator: James Henry Ingram]

The typical interpretation given to this by historians is that he died from a stroke due to an excess of alcohol.

Others think it was more likely a heart attack.

There is another theory, one which draws on a circumstance from long before the wedding feast.

Harthacnut, though young, was the center of a lot of political machinations. A history written at the order of his mother, Emma, says that in 1041 he sent to Normandy for his brother Edward so that they could rule together. One version of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle says Edward was actually sworn in. Edward had no heir—not even a wife—and his naming as a king seems strange, considering Harthacnut was so young.

Did Harthacnut have a known illness? One that was making him clearly unsuitable to be king? Is that why Edward was summoned and sworn in? One historian* hypothesizes something like tuberculosis that was causing him to deteriorate in a way clear to those around him, suggesting that they secure an heir to the throne without relying on him to survive long enough to produce one himself.

*Howard, Ian, Harold II: a Throne-Worthy King. Essay included in King Harold II and the Bayeux Tapestry (2005). Boydell Press, ISBN 1843831244.

Gilbert de Clare

Gilbert de Clare, Tewksbury Abbey
Unknown if this is "our" Gilbert,
his son, or his grandfather

Gilbert de Clare, 7th Earl of Gloucester (1243 - 1295), was mentioned in the post on the Battle of Evesham, switching support from the treasonous Simon de Montfort to King Henry III. Though very young, he had already managed some significant accomplishments.

His father died in 1262, when Gilbert was still in his teens, and so Gilbert was made a ward of Humphrey de Bohun, the 2nd Earl of Hereford (whose son would also have experience with a traitor), but came into his own a year later. So it was that, in spring of 1264 (as part of the uprising against King Henry), he captured Canterbury and attacked the Jews.

He went on to sack the Jewry perhaps with the main intention of destroying all the evidence of debts [...]. The result was that the Jewry was dispersed. It is unclear if there were fatalities. What is known is that two years later, in 1266, the community had returned to Oxford and 18 leading local Jews signed a treaty of self-defence, in which they sought to protect themselves against, 'liars, improper persons, or slanders'. [link]

He may have been emulating Simon de Montfort, who had expelled Jews from Leicester in 1231 (one year before Henry established the Domus Conversorum to give English Jews an option for co-existence). The older Montfort's parents had been extremely hostile to Jews in the past. Clare might have been operating simply because he could, and wanted to impress Montfort, who was the focal point of the barons' uprising against Henry and looked like he would be the next king.

Eventually, however, Clare's sympathies shifted back to Prince Edward in 1265, after Edward escaped his guardians and began to rally supporters against the rebellious barons. Years later, when Henry died, Clare swiftly and openly declared loyalty to the new King Edward I. Clare was named Guardian of England whenever Edward was out of the country.

He died on 7 December 1295 and was buried in Tewksbury Abbey. A stained glass window in the abbey represents him...or his son Gilbert, the 8th Earl...or his grandfather Gilbert, the 5th Earl.

The Battle of Evesham

Evesham Abbey had existed for about five and a half centuries by the time Henry III was captured by Simon de Montfort at the Battle of Lewes in 1264. Montfort was at the head of a group of barons who felt Henry was too irresponsible as a monarch, but as Montfort introduced reforms that gave Parliamentary representation to the lower classes, the nobles started to turn on him. Evesham would be the setting for Montfort's defeat and Henry's return to power.

In 1265, Henry's son Edward was released from captivity "on parole." Those loyal to Henry began to focus on helping Edward as Montfort's popularity continued to wane after the powerful Earl of Gloucester, Gilbert de Clare, stopped supporting him. Also, de Montfort made an alliance of convenience with Llywelyn ap Gruffyd, Prince of Wales—mentioned here as "Llewelyn the Last"—which proved an unpopular move with his remaining English supporters.

Clare joined forces with Prince Edward, and together they moved to occupy Worcester. Montfort gathered his army and marched to Wales to add Llewelyn's troops. Unfortunately, while Montfort was in Wales, Edward and Clare expanded the territory over which they had control. In early August, the two armies met near Evesham Abbey, with Edward's larger force trapping Montfort's in a loop of the River Avon and blocking his only chance of escape.

Montfort was, in fact, keeping Henry with him for security. Henry came close to being killed in the cross-fighting, but the battle ended quickly once Simon de Montfort was killed and mutilated by Edward's forces. His troops were chased and cut down without mercy. Henry was restored to the throne and held a Parliament the following month in which those who turned on him were disinherited. Ultimately, after some more military engagements between the two sides, Henry's Dictum of Kenilworth  offered the nobles a chance to regain their former estates via payments to the Crown. Years later, Edward would become King Edward I.

The Lewes Skeleton

The skull of Skeleton 180, with sword damage

The monks of Lewes Priory ran a Hospital of St. Nicholas in the Middle Ages, now long gone. In the early 1990s, during an excavation of the site, a number of skeletons were unearthed. One of them, "Skeleton 180," showed evidence of several sword blows to the skull. The proximity to the site of the Battle of Lewes, and the fact that hastily dug mass graves were a common after-effect of large battles,  led to the conclusion that he was killed in 1264 while either attacking or defending King Henry III.

The skull was sent to the University of Edinburgh for radiocarbon dating, and the results were surprising: it was much older than 1264. In fact, it dated to within a generation (before or after) of the Norman Conquest. The picture it suggests of the events around 1066—and this is the only skeletal remains we have even remotely connected to the fighting that was part of the Norman Conquest—adds a little more detail to our understanding of what happened when William of Normandy decided to assert his claim to the throne of England.

"There is no record of any skirmishes happening in Lewes or any other towns in Sussex at the Norman Conquest, but this suggests that the Normans didn't just turn up and say, 'We're in charge', and everyone said, 'OK, that's fine'. It begins to paint a picture of what might have happened in the aftermath." [source]

As we know, lifestyle leaves an imprint on the body that can be analyzed by forensic science.

Osteoarchaeologist Malin Holst from the University of York, who was commissioned by Sussex Archaeological Society to examine the skeleton, said: “The first injury was probably a cut to the right side of the ear and upper jaw. This was then followed by a series of sword cuts, all delivered from the left hand side behind the victim, in a downward and horizontal motion.” 

However she has discovered much more which helps build up a picture of the individual. Malin said: “He ate a diet particularly rich in marine fish, and was at least 45 years old but may have been older. He had some spinal abnormalities and suffered from chronic infection of the sinuses. He showed age-related wear and tear of the joints of his spine, shoulders and left wrist, which might have been uncomfortable. He had lost a few teeth during life, possibly as a result of receding gums. He had two small tumours on his skull.” [source]

Skeleton 180 provides a are glimpse into a life from the 11th century.

The Battle of Lewes

The remains of Lewes Castle

King John wasn't the only English monarch who had his barons turn against him (forcing him to sign the Magna Carta). Another constitutional crisis arose a mere 50 years later during the reign of Henry III.

Henry lived a lavish lifestyle that demanded lots of money, which he demanded from increased taxation. He also got involved in issues that the English barons felt were not necessary to England's interests. For instance, Henry "bought" the title of "King of Sicily" from Pope Innocent IV by funding a war with the rulers of Sicily at that time, the Hohenstaufens. Henry wanted the title for his second son, Edmund. When funding for the war ran out, and victory was no longer in sight, Innocent reneged on the deal and gave the title to Charles of Anjou.

The barons, led by Simon de Montfort, tried to control Henry with, among other things, the 1258 Provisions of Oxford, reducing his powers. Henry got a dispensation from the pope in 1261 that released him (in his eyes) from the Provisions, and the barons and the forces loyal to Henry started arming for civil war.

A turning point came on 14 May 1264, at the Battle of Lewes. Henry was ensconced in Lewes Castle in Sussex, but left it to attack de Montfort's forces. Part of Henry's army was under his command, and part under that of Prince Edward (later King Edward I). Edward's cavalry drove off the attackers, but Edward pursued them, leaving his father outnumbered by the remaining de Montfort men. Captured, Henry was forced to sign an agreement called the Mise* of Lewes, giving control of government over to Simon de Montfort.

Constitutional historians do not recognize de Montfort as a king, even though he was controlling the government for about a year. His support faded, and Prince Edward raised an army a year later and defeated de Montfort at the Battle of Evesham, returning power to Henry.

*"Mise" is a rarely used word from French meaning "settlement."

Vikings & Coincidence

These may be the remains of Olaf Guthfrithsson

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

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

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

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

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

Ivar the Boneless

Ivar the Boneless, played by
Vaclovas Kiselevicius in the TV show
"The Dark Ages"

The post on Vikings in Ireland mentioned Ivar the Boneless, which was just begging for more detail on this fellow.

He was born Ivar Ragnarsson, the son of Ragnar Lodbrok and Aslaug Sigurdsdottir. Viking sagas considered him a ferocious warrior.

He was a leader (with his brother Halfdan) of the so-called "Great Heathen Army" that the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle says invaded East Anglia in 865 and then a year later marched northward and took York from the Northumbrians. A few years later, he left England, either to rule Dublin or to go back to take up rule in parts of Denmark and Sweden.

Curiously, this fearsome warrior, who was said to be so large that he towered over everyone else, had the nickname "the Boneless." It might have been some snake metaphor suggesting "slipperiness of character." His brother had the nickname "Snake in the eye" which might suggest that you could not trust him. We are not sure of that. But Viking sagas describe him with:

Only cartilage was where bone should have been , but otherwise he grew tall and handsome and in wisdom he was the best of their children. [link]

It is possible, since he was such a great fighter, that the epithet "the boneless" (in Norse: hinn beinlausi) referred to an extraordinary flexibility, which would have contributed to his fighting prowess. Suggestions that it refers to sexual impotence cannot, of course, be substantiated, although there is no evidence that he fathered any children, or even took a wife.

Vikings in Ireland

A sign of Viking presence in Ireland:
a Viking ship built in Dublin c. 1042

As alluded to in the post on King Edmund I, Ireland was the target of raids from Scandinavian countries almost as much as England. Based on hints in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, some believe the earliest raids took place in 795 at the island of Lambay off the coast north of Dublin. (In fact, "Lambay" is from Old Norse for "lamb island.")

There were, in fact, two separate periods of Viking incursion, separated by less than a single generation. The first was from 795 until 902, when (according to the Annals of Ulster, mentioned here) "The heathens were driven from Ireland." Those heathens (descendants and followers of Ivar the Boneless) seemed to hang about the Irish Sea, hassling Northumbria and Strathclyde. They returned to the mainland in 914, taking over Dublin.

Ireland was a good place from which to stage incursions into northern England. It was this clan of Ivar's that produced King Olaf III Guthfrithsson, who succeeded his father to become King of York and was driven out by King Edmund in 942.

Although typical Viking raids tended to plunder monasteries and towns and then depart, Ireland was good land for settlements. Viking and Irish intermarried, and produced a group now called "Norse-Gaels." Between the 12th and 14th centuries, the English referred to the Norse-Gaelic people living in Ireland as Ostmen, "East men," because of their origin in Scandinavia. They were considered ethnically and legally distinct from Irish, and lived in their own communities. The modern Oxmantown, now a suburb of Dublin, derives its name from Ostmentown, where Norse-Gaels lived outside of Dublin. According to a 2006 paper, Norse DNA is still found in the Irish population, especially in the areas of Cork, Limerick, Waterford and Wexford.

Edmund I

from a genealogy of the kings of England

Edmund I
Edmund the Magnificent
Edmund the Just
Edmund the Deed-Doer

It isn't often that we run across an early king of England who had so much good will from his people, especially one who ruled for only a few years.

Edmund was the younger brother of Æthelstan (sometimes thought of as "the Forgotten King"), and grandson of Alfred the Great. He came to power when Æthelstan died in 939. Although Edmund was King of England for only a few years (he died on 26 May 946), he distinguished himself in the eyes of his people.

A national crisis is always a good reason for people to rally around their king. King Olaf III of Dublin invaded and conquered Northumbria and the Midlands during Edmund's reign, but Edmund succeeded in reconquering them in 942 and 943. Edmund also conquered Strathclyde in the north, but made a treaty with King Malcolm I of Scotland in which Malcolm got Strathclyde and Malcolm and Edmund became allies. Edmund also had good relations with Ireland, since he was godfather to King Olaf of York (not the same as the King Olaf mentioned above).*

He was married twice: first to Ælfgifu of Shaftesbury, by whom he had two children who would later become kings (Eadwig and Edgar, the father of Æthelred), and after her death to Æthelflæd of Damerham.

His death could probably have been easily avoided. While at church on 26 May, Edmund saw a thief who was supposed to be exiled. He attacked the thief, Leofa by name, who fought back and stabbed the king. Leofa didn't survive the encounter, either: he was attacked by the nobles present and killed. But the damage was done. Edmund died, leaving the kingdom to his brother, Eadred, who ruled for the next ten years, after which Edmund's sons succeeded him.

*You may guess that Ireland had a "Norse problem" just as England did.

Academic Regalia

Because medieval universities were often designed as breeding grounds for educated clerics, clerical robes were a standard form of dress. As time went on, however, simple black robes were not sufficient to distinguish the various levels of student, and an elaborate system of colors and styles developed to account for various levels of achievement, various schools of study, and even for different universities. Much of what we consider proper academic style now is derived from the traditions of Oxford and Cambridge Universities.

There are three major parts of the regalia: gowns, hoods, and caps. Basic features are described below, but understand that each institution can modify the styles for its own use.*

Gowns come primarily in three varieties. The baccalaureate (bachelor's degree) gown is plain, with open sleeves. The master's degree gown has a long sleeve with a slit at the elbow for the arm to extend through; the rest of the sleeve hangs down and is enclosed (for storing handkerchiefs?). The doctoral gown has long voluminous sleeves with three velvet chevrons or bars encircling them.

Hoods are likewise a distinguishing feature for the three levels of academic achievement, with bachelors wearing the plainest hoods, about three feet long, with the narrowest velvet band (of about 3") that goes around the throat. Masters have a 3.5" band with a 3-4 foot hood whose inside lining is of the university's colors. Doctors have a longer and wider hood with a 4" band around the throat.

The hood is also where color can distinguish the school of study. Time has provided color schemes for everything from Accounting (Drab) to Nursing (Apricot) to Veterinary Science (Gray). See an extensive list of subjects and colors here.

The mortarboard is carried when indoors and worn outdoors. Women used to be required/allowed to wear them indoors. The tassel is worn over the left quarter; some graduation ceremonies make a point of starting with the tassel over the right, and switching it after the conferring of degrees. Tassels are black, but doctoral tassels can be gold.

*This is a very basic description of the differences in academic regalia, inspired by the 150th Commencement at Bard College this past weekend.

What Skeletons Can Tell Us

[source]

Yesterday we mentioned Dr. Sharon DeWitte of the University of South Carolina, who examines skeletons from the Middle Ages to determine what she can about their lifestyle. So far, her research has included over 600 skeletons from the 11th through 14th centuries. She has particularly studied skeletons from the period just before and just after the Black Death. She found something curious:

“I found that a significantly higher number of people were living to really old ages after the Black Death. Many people lived beyond the age of 50 and particularly above the age of 70,” DeWitte said. “I honestly was surprised by how dramatic the difference was in their survival. I’ve analyzed risks of mortality within the pre-and post-Black Death populations, and the preliminary results suggest lower overall risks of mortality after the Black Death.” [source]

She attributes this to a few things: those who survived the Plague were more likely to be from a segment of the population that was healthier to begin with. Also, the population loss led to a food surplus that promoted greater health. We have already noted, for instance, the Statutes of Laborers, rules that were established (again and again) post-Plague to try to keep peasants from moving to other estates. The shortage of laborers meant workers had new opportunities to seek better wages that would lead to better living conditions.

In the future, she intends to collaborate with others to look at genetic variation in humans before and after the Plague. Perhaps she can learn how the massive "die off" perhaps reduced certain genes that made humans more susceptible to Plague, leaving future generations healthier.

Autopsying the Middle Ages

When learning about people in the Middle Ages, you can only go so far with records and archaeology. Sometimes you have to go to the people themselves—and not be dissuaded by the fact that they are dead.

It is said that "dead mean tell no tales"—a phrase nowadays associated irrevocably with Disney's "Pirates of the Caribbean" ride, but probably originated by John Dryden in The Spanish Friar (1681), act IV, sc. i—but in fact we can learn a lot about dead men by examining their bones.

Someone who is learning a lot about the Middle Ages from bones is anthropologist Sharon DeWitte.* She spends her summers traveling from the University of South Carolina to London where she is able to analyze the bones from medieval English skeletons.

What can she tell from skeletons?

DeWitte says where the two halves of the pelvis meet in the front and join in the rear provide consistent signs of adult aging. For children, teeth and the fusing of certain bones are among the best indicators of age. To determine sex, she looks for a wider pelvis in women and a squared jaw and skull made rugged along the forehead and back by testosterone in men.
...
She also examines for linear enamel hypoplasia, or little horizontal grooves that form on the teeth of children whose enamel formation was interrupted by malnutrition or infectious disease. Visible to the naked eye, these defects remain through adulthood and tell DeWitte the ages of when the health disturbances would have occurred.

Tomorrow, we will look at some of the other things she can discern about medieval disease and life-spans, and the surprising conclusions she has come to about the aftermath of the Black Death.

*This post inspired by and drawn from here.

Dating

Month of May from
British Library MS Harley 2332

I don't mean locating a mate, but the practice of locating a particular event somewhere in time. (And I don't refer to Phantom Time.) The Middle Ages kept records, and used dates for events, but interpreting those dates in a modern context can be tricky. The difficulty is not that they didn't have a calendar; it's that they had too many! Trying to understand dating conventions in medieval documents can be a chore because of the several methods that were in use.

DailyMedieval has already addressed one piece of the dating confusion: the shift from the Julian to Gregorian calendars, when correcting the calendar year to match the astronomical calendar required dropping 10 days from October of 1582 in Italy, Poland, Spain, and Portugal (other countries followed suit later).

Dates could be recorded in other ways that make life difficult for modern historians.

The calendar year began on 1 January, but for several centuries in England the civil and ecclesiastical year began on 25 March. (Four days after the spring equinox on 21 March was long enough for the naked eye to be certain that days were growing longer than nights.) So Chaucer could celebrate 1 January 1360 at home, but the Exchequer records would call it 1 January 1359; as far as the Exchequer was concerned, 1359 didn't end until 24 March.

Regnal years were the practice of starting a calendar with the coronation of the king. Henry VIII came to the throne on 22 August 1485. Therefore, events and records dated in "1 Henry VIII" took place from 22 August 1485 until 21 August 1486.

Things weren't always that simple, though. Events could be described in official documents by their relationship to known anniversaries, such as saints' feast days. "Five days after Michaelmas" (29 September) would be 4 November. Of course, one of the major ecclesiastical feast days around which events revolved was easter, but Easter was a movable date, and so altered each year.

These issues and more make translating dates found in medieval documents tricky.

A King, a Cardinal, and a College

Sancho in a contemporary manuscript

King Sancho IV of Castile (1258 - 1295), also known as Sancho the Brave, ruled the combined Iberian kingdoms of Castile, León, and Galicia for a little over ten years. Although his father wished Sancho's older brother, Alfonso, to take the throne, Sancho managed to gain support of the nobles. There was opposition to Sancho, but he offered a change from the elitist policies of his father, which helped maintain his support. Still, he could be harsh to opposition, such as when he executed 4000 followers of an opposition party.

Unfortunately, he could even be harsh to his own supporters. One of his most loyal supporters was Lope Díaz III de Haro—who was, among other things, Sancho's brother-in-law—but Sancho killed him in 1288 during an argument in which Lope threatened Sancho.

On 20 May 1293, King Sancho IV of Castile granted a royal charter to the Archbishop of Toledo to create a university in the city of Alcalá de Henares. It was called the Studium Generale ["School of General Studies"]. The archbishop, Gonzalo Garciá Gudiel, had been born in Toledo but studied at the University of Paris and become rector at the University of Padua. Wishing to create a university in the place of his birth, he convinced Sancho to give him some land and the charter. Sancho called him chanceller mayor en todos nuestros regnos ["great chancellor in all our realms"].

In 1499, an alumnus of the Complutense University (Complutum was the Latin name for Alcalá), Cardinal Cisneros, received a papal bull from Pope Alexander IV (seen here endorsing the Sorbonne) that allowed him to purchase more land for the expansion of the university. In the 16th and 17th centuries, students from all over Europe flocked to study there, in philosophy, canon law, medicine, philology, or theology. Famous alumni included Ignatius Loyola, founder of the Jesuits.

Complutense granted a doctorate to a female student in 1785, 135 years before Oxford even accepted female students! The university grew so large that, in the 20th century, it was moved to Madrid and given more buildings to accommodate its needs.

Mother and Wife of Kings

Ælfgifu on the Bayeaux Tapestry

Ælfgifu of Northampton was once mentioned here as the wife of King Cnut. When King Svein Forkbeard of Denmark invaded England, the English capitulated quickly, and Svein married his son Cnut to a Mercian noblewoman, Ælfgifu.* Their first child was Svein Knutsson, the future King of Norway.

Svein Forkbeard died in 1014, and our old friend Æthelred the Unready moved in, forcing Cnut to flee to Denmark. While there, Cnut and Ælfgifu had another child who would grow up to be Harold Harefoot (King of England from 1035-1040, and mentioned here).

In 1016, Cnut re-conquered England, and then cemented his power base there by putting Ælfgifu aside and marrying the widow of Æthelred, Emma of Normandy. This doesn't mean that his first wife was completely removed from power: he sent her to Norway with young Svein where she apparently ruled while acting as regent for their son. This period in Norway is remembered for heavy taxes and shortages.

Back in England, Cnut's death in 1035 created a conflict. Cnut and Emma had a son, Harthacnut, who was next in line. Ælfgifu wanted the throne for her son Harold, and probably made a lot of the decisions during his five-year reign. Harold died in March of 1040 and was buried at Westminster Abbey. Harthacnut at the time was preparing to launch an attack on England; he was able to just step in, take the throne, and have Harold's body dug up and thrown into a swamp. (Loyal followers later found it and buried it again.)

After 1040, the woman married to one king and mother to two more fails to show up in any records.

*She was called "Ælfgifu of Northampton" in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle to distinguish her from other Ælfgifus, such as those of Exeter, York, and Shaftesbury; it was a popular name!

My Lips Are Sealed

Confidentiality is expected in many relationships: doctor-patient, lawyer-client, ... and priest-penitent. The so-called "Seal of the Confessional" is the practice/policy of priests to protect the pronouncements of penitents.

The Decretum Gratiani ["Decrees of Gratian"] is a collection of canon laws published by the jurist Johannes Gratian c.1150. It includes the line "Let the priest who dares to make known the sins of his penitent be deposed."

We are not sure when this idea was first expressed, but the Fourth Lateran Council of 1215, which  laid down rules for the whole Catholic Church, explained the practice thusly:

Let the priest absolutely beware that he does not by word or sign or by any manner whatever in any way betray the sinner: but if he should happen to need wiser counsel let him cautiously seek the same without any mention of person. For whoever shall dare to reveal a sin disclosed to him in the tribunal of penance we decree that he shall be not only deposed from the priestly office but that he shall also be sent into the confinement of a monastery to do perpetual penance.

No explanation is given for this secrecy, but an English jurist in the 1400s, William Lyndwood, explains that the sacrament involving confession practically by definition requires that the "secret" be kept quiet. Even the secular authorities recognize this relationship. A priest may suggest to a confessed criminal that he turn himself over to the courts, but the courts do not compel a priest to reveal what he knows.

Well, not all secular authorities. In March 1393, John of Nepomuk (born c.1345) was tortured and thrown into the river by King Wenceslaus IV (who was otherwise fairly tolerant). Wenceslaus was angry with him because he was the Confessor to Wenceslaus' wife, the Queen of Bohemia, and would not tell her husband what she talked about. John was canonized as Saint John of Nepomuk, and is considered the first martyr because of the Seal of the Confessional and the patron saint against false witness.

More on Torture

We've talked about torture before, regarding the Templars, and the "ultimate" torture of being hanged, drawn and quartered; and, of course, when HD&Q was first applied to a rebellious Welshman.

Torture in the Classical Era had limits: at first it would only be applied to slaves. In fact, evidence given by a slave was required to be given under torture, because slaves could not be trusted to be truthful on their own!

In the Middle Ages, torture was admissible for getting evidence, but it was not to be used randomly; there had to be some proof that the person was guilty before it was appropriate to use torture to get a full confession.

Although torturous methods of execution were a chance for public exhibitions (so that they could be a deterrent to crime), torture used for extraction of information was private. The methods were numerous: the Rack (seen above), thumbscrews, hot irons applied to the body, hot pincers pulling the body apart, etc.

Torture took a significant turn on 15 May 1252 with the papal bull ad extirpanda, by Pope Innocent IV. It is called ad extirpanda from the opening words in Latin, which translate as "To root up from the midst of Christian people the weed of heretical wickedness...". The point of it was to authorize torture for use against heretics. Even so, it had limits:

• It was to be used when there was certainty that the subject was guilty of heresy
• It was to be used on a person only once
• It was not to cause loss of life or of a limb

Actual execution of a convicted heretic was to be carried out within five days by the secular authority, which was also allowed a share of the property of the convicted.

Torture of heretics was rescinded by another papal bull in 1816.

Richard's Lionheart

Box that held Richard's heart. The inscription reads:
"Here is the heart of Richard, King of England." 

Once Richard the Lionheart died from a crossbow bolt that was removed by a clumsy surgeon, the debate over appropriate interment began. Like saints, "There's such divinity doth hedge a king" (to borrow a phrase from Shakespeare*) that the body is special, and many people for whom he was their lord would want his memorial to be in their territory. His body was sent to Fontevraud Abbey to be interred near the body of his father, King Henry II. (See the picture in the post linked to above.)

But that was just his body.

Supposedly, on his deathbed he told his mother that he wanted his heart to go to Rouen, where it was placed in the Cathedral of Notre Dame. Rouen was the base for English forces in France at the time. His other internal organs were removed and buried in Chalus, where he died.

Over time, the location of the heart and entrails were lost, but an excavation at Notre Dame in 1838 uncovered a lead box inscribed with "Here is the heart of Richard, King of England."

Technically, the "heart" doesn't exist: 800 years has reduced it to dust, but that dust contains clues to 12th century embalming techniques. A 2006 "autopsy" was performed to find out what it could about the heart. It found several components:

• Human proteins associated with cardiac muscle
• Fragments of linen (the heart was probably wrapped in it)
• Some lead and tin (probably leached into the dust from the box)  and mercury (used during embalming)
• Pollens: pine, oak, poplar, plantain, bellflower (in the air when he died, so probably incidental)
• Myrtle, daisy, mint (not in bloom in spring, and probably used during embalming to give a nice aroma)
• Frankincense (used for embalming and symbolically because of the Three Wise Men's gifts)



The remains as they look today, in a crystal container.

• Calcium (probably from lime used to preserve the heart)

Of interest to historians is the elements found that can only be accounted for by attempts to embalm/preserve the heart. The Church frowned on embalming, because it was known to be a pagan practice.

The shoebox-sized reliquary, and the crystal box that contains the remains of the heart of Richard, now sit in the Museum of Natural History in Rouen.

*Hamlet, Act IV, Scene 5, line 98

Richard the LionHeart's Death

Richard's tomb at Fontevraud Abbey

Richard the Lionheart (1157 - 1199) died from complications after being hit by a crossbow shot by a follower of the Viscount of Limoges. But I'm getting ahead of myself...

In March of 1199, Richard besieged the town of Châlus near Limoges, because the lord of Châlus held a Roman treasure that had just been discovered by a farmer plowing his field. Richard, as overlord of the area (he was the Duke of Aquitaine, after all), demanded the treasure. His demand was refused.

On the evening of 25 or 26 March, an archer shot at Richard—who had neglected to put on his chain mail—while he stood outside the walls, driving the shaft deep into Richard's left shoulder. From this point on, things might have gone differently, but carelessness and circumstance had their way with Richard. In pulling out the crossbow bolt, the shaft broke, leaving the head inside. A surgeon removed the head, but did much additional damage to the wound, and infection set in.

Richard knew he wasn't going to live much longer. A message was sent to his mother (but not his wife), Eleanor of Aquitaine, who rushed to his side. The siege was successful while he lay incapacitated, and the archer was brought before him. Although different chroniclers identify the archer as one of four different men, all stories agree that Richard magnanimously forgave the archer, saying "Live on, and by my bounty behold the light of day,"and gave him 100 shillings and his freedom. Sadly, for the archer, Richard's followers had other ideas. Richard died on 6 April, and either Richard's captain Mercadier or Richard's sister Joan (depending on which chronicle you read) had the archer flayed alive and then hanged.

But that's not what I wanted to talk about. I really wanted to discuss what happened to Richard's body afterward, but I seem to have run out of time. We will look at that subject tomorrow.

Child Lionheart

The vineyards of Cognac

Today is the 823rd wedding anniversary of King Richard I of England, called Lionheart, and Berengaria of Navarre. They had no children, which is why Richard's brother John later took the throne. Richard, however, had a son from an earlier assignation, whose mother is unknown.

He was named Philip, probably after Richard's friend (and sometime adversary) Philip II of France. We don't know his birth date, but he was old enough in the 1190s to be married to Amelia of Cognac, heiress to Itier V, the Seigneur of Cognac* in Charente, in west-central France. When Amelia died, Philip inherited the castle, which later passes into the hands of his seneschal, Robert of Thornham, who had distinguished himself during the Crusades.

One wonders if Philip cared for his noble birth, or simply yearned for a quiet life. He does not keep the estate in Cognac, and we only see his name later in the Pipe Rolls (the financial records of the kings of England). In 1201, during the reign of King John, we find the entry: "And to Philip, son of King Richard, one mark as a gift." A report that there is a record of him "selling his lordship" to King John is just a rumor.

Roger of Hoveden claims in his Chronica that Philip avenged his father's death by killing the Viscount of Limoges, because the crossbow that led to Richard's death was fired while Richard was suppressing a revolt by Limoges. Hoveden's is the only reference to this event, however, and it seems unlikely, especially for a figure who seems so undistinguished and anonymous in all other ways. Except for life as a character in Shakespeare's King John, and as the potential successor to King John in the TV movie Princess of Thieves, Philip of Cognac has passed out of human memory...or interest.

*As you may guess, cognac brandy comes from this region.

The Headless Saint

How to keep your head? In you hands!

Saint Solange was born in the 9th century near Bourges, France, to a family of poor but very devout Christians. Growing up, she herded sheep and devoted herself to Christ at the age of seven. She was considered so holy that her mere presence as a child healed people and exorcised devils.

One day in the year 880, while tending her sheep, a young man (some legends say it was Bernard, the son of the Count of Poitiers, who has been mentioned briefly in this blog as Bernard Plantapilosa) approached her, making advances which she rebuffed. So Bernard did what any entitled nobility would do (whose mother wrote books of advice that her sons probably never received): he drew his sword and cut off her head.

Her head said "Jesus" three times, then her body picked it up and walked to the church of Saint-Martin in the village of Saint-Martin-du-Crot and dropped dead. Saint-Martin-du-Crot is now known as Sainte-Solange. A cult of veneration developed around her relics—particularly her head—and pilgrims came for miraculous cures. Her head was used in processions through the town when drought threatened.

She is a patron saint of victims of sexual assault. Her feast day is 10 May.

Saint John the Dwarf

In the 5th century, a very short man was born in Egypt to a poor Christian family; he became known as John Kolobos, from the Greek Ιωάννης Κολοβός [Ioannes Kolobos, "John the Dwarf"]. Early in life he decided he wanted to join the monastery in the Nitrian Desert run by St. Pimen the Great (also called Saint Pambo) with John's brother, Daniel.

Life at the monastery inspired him to greater sacrifice—or made him unhappy with the demands of the lifestyle—and he thought of a plan to live even more simply:

...St John told his elder brother that he did not want to be concerned about clothing and food, and that he wished to live like the angels in Paradise. Daniel allowed him to go to a deserted place, so that he would be afflicted. He removed his clothing, John went out from the cell. It was very cold at night, and after a week John became hungry.
One night John went back to the monastery and began to knock on the door of the cell. “Who is it?” Daniel asked.
“It is I, your brother John.”
Daniel replied, “John has become an angel, and is no longer among men.”
John continued to knock, but Daniel would not let him in until morning. Then he said, “You are a man and must work again if you want to eat.” St John wept bitterly, asking for forgiveness. [link]

Having realized that he needed to think more rationally about his expectations of the monastic life, he was given an assignment by St. Pimen. St. Pimen understood that John needed to learn obedience—and perhaps some humility—and gave him an assignment: John was to water a dry stick every day until it bloomed. The process took three years, after which the stick bore leaves and fruit. There is a tree in the Nitrian Desert called the Tree of Obedience that purports to be from the stick watered by John the Dwarf.

John became a guide to many others, such as St. Arsenius the Great, and authored the "Life of Saint Paisius." His feast day is celebrated on 17 October.

Asbestos

Lovely ceiling tiles at Cleeve Abbey with asbestos in them

Pliny the Elder has a chapter in his Natural History on something he calls "live" linen:

It is generally known as “live” linen, and I have seen, before now, napkins that were made of it thrown into a blazing fire, in the room where the guests were at table, and after the stains were burnt out, come forth from the flames whiter and cleaner than they could possibly have been rendered by the aid of water. It is from this material that the corpse-cloths of monarchs are made, to ensure the separation of the ashes of the body from those of the pile. [Book XIX, Chap.4]

The Greeks, we are told, call this material asbestinon* ["inextinguishable"]. It was used to wrap royalty for their funeral pyres, because their ashes could be kept separate from the wood ashes. Charlemagne also used to entertain his guests by throwing the tablecloth into the fire after the meal, then removing it with all the stains burned off. Marco Polo was also shown cloth that whitened in fire and did not burn.

Asbestos was not just for cute tricks. It was used as insulation for armor, and in 9th and 10th century Afghanistan it was used to eat off. It also promoted belief in miracles:

the most fascinating use of asbestos during the period was as a magical cross sold by traveling merchants.  The crosses, cut from asbestos, looked like very old, worn wood and were advertised by merchants as "true crosses" made directly from the wood of the cross upon which Jesus Christ of Nazareth died.  To illustrate the magical cross's powers, the merchants would throw the wood into a fire where it would remain undamaged. [link]

The health risks of asbestos did not escape notice, however. Pliny did note that slaves who worked weaving asbestos had lung problems. Romans—who called it  amiantus, "unpolluted" (because of its ability to come clean from a fire)—understood that buying slaves who worked with asbestos was a bad return on investment, because they died younger than other slaves.

*"Asbestos" is used to describe six silicate minerals with thin fibrous crystals that can be woven into thread and thence into cloth.