Julian of Norwich

Julian of Norwich was a Christian mystic who lived (based on internal references in her writings) from about 1342 to 1415. We know little about her personal life: biography was not a common genre at the time. We are not even sure that he name is Julian; she is called that because she was an anchoress at the Church of St. Julian in Norwich, England.

Statue of Julian in Norwich Cathedral

She became deathly ill at the age of 30. While a priest held a crucifix over her while giving last rites, she began to experience visions. In her book Revelations of Divine Love, she describes the visions she had over the following 16 hours, after which she recovered from her illness. She wrote about the visions, starting immediately after her recovery. (This may be the first book written by a woman in the English language.) Many years later, she wrote her own explication of her visions in a much longer book, called The Long Text. (It was 63,500 words, whereas the Revelations was 11,000.)

This blog has previously discussed her metaphor of "God as Mother," but she was known for a couple other particular philosophies. She believed more in a God who loved and wanted to save everyone than a God who judged and condemned some to everlasting punishment. She felt that sin was the result of ignorance, not evil; people sinned through lack of knowledge, and through sinning gained the knowledge that God had a role in their lives. Sinning was failure, and through failure we learn; also, the pain that resulted from sinning mirrored the suffering that Christ endured, and therefore brought people closer to Christ.

Some of her ideas were very controversial; however, there is no evidence that she was criticized in her lifetime. This was not due to obscurity: she was very well-known in England and beyond. Copies of her texts were edited by well-known clerics of the day. It may be that the Church simply did not put much credence in her writings because of her sex. 

An Arabian Polymath

Abū Muḥammad ʿAlī ibn Aḥmad ibn Saʿīd ibn Ḥazm—let's just call him Ibn Hazm—was a prime example of how medieval scholars could be very "contemporary." To be honest, some of his "modern" thinking resulted from his literal interpretation of the Koran, but the results were very interesting for his time.

Ibn Hazm (November 7, 994 – August 15, 1064) was born into a family with powerful political connections, and from an early age he had more access to education and insights into politics than most. His close exposure to politicians gave him a healthy skepticism about the inherent (un)goodness of human beings. As a result, he turned to God as the only reliable source of morality.

Another outcome of his experience with politics was his respect for language. His analysis of language led him to the conclusion that Arabic, Hebrew, and Syriac had all sprung from a common source and changed over time as their peoples separated from each other. Contrary to the opinion of his peers, he saw no reason to consider Arabic to be superior to other languages.

This and other ideas of his caused him to be considered wise, yet controversial. He was famous in the Muslim world for finding no reason that women should be prohibited from prophethood, because the Koran did not forbid it.

The Koran also convinced him that the earth was round. In a passage in which it is stated that "He makes the Night overlap the Day, and the Day overlap the Night" the word for "overlap" derived from the word for "ball." Experimentation with models led him to conclude that the Earth was indeed a globe, and that at any moment of the day the Sun would be vertical to some point on the Earth.

He experimented with echoes in the Mosque at Cordoba to prove that sound travels at a certain speed. Also, he linked lightning and thunder, explaining the delay between the two by using his ideas about the speed of sound. He stated, but could not prove or explain in detail, that lightning caused the thunder.

His bold and controversial statements made him enemies of other scholars, but at a public burning of some of his works (we believe he produced 400 works, of which only 10% survives), he declared that the destruction of the materials did not destroy the ideas inside them.

Hiring a Magical Hitman

The year was 1324. King Edward II of England was making a mess of things with his apathetic and arbitrary approach to ruling the kingdom. He handed a lot of authority to the powerful Despensers, his chamberlain Hugh the Younger, and Hugh the Elder.

(Prop wax doll from the movie
The Witches of Eastwick

In Coventry, a group of citizens were very unhappy with their local Prior, who had the authority of the Despensers behind him as he taxed the citizenry at exorbitant rates. Twenty-eight citizens of Coventry decided to do something about this situation. They lacked any military or governmental power, so they had to find an alternate solution. They found it in John of Nottingham.

John of Nottingham had a reputation as a magician. He was asked if he could eliminate the causes of their misery. John agreed to bring about the deaths of the Prior of Coventry, King Edward II, Hugh Despenser the Elder, Hugh Despenser the Younger, and (for good measure) the Prior's caterer and the Prior's steward. To do so, he and his assistant, Robert Marshall, used seven pounds of wax and two yards of cloth to fashion wax effigies of the targets.

This took time, and it wasn't until 1325 that he was ready to test his method by experimenting on a certain Richard de Lowe, a Coventry citizen who was apparently expendable. The experiment worked, according to later reports: the wax effigy of Richard de Lowe was stuck with lead pins in the head and heart, and Richard died shortly thereafter.

Unfortunately, when the hypothetical experiment became real, Robert Marshall lost his nerve and turned his boss in to the authorities—or maybe he turned against John for other reasons. The case came before the King's Bench (the English superior court) that year, with John of Nottingham and all 28 citizens as defendants for the murder of Richard de Lowe. The King's bench would not, however, rule that the evidence for magical murder was sufficient to convict, and John of Nottingham was declared innocent.

Green Grow the Rushes O!

Rushes. There are about 400 species of the Family Juncus, a round-stemmed grass-like mostly perennial plant that grows in wetlands. One species in Japan is used for the soft covering of tatami mats (the mat base is composed of rice straw). Some rushes, particularly the species called "sweet flag," was used as a floor covering in Western Europe; it gave a softer surface for walking, and absorbed spills; once sufficiently dirty, it would be swept up and replaced with fresh rushes. Another popular use, accessible by any home, was to make rushlights.

Rushlights were the poor man's candles. Harvested in late summer, rushes were laid out to dry, then carefully peeled apart. The soft pith inside the rush was the "wick" of the light, and a strip of the tougher outer skin was left on to hold the pith in place. The "body" of the rushlight was tallow, rendered animal fat. Fat was heated in a shallow pan until it liquified, then the rush pith was dragged through it a few times to create a very slim taper.

There is a structural difference between candles and rushlights. In a candle, the wick is surrounded by the substance that is burned; in a rushlight, the wick itself is infused with the tallow, and there is not much tallow surrounding it. This meant you could make a lot of rushlights from a pan of tallow and a heap of rushes. This was necessary. Although the benefit of making rushlights is that it was easy and free to any household, rushlights burned very quickly: a typical 12-inch rushlight burned for 10-15 minutes. You also needed a metal holder for the thin rushlight; you could not just set it on a flat surface as you would with a candle. Because the widespread use of rushlights did not extend to the Industrial Age, metal rushlight holders were never mass produced. Existing ones are all hand-made antiques, and extremely valuable to collectors.

The flame was brighter if the rushlight were held at a 45-degree angle. There were, however, "night lights" consisting of a rushlight braced vertically inside a metal cylinder with holes to let the light shine through. The vertical rushlight would burn more dimly, but last longer, and provide some minimal light in a dark room.

Rushlights were common in Medieval England, but their use was revived briefly during World War II.

The Chandler

From a site that sells reproductions.

Consider the candle. Today it is a quaint device used for "mood" lighting, romance, or to create a historical-looking scene. Want to suggest a pre-Industrial Age home? Use candles. Of course, cinematic scenes pack as many candles as possible into the space in order to provide justification for the well-lit setting. In the Middle Ages, however, and right up through the Industrial Age, candles were too expensive to place them all over and light them. The family would gather around the table with a single candle in the center, each family member working on his or her project: sewing, knitting, reading, or playing.

Candles were expensive—depending upon what kind of candles they were, that is. A chandler, or candle-maker, produced one of two types: tallow or wax candles.

Tallow candles were made by rendering animal fat and dipping the wick (made from a braided string) into it. The fat would cool and harden, and you would then dip the result into the melted tallow again, pulling it out when a new layer of fat was deposited and before the original layer re-melted.

Tallow candles were cheaper than beeswax candles. Many households had their own livestock and could produce their own fat. To make a lot of tallow candles, however, required a lot of tallow. Tallow was also used for soap, and the household's animal fat had to be divided up between candle-making and soap-making. Professional tallow chandlers would procure large amounts of tallow by dealing with butchers, and could produce and sell tallow candles in large quantities.

Tallow candles were a yellowish color because of their source material, and although they provided light, they also produced an unpleasant odor. Not only that, they were a draw for rodents, who loved to gnaw on what was essentially congealed animal fat. For that reason, those who could afford it would purchase candles made from beeswax.

Beeswax was more difficult to come by, since it had to come from hives. You would not want to devastate the hive by taking all its wax and causing harm to the bees, so you had to carefully harvest the wax. Wax candles were lighter in color, depending on their treatment. Initially yellowish, if the blocks of wax were left out in the sun long enough, they bleached white.

Wax candles did not give off the odor of burning animal fat, and were much preferred by churches and wealthier households. It was possible to supplement the wax with some tallow. Later laws put an upper limit to the amount of tallow that was allowed in wax candles, however.

Ginger

The European Middle Ages did not like bland food, and used spices extensively—often in combinations we would find odd or downright unappealing (although cinnamon-flavored pork tartlets are surprisingly very tasty). Among the many spices cultivated and grown in Europe was ginger.

Ginger has a long history of use for medicinal and culinary purposes. References to it indicate that it was used thousands of years ago in Southeast Asia, spreading elsewhere as trade routes were established. Ancient Rome procured it from trade with India and valued it greatly. By the Middle Ages, Arab cultures were spreading westward and carrying ginger rhizomes with them to plant and sell.

The name "ginger" [Zingiber officinale] is from the Old English gingifer, the adaptation of the Medieval Latin gingiber, from Classical Latin zinger, the Romans name for the spicy root they used in cooking and healing. (No, this is not the source of the modern term "a zinger," although relating a "zinger" to spiciness is tempting.) One author's history of ginger called it "the Alka-Seltzer of the Roman world." Ginger ale is still considered good for an upset stomach. The University of Salerno, famed for teaching medicine, claimed that a recipe for a happy old age was to "eat ginger, and you will love and be loved as in your youth."

From the 11th century, ginger became more popular as a flavoring agent, used in all sorts of medieval dishes. It became so popular that its import (it would not grow in the cold wet climates of the north, although it can be grown in well-warmed greenhouses, such as the Royal Botanic Gardens at Kew) made the value (in 14th century England) of a pound of ginger equivalent to an entire sheep (1 shilling and 7 pence, if you must know).

There is a legend that Queen Elizabeth I created gingerbread men cookies as gifts for the men of her court. That is unverified, but gingerbread definitely was known to the Anglo-Saxons. A recipe for medieval gingerbread can be found here.

Albert Avogadro

Saint Albert of Jerusalem was born Albert Avogadro in 1149 in Italy. He became one of the Canons Regular (Dominicans) after studying theology and law. His piety was such that he was made Prior of the Canons Regular at Mortara, and later made Bishop of Bobbio (in 1184) and Bishop of Vercelli (in 1185).

His knowledge of law and skill at speaking was such that he was asked to mediate between the papacy of Pope Clement III and Frederick Barbarossa over questions of authority. In 1199 he helped to negotiate peace between Piacenza, Italy and Parma.

In 1205, after the disastrous 4th Crusade, Pope Innocent III made him Patriarch of Jerusalem. While there, he helped a collection of hermits on Mount Carmel organize into a religious order, the Ordo Fratrum Beatissimæ Virginis Mariæ de Monte Carmelo [Order of Brothers of the Blessed Virgin Mary of Mount Carmel]. This was sometime between 1206 and 1214. The hermits approached Albert to write for them a Rule to follow. (He had written a rule for a group called the Humiliati while he was Bishop of Vermicelli.) He created the very strict Rule of St. Albert.

Albert's end was sudden and unexpected. He was summoned by Innocent III to the Fourth Lateran Council in 1215, but never made it. Before he could start on the journey, he was assassinated during a procession on the Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross in the Church of Saint John of Acre. His assassin was the former Master of the Hospital of the Holy Spirit, who had been deposed by Albert for immorality. This was on September 14th. Since that day was already filled with the Feast of the Cross and several saints' feast days, Saint Albert of Jerusalem is celebrated on September 17th.

When Syria Changed Hands

The population of Syria is currently about 60% Sunni and 13% Shia Muslim. 'Twas not always thus.

Map of ancient Syria, 1683 [source]

Syria joined the Greek-Macedonian Empire thanks to Alexander the Great about 330 BCE, taking it from Persian rule. It was from the Greeks that it gained the name Syria, confusing it with Assyria to the east. Later it was captured and occupied by the Armenians in 83 BCE, and by Pompey the Great in 64 BCE, joining it to the Roman Empire. The language in Syria was Aramaic, and its connection to the Roman Empire helped spread Aramaic-speaking Roman citizens farther afield than they might otherwise have traveled. There are Aramaic inscriptions on Hadrian's Wall, left there by Roman soldiers from Syria.

When the Roman Empire split, Syria became a province of the Byzantine Empire. There it might have stayed, except for Muhammad. He took 1000 men into Syria when he heard that tribes in Duma were preparing to attack Medina. This expedition in 626 set the stage for the Battle of Yarmouk in 636.

The battle lasted from 15 August to 20 August. Estimates put the Byzantine defending army between 80,000 and 150,000 and the Muslim army between 25,000 and 40,000. Our poor ability to estimate long-ago armies aside, it is clear that historians assume the Muslim army was much smaller. They prevailed, however, and the Byzantine Emperor Heraclius blamed his own personal failings (he had married his niece). He was in Antioch at the time and, having not enough resources to mount a campaign to re-take the territory, he retrieved a relic of the True Cross and retreated to Constantinople.

The Battle of Yarmouk was a tremendous victory for the Muslims and the beginning of their westward advance.

The Tomb of the Three

The Shrine of the Three Kings

The Three Kings, or Magi, appear suddenly in the Gospel of Matthew and just as quickly disappear. That paucity of information on them did not, however, prevent Christendom from tracking them down and making relics out of them.

It is supposed that they were so moved by their experience in the Gospel that they converted to Christianity, either on their own when they returned to their home country or later in life when they first encountered one of the Apostles.

Marco Polo tells us that he was shown their tomb:

In Persia is the city of Saba, from which the Three Magi set out and in this city they are buried, in three very large and beautiful monuments, side by side. And above them there is a square building, beautifully kept. The bodies are still entire, with hair and beard remaining.

This must be untrue, however, since clearly they have relics that were kept originally in Constantinople, where they (along with countless other relics) were gathered by the Empress (later Saint) Helena. They were then offered to Bishop Eustorgius I of Milan by Constantine. It is the biography of Eustorgius that tells their history.

They stayed in Milan until Barbarossa took them and gave them to the Archbishop of Cologne, who built Cologne Cathedral to house their golden reliquary. The foundation stone of Cologne Cathedral was laid on 15 August, 1248.

The Real Macbeth

Duncan I was king of Scotland from 1034 until he was killed on 14 August 1040 by Macbeth.

Peter O'Toole as Duncan, portrayed as an old man
by Shakespeare, although he was only in his early 30s.

Duncan (whose real name was Donnchad mac Crinain) was born about 1000 to a daughter of King Malcolm II. Little is known of his early life. He might have been King of Strathclyde or of Moray prior to taking over all Scotland on Malcom's death. In fact, the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle entry for 1031 tells us that when Cnut traveled north to accept the homage of Scotland

"... Malcolm, king of the Scots, submitted to him, and became his man, with two other kings, Macbeth and Iehmarc ..."

We are not sure where Macbeth was king of, but the entry suggests that he was important in his own right, although the mention here may indicate that Macbeth was subordinate to Malcolm.

We do not know much about Duncan's reign; little happened until later in it, and what happened then was not good for Duncan. Northumbrians attacked Scotland in 1039, and Duncan lost a battle against the men of Durham in 1040. Following this, Duncan led his army into Moray, where he was killed by Moray men led by Macbeth. Perhaps it was the Northumbrian and Dunham troubles that made Duncan appear weak and motivated Macbeth to become restless in a move to challenge Duncan.

Whatever the reason for the hostility between them, Macbeth's accession to the throne of Scotland went unchallenged, so it appears that Duncan had not created any intense loyalty at home.

Since Time Immemorial...

[source]

We have heard the phrase "since time immemorial" to refer to an origin of some practice or belief embedded so far back in the past that its validity cannot be questioned. Interestingly, this is not just a vague term, because it has been specifically defined—more than once, as it happens.

William Blackstone, an English jurist (1723-1780) used the phrase "Time whereof the Memory of Man runneth not to the contrary." In England in 1832, this definition was adopted into law. If there was no record or (honest) personal recollection to the contrary, then a law or practice would remain unchallenged.

"Time immemorial" existed prior to 1823 or Blackstone, however.  In 1275, the first Statute of Westminster—a collection of 51 clauses—determined that the time of (let's call it "modern" for its time) memory began on 6 July 1189, the coronation of Richard I Lionhearted of England. Events since then could likely be attested to using the records and memory of people. Any practice that existed prior to that was decreed to be so far back that contesting it was not worthwhile.

So there you have it. If it existed more than 826 years ago, don't bother arguing its validity. (In English law, anyway.)

Foot of Fines

Parchment from 1303 showing the three-part,
Final Concord. [source]

The word "fine" has many meanings, several of them deriving from the Latin finis, "end." With that in mind, one can easily guess that a "fine" in the sense of a payment necessary to end some disagreement is the "end product" of the process.

In fact, late 12th century England is where we find the legal practice of creating a "final concord" (shortened to "fine") entering the legal system. The final concord was an agreement between two parties that started as a way to resolve a dispute, but quickly evolved as a way to create any agreement. Fines were originally written up by the Exchequer (because they usually involved money), but by the end of the 14th century they were being handled by the Court of Common Pleas (partially because they became so popular that the Exchequer could not handle all the business).

The physical structure of the Fine can be seen in the illustration. The details were written out three times on a single parchment, twice alongside and once at the "foot" of the document. The parchment was then cut, separating the three pieces. Each party had one of the parts, and the "foot" was kept by the court. Note the wavy lines with characters written on them: proof that a party held the proper documentation was given by fitting the two (or three) irregularly-cut pieces back together!

Because of the security of having the "Foot of Fines" preserved in the records of the court, later disputes were prevented. This became a popular method for married women to make arrangements for the transfer of property, ensuring proper ownership of her own in the case of her husband's death.

The process was abolished by the Fines and Recoveries Act of 1833.

http://www.medievalgenealogy.org.uk/fines/index.shtml

Combat of the Thirty

The War of Breton Succession (see immediately previous entries) included an interesting military interlude.

A new book on the subject!

Jean de Beaumanoir, on behalf of Charles de Blois, issued a challenge to Robert (or Richard) Bemborough (or Pembroke, or Pennbrock, or Brembo, or Brandebourch, or something else) that they would meet in fair combat. But not single combat: thirty men from each side would meet on 26 March 1351 at Auray and "Heaven defend the right."

The knights and squires were armed with all manner of weaponry: daggers, swords, axes and spears. There is a tradition that some of Beaumanoir's men used horses at some point, but it is probably more likely that the combatants were all on foot.

The fighting continued until all of one side were dead or captured. The fight was exhausting; after several hours (with four French and two English dead), they agreed to pause to dress wounds and take food and drink. After the break, Bemborough was killed, whereupon the English pulled back into a small band for defense. The Anglo-Breton group was finally broken up and its members either killed or captured. Prisoners on both sides were released when ransom arrangements were made.

"There was no tactical or strategic goal behind the Combat..." we are told by Steven Muhlberger, whose book on the subject (see the link under the illustration) goes into far more detail. Much of the detail we get comes from a 14th century poem (translated and published in 1827, found here on a web page edited by the same Steven Muhlberger).

In fact, the entire affair was "illegal" because it was in defiance of the Truce of Calais. The truth is, tournaments and combat were a glorious part of the lives of some men, and "for honor" was a good enough reason to make a challenge and follow through on it, even if it meant potentially the deaths of your comrades.

The War of Breton Succession: Conclusion

[Click here for the start, here for part two.]

The Battle of Auray, from an edition of Froissart's Chronicles

Things were not looking good for the Montfort faction. Although John Montfort was released from prison on 1 September 1343 in exchange for a large sum of money, there was a condition that he stay in the east and not take part in the fighting conducted by the Montfortist faction on the Breton coast that saw him as the true Duke of Brittany.

The Montfortists were falling apart, however, and only maintaining their position with the help of the English forces whose help they had accepted. The other claimant to Brittany, Charles of Blois, did his best to assert himself, attacking Breton cities. English soldiers were held for ransom, but Breton citizens who had fought against him were executed for treason. With opposition to Charles looking less and less like a wise career move, the Montfortists began to fall apart, and John "broke parole" and fled to England in March 1345.

In 1345, however, Edward III of England decided to break the truce that he had promised to France during that early stage of the Hundred Years War. He sent troops to Brittany with John of Montfort as one of the leaders. At this point, the War of Breton Succession becomes subsidiary to the Hundred Years War, with the Kings of England and France lending support to the side in whom they had the most stake.

Without dragging out the story too long (except I must address the Combat of the Thirty soon): After a long series of attempts to satisfy everyone involved, on 29 September 1364 John of Montfort (son of the John of Montfort mentioned above) captured Auray, and then defended it when Charles of Blois showed up. In the Battle of Auray, Charles' forces were decisively defeated, and Charles himself fled. A year later, the King of France officially gave his support to John as Duke of Brittany.

The War of Breton Succession: Fiery Joanna

When John of Montfort was captured by France during the War of Breton Succession and imprisoned in the Louvre, his wife took up arms to defend his honor and their possessions.

Joanna in armor [source]

Joanna of Flanders was born before 1300 to Count Louis I of Nevers and Joan the Countess of Rethel. She was already in her 30s when she married John of Montfort, the rightful Duke of Brittany (thanks to the previous duke's wishes). Unfortunately for John, King Philip of France favored the Count of Blois (who happened to be Philip's nephew) as Duke of Brittany, due to his marriage to John of Montfort's cousin, Joan of Penthièvre (known as La Boiteuse or "The Lame").

One great objection to John was that he made alliances with King Edward III of England, who had just recently asserted his claim to parts of France in an event later called the Hundred Years War. King Philip saw an opportunity to arrest John and remove him from the playing field (literally from a playing field: John was arrested at a tournament after being promised safe conduct). He thought this would help settle the conflict between the two claimants.

Not so! Joanna sprang into action. She declared her son John the head of the Montfort faction—despite the fact that he was only a few years old. She herself directed the Montfort supporters and captured a town, Redon, and then retired to Hennebont on the coast to prepare for a siege. When Charles of Blois showed up to lay siege to Hennebont, Joanna dressed in armor and encouraged men and women to fight. In one engagement, she led 300 men to attack and burn Charles' tents and supplies. This earned her the title "Jeanne la Flamme" ["Fiery Joanna"].

When things looked bleak for Hennebont, and the bishop of Leon tried to convince Joanna to surrender, English forces arrived by sea to support her. Hennebont survived the siege. Joanna later went by ship to England to ask for more aid. Her ships survived an attack by the French, and she landed near Vannes, which she captured.

The English pretty much took over the managing of the War of Breton Succession at that point. Joanna, after her impressive feats, ended her life in England suffering from an unidentified mental illness. She did, however, live long enough to see the War of Breton Succession concluded in a way that she would consider satisfactory, and I will address that tomorrow.

The War of Breton Succession: The Start

Between 1341 and 1364, while the Hundred Years War was contesting the right of the English king to rule France (or, at least, parts of it), France was dealing with another struggle over Brittany. The Counts of Blois, a region south of Paris, claimed Brittany for their own, while the House of Montfort claimed it due to their link to the Dukes of Brittany.

When Duke John III "The Good" of Brittany (1286—1342) died, there were two rival claims. John was childless, and so the children of his siblings were next in line. John III had not liked the Montfort line which sprang from his father's second marriage, and favored his niece by his younger brother Guy. That nice, Joan of Penthièvre, had married Charles of Blois (a nephew of King Philip VI). But John repented shortly before his death, and made a will appointing John of Montfort his heir.

Most of the French nobility chose to accept the claim through Joan. John of Montfort moved quickly, however, making sure he possessed the chief cities of Nantes, Rennes, and Vannes, not to mention Limoges where the treasury of Brittany lay.

Although King Philip might have intended to stay apart from the conflict, he decided to side with Charles of Blois once he heard that Montfort had been in contact with England for support. A truce in the Hundred Years War meant that Edward could not take an active military role in supporting Montfort, but he might offer him financial and material aid.

A military intrusion into Brittany by French forces led to a siege at Nantes, and the capture of John of Montfort. His forces were not without a leader, however: his wife decided to take up arms, quite literally, the details of which I shall discuss tomorrow.

The Pirate Queen

Medieval wives were not always the stay-at-home type, and some of them acted in ways that were far from the mold of what we think of as a spouse.  Jeanne de Clisson was one such.

Born in 1300 as Jeanne de Belleville, Dame de Montaigou, she was married at 12 to the 19-year-old Geoffrey de Châteaubriant. Geoffrey died in 1326, and four years later Jeanne married her contemporary, Olivier III de Clisson of Brittany. The match seemed a good one, and while she was raising the five children she bore him, Olivier was off helping Charles de Blois fight against Edward III of England (this was during the Hundred Years war).

Because of a failure to hold a territory against the English, Olivier was accused of being an English sympathizer. Affronted, he turned an accusation to a certainty and began to support the English. In 1343, although there was no active military engagement going on, Olivier was arrested while at a tournament and taken to Paris, where he was tried and executed for treason.

Jeanne, outraged, sold off what remained to her of the Brittany estates and spent the money on three warships and a crew. She had them painted black, and took to the waters of the English Channel. She hunted down and destroyed ships of the French king, always leaving a few alive to spread the word that it was Jeanne de Clisson who was causing such trouble for the country that killed her husband and lover.

She may have helped provision Edward's forces leading up to the Battle of Crécy in 1346. She was  certainly no threat to English ships, and in 1356 she retired after 13 years of piracy to England, where she married Sir Walter Bentley. After his death, she retired to Hennebont on the coast of Brittany, where she died in 1359. Coincidentally, Hennebont was home to another Breton woman who bridged the gap from feminine decorum to military action.

But that's a story for another day.

Hiatus

Available 2015(?)

In honor of NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), DailyMedieval is going on hiatus for the month of November so that I may concentrate on A Year in Oxford, the sequel to my Chaucer mystery novel A Death in Catte Street (currently available as an ebook—details to the right—on all online bookstores).

Although we have 300 references to Chaucer in official records, there is a gap from October 1360 until 1366 in which his activities are not recorded. We know that he is sent from the continent to England in October 1360 to deliver personal letters to the royal family; we have no record of him returning to the continent (where King Edward is signing the Treaty of Bretigny with France). A Death in Catte Street accounts for his actions during the two weeks between arriving in England and the return of the King.

A Year in Oxford sees him spending much of 1361 at Balliol, taking an "accelerated introduction" to the Trivium and Quadrivium. During this time, a series of fatal mishaps in the town seem unrelated, until he realizes that they follow a pattern that no one else has noticed.

A King in Hiding

Władysław III of Poland was born on 31 October 1424. He was named King of Poland when he was 10 years old and King of Hungary at the age of 16.

Very young kings are usually surrounded by advisors who often want to enjoy and consolidate their own power, rather than offer unselfish loyalty to king and country. Cardinal Olešnicki ran the country more than Władysław did, insulating the young king from reality and the ability to make sound judgments.

Therefore, when Władysław was 18 and had become King of Hungary after a two-year war (the widow of the previous king wanted to keep the throne for her infant son and not see it go to a Polish monarch), he decided to keep his army together and attempt a greater prize.

The Christian Władysław decided it would be a glorious undertaking to attack the pagan Turks in a crusade, breaking a ten-year truce with the powerful Ottoman Empire. Plans were made, and promises were gathered from Venice and papal forces for help. Unfortunately for Władysław, the mercenary Venetians also had an arrangement with the Turks, and used their fleet to ferry 60,000 Turks from Asia to where Władysław's army (of only 20,000) was camped. The end result was the Battle of Varna on 10 November 1444. The Polish army was defeated soundly and Władysław was beheaded.

...or was he?

Rumors that his head was taken to the Ottoman court are not substantiated. His own forces never found his body. A strange Portuguese legend accounts this. Supposedly, Władysław, ashamed of starting a disastrous war on false pretenses, snuck away from the losing battle and wandered as an ordinary pilgrim to the Holy Land, looking for forgiveness. He became a Knight of Saint Catherine of Mount Sinai. He later traveled to Madeira (an island west of Portugal) to live a quiet life, becoming known as Henry the German. Hearing the rumor that Władysław was alive and hiding in Madeira, a group of Polish monks traveled to investigate. They were satisfied that he was Władysław, but he would not be persuaded to return to Poland and ascend the throne.

Bruno the Saxon

Henry challenging the power of the church

Little is known of the figure called Bruno the Saxon, except that he was a monk attached to the household of Archbishop Werner of Magdeburg. Werner was an enemy of Holy Roman Emperor Henry IV, even joining a revolt against him. After Werner's death in 1078, Bruno joined the household of another Werner, this one the Bishop of Merseburg (because of which Bruno is sometimes called Bruno von Merseburg). Bruno's Historia de Bello Saxonico ["History of the Saxon Wars"] is dedicated to Werner of Merseburg.

The Historia recounts the struggles between the Saxons and Henry IV. Although Bruno is a Saxon, he seems to treat Henry more fairly than some other historians and figures of the time. Although he characterized the young Henry as arrogant and as someone who should have listened to his mother more, he also attributes problems with him to the evil influence of others, notably Adalbert, Archbishop of Hamburg-Bremen. Adalbert was sub-regent under Henry's mother, Agnes. Bruno felt it was good that Henry came under the influence of Archbishop Anno of Cologne (after Anno staged the Coup of Kaiserswerth), but eventually Adalbert once again replaced Anno in henry's eyes as a chief influence.

This is not to say that Bruno was impartial: in the conflicts between Henry and the papacy (mainly, the Investiture Controversy), Bruno unsurprisingly takes the pope's side. When the excommunication was lifted by Pope Gregory VII, it was conditional upon Henry's good behavior: particularly, he had to forego wearing his regalia for a year to show humility, and avoid the company of the men who has counseled him to overreach himself. Unfortunately,

But when he began to exclude these men from his company, they started to make a great fuss, telling him that if he now drove away those by whose wisdom and courage he had up to now held his kingdom, the pope would be able neither to restore it to him nor to obtain another for him. These words and others like them led him to change his mind, and he wickedly returned through their evil counsel to his customary ways. He placed upon his head the diadem of gold and kept in his heart the anathema, stronger than iron. He mixed in communion with the excommunicate, and this wretched man was thrust out from communion with the saints. He now made it clear to all that what he said, that he preferred the kingdom of Heaven to earthly things, was untrue. Had he remained obedient for [even] a little while, he would have held his earthly kingdom in peace, and at some future time would have come into possession of the heavenly and eternal one. But now, for his disobedience, he would not have the one that he loved without great toil, and would never receive the other without a complete change in his way of life. [link]

Bruno seems to want to give Henry the benefit of the doubt and explain his failings as the evil influence of others.

Despite obvious biases, however, Bruno provides some valuable history by giving us a taste of life at the time and by including other sources in his Historia, such as letters from Saxon bishops and other original documents.

The Coup of Kaiserswerth

The ruins of Kaiserswerth in Dusseldorf

In 1062, Archbishop Anno II of Cologne and several princes decided that the 11-year-old Henry IV (the future King of the Germans and Holy Roman Emperor) needed to be liberated from the influence of his regent mother, Agnes of Poitou. He organized what is now called the Coup of Kaiserswerth.

It may have been a simple "power grab" by men who wanted to run the kingdom themselves, or by men who wanted to save the kingdom from Agnes (she had given away the duchies of Bavaria, Carinthia, and Swabia). It may also be that the conspirators felt the kingdom should not be ruled by a woman.

Bruno the Saxon, an 11th century monk who wrote the  Historia de Bello Saxonico ["History of the Saxon Wars"] claimed that Henry's behavior prompted the drastic action, because he was arrogant and would not listen to his mother. Archbishop Anno did the right thing by taking control of Henry.

For the Coup, Anno invited Agnes and Henry to stay at the palace of Kaiserswerth on the River Rhine in Dusseldorf. After dinner, the archbishop invited young Henry to see his fancy new boat. Once onboard, the boat cast off from shore. Exactly what Anno's plan was is not clear, but Henry feared for his life and jumped into the river (putting himself in far more danger than staying on the ship). One of the nobles present, Count Egbert, dove in and saved Henry. The ship was rowed to Cologne, where Henry was held until Agnes agreed to surrender the regalia.

Agnes went into a convent and Archbishop Anno became regent, ruling the country until March of 1065, when the 15-year-old Henry was crowned. This sounds like a happy ending for Henry IV, but his reign would be troubled by many issues and incidents, including the Investiture Controversy.

An Empress & Her Son

We have mentioned more than a few Holy Roman Emperors, but not any Holy Roman Empresses.

Carving of Agnes

Agnes of Poitou was born about 1025, the daughter of William V, Duke of Aquitaine, and Agnes of Burgundy. In November of 1043 she was married to Holy Roman Emperor Henry III (Henry was 26 and had been married before; his first wife, Gunhilda of Denmark, had died). The marriage between Henry and Agnes helped improve relations between the Holy Roman Empire and western Europe. They were crowned Emperor and Empress in 1046 by Pope Clement II.

Henry III died on 5 October 1056, when he was only 38 years old, after naming his son Henry as his heir (all his other children were daughters, except for Conrad who had died a year earlier). Henry IV was barely six years old, and his mother was named his regent, taking on the managing of the affairs of the Empire.

She may have been a good wife and mother, but she was not an admirable administrator. It would have been wise to maintain the kingdom for her son's eventual majority, but she let herself be persuaded to make changes like giving away valuable property—namely, all of Bavaria, Carinthia, and Swabia!

She did not approve of church reform, and got involved with papal politics. She supported Pope Stephen IX, who was forced to live outside Rome, over Pope Benedict X who actually held the papal seat.

In 1062, a group of aristocracy led by Archbishop Anno II of Cologne, decided (for whatever reason; guessing motive is difficult) that Henry needed to be removed from the influence of his mother. They staged what is called the Coup of Kaiserswerth. That's a story for tomorrow.

A Sultan's Observatory

The Ulugh Beg Observatory Museum, built in 1970

Ulugh Beg is the more familiar name of Mīrzā Muhammad Tāraghay bin Shāhrukh (22 March 1394 - 27 October 1449). "Ulugh Beg" is more of a nickname, meaning "Great Ruler."

He was a grandson of Tamerlane who became sultan in Samarkand while still a teenager. He decided to turn Samarkand into an intellectual center, building a university and inviting scholars to take up residence.

He also built the Ulugh Beg Observatory in 1420, where some of the finest Islamic astronomers worked and studied, but only those whom Ulugh personally approved. The picture here is a modern structure on the site of the original, which was destroyed by religious fanatics in 1449. An excavation uncovered its primary feature—a giant sextant:

The so-called "sextant" obviously would have extended well above the ground (as the drawing shows) and likely was closer to being a quadrant. As Krisciunas points out in his interesting discussion of the instrument, it "was by far the largest meridian instrument ever built." Fragments of the curved measuring track have survived with markings for around 20 degrees; this is about the highest point that observations likely would have been made. The "sextant" would have been used to measure the angle of elevation of major heavenly bodies, especially at the time of the winter and summer solstices. Light

from the given body, passing through a controlled opening, would have shone on the curved track, which is marked very precisely with degrees and minutes. "It could achieve a resolution of several seconds of arc--on the order of a six-hundredth of a degree, or the diameter of an American penny at a distance of more than half a kilometer" (Krisciunas). It is not clear whether more than the sun and moon could have been measured in this fashion, since planets, for example, would not have cast sufficient light. [link]

Building a giant permanent astronomical instrument was a unique idea at the time—remember that this was 200 years prior to the invention of a telescope. He created a catalog of over 1018 stars, discovering and correcting many inaccuracies in the star tables created by Ptolemy. Copies of these star charts are on display at the Ulugh Beg Observatory Museum; the originals are in the Bodleian Library in Oxford.

Wheel of Fortune

A 12th-century depiction of the Wheel of Fortune
from the "Garden of Delights" book by Herrad of Landsberg

The Wheel of Fortune is a familiar concept to many these days because of a popular game show, but the name and idea originated a lot earlier than the 20th century.

Human beings recognized long ago that luck was a dish served in one of two flavors, and that one never knew what flavor one was going to get. Life had its ups and downs, and this became represented as a circle of possibilities. This was similar to the wheel of the Zodiac, turning throughout the year and bringing with it changes in life. At some point, however, the Wheel of Fortune (in Latin, the Rota Fortunæ) began to be represented in a Ferris Wheel configuration, so that the "ups" and "downs" could be portrayed visually.

At the top of the wheel is a man at the peak of good fortune: he is portrayed as a king. The wheel turns constantly, however—Boethius points out in his Consolation of Philosophy that, should the wheel stop turning, then she is no longer Fortune: this changeability is fundamental to what she does. Therefore (in this clockwise-turning representation), on the right side you see the one who was formerly on top, sliding down; near the bottom, his crown has fallen off. All is not dire, however, for on the left you see that fortune is turning better for someone else, who is ascending and will some day be on top.

The concept existed before Boethius. An astrologer of the 2nd century BCE, Vettius Valens, refers to the Zodiac as the wheel of fortunes, and a Roman playwright of the same era, Pacuvius, puts Fortuna on a spherical rock that constantly rolls by chance. Chaucer also mentions Fortune's wheel when, in "The Monk's Tale," he recounts multiple stories of men whose fortunes went from good to bad.

Boethius

Boethius (left, with numbers from India)
debating Pythagoras (right, with an abacus)
while Arithmetic looks on

Boethius has been mentioned in passing before for his writing. An early philosopher whose works were very important to the Middle Ages, in life he was an important public servant from a noble family who rose very high before he fell.

Anicius Manlius Severinus Boethius was born about 480 to a prominent family that had produced a couple emperors; his father became a Roman consul in 487 but died shortly thereafter, leaving Boethius to be adopted by the aristocrat and historian Symmachus. Symmachus and Boethius were fluent in Greek, which might have figured into their execution—but we are getting ahead of ourselves.

Boethius went to work for Theodoric the Great, and some of his actions on behalf of the King of the Ostrogoths have survived in the records.

• Procuring or producing a waterclock for Theodoric to give to Gundabad of the Burgundians.
• Finding a lyre player to perform for King Clovis.
• Investigating irregularities in Theodoric's paymaster.

In his famous work De consolatione philosophiæ ["The Consolation of Philosophy"], which he wrote in prison, he says that his greatest accomplishment was getting his sons, Boethius and Symmachus, appointed co-consuls in 522.

Boethius did so well in his career that he was made magister officiorum ["master of duties"], responsible for overseeing all government services. That's probably where the trouble started. Kings and emperors can be mistrustful of those around them with too much power—even if the emperor gave him the power in the first place. Boethius was put in charge of reconciling the differences that had grown up between the Western Roman and Eastern Byzantine Empires. His political powers and education and ability to speak Greek (rare in the West) made him ideally suited for this. He was accused (falsely) of treasonous dealings with the Eastern Emperor Justin I against Theodoric. For this he was exiled, then executed. His adoptive father Symmachus was later put to death on the charge of collusion with Boethius to overthrow Theodoric—a charge which seems unlikely.

He was executed in 525, but his writings survived. He wrote many books, including translations of Aristotle's works on logic; Boethius' translations were the only access to Aristotle's logic available to western Europe until the 12th century. He also produced De arithmetica on the four uses of arithmetic: arithmetic, geometry, music, and astronomy.*

The Consolation of Philosophy is believed to have been written while he was in exile. It covers many topics, one of which gave the modern era the title of one of its most popular game shows. But that's a story for tomorrow.

*These are the four parts of the quadrivium, taught in medieval universities; it is likely that the curriculum was arranged thus because of Boethius.

Crisis in Portugal

Ferdinand I, son of Pedro the Cruel

Inheritance is never more complicated than when a throne is involved. The stakes are too high for anyone to let slip by the chance that he can convince the world that he should rule the country involved. When Peter I of Castile (who ruled both Castile and Portugal) died in 1369, it seemed natural that his eldest surviving son, the 24-year-old Ferdinand I, would inherit the throne.

Except that Peter did not have the Castilian throne to pass along. His illegitimate half-brother, Henry of Trastámara, had taken it in 1369 after defeating Peter in the (First) Castilian Civil War. Wanting to oust Peter wasn't a big surprise to much of Europe, since at the time he was more commonly known as "Pedro the Cruel" because of a ruthless administrative style that did not sit well with the aristocracy. Henry had the support of the papacy as well as France and Aragon. France was happy to get involved on the side opposing Peter because of the larger global issues: France was still in the Hundred Years War with England, and England's John of Gaunt (son of King Edward III) was married to Peter's daughter Constance.

Ferdinand was now King of Portugal, but he wanted Castile as well.

Just because Henry sat the throne, however, did not mean his legitimacy was incontrovertible. (He had a son who was not yet a teenager.) Upon Peter's death, King Peter IV of Aragon and King Charles II ("the Bad") of Navarre put forth claims to Castile, as did Peter I's son-in-law, John of Gaunt. (John would have liked a kingdom of his own, since the assumption was that England would go to his older brother, Edward the Black Prince).

Military engagements followed. In order to avoid an unending conflict, all parties appealed to the pope. Pope Gregory IX got everyone to accept a treaty in 1371, agreeing that Peter's son Ferdinand would ascend the throne and would marry Leonora of Castile, Henry's daughter. This would link the thrones of Portugal and Castile by marriage, and everyone would be satisfied.

The next difficulty was created by Ferdinand himself. Although he accepted the treaty, he fell in love with someone else: Leonor Telles de Meneses, the wife of one of his courtiers! He managed to get her forcibly divorced from her husband so that Ferdinand could marry her.

With Henry's daughter spurned, he had no incentive to allow Ferdinand to become king in Henry's place. John of Gaunt plotted with Ferdinand to remove Henry from Castile, and brought an English army to help—to no avail, however, and a treaty in 1373 calmed everyone down again.

Henry died in 1379, and John of Gaunt once again made a claim for the throne. Ferdinand, however, made his own treaty without English help. If Ferdinand's daughter Beatrice were to marry Henry's son John, then the two kingdoms could be joined by marriage to everyone's satisfaction.

When Ferdinand died on 22 October 1383, he left no male heir. Beatrice's marriage to John would have taken care of Castile, but what of Portugal? The treaty was tossed away—popular sentiment was that Portugal would be annexed by Castile; Portugal needed its own king, not that of Castile!—and Ferdinand's illegitimate brother John claimed the throne, sparking a two-year period of war and political uncertainty with the French helping John of Castile and the English helping John of Portugal. When the dust settled, Portugal had gained control of many towns that were originally Castilian, and the two kingdoms were ruled separately.

In 1387, John I of Portugal married Philippa of Lancaster, daughter of John of Gaunt. The alliance between Portugal and England was and remains very strong.

The Bohemians

Bohemia, the home of Wenceslaus and where Jan Hus found support, was named from a Roman account. The names of both Bohemia and its neighbor Bavaria are based on their connection to the Celtic Boii tribe. The Roman historian Tacitus referred to the area where the tribe lived as Boiohæmum, based on the tribal name Boi- and the Germanic haimaz ["home"; whence comes the German suffix -heim and English home].*

That is not, however, the origin that the Middle Ages believed. According to the Chronica Boëmorum [Chronicle of Bohemians"] by Cosmas of Prague, the Bohemians originally lived harmoniously, without alcohol or marriage, private property or weapons. Eventually, however, evil arose, and they needed someone to lead them out of their iniquity.

Out of this growing chaos came Krok; Cosmas says Krok was

a man known for his age, absolutely perfect, rich and worldly in his judgements, and sophisticated. This wonderful man had no male heirs, but rather three daughters, whom nature had granted the treasures of wisdom.

That is all Cosmas says about the legendary Duke Krok, although he does tell stories about his three daughters: Libuše, Kazi, and Teti—especially Libuše, the youngest and wisest (possibly the wisdom was inherited from her equally legendary Elven mother). Libuše foretold the city of Prague, and married a ploughman named Premysl, with whom she founded the Premyslid Dynasty (ruling Bohemia from the 9th century to 1306). A film was made about Libuše in 2009.

To Cosmas, writing in the early 12th century, the story of the founding of Bohemia needed one more element: an explanation for the name. He therefore mentions Duke Krok's companion, Duke Bohemus, whose name was given to the country.

...and that was the first and last mention of Bohemus made in chronicles. Once his name was produced to explain the name of the country, he was not needed ever again.

*I am resisting the temptation to call the Bohemians "Home-Bois."

The Battle of Assandun

Edmund Ironside meets King Canute (Matthew Paris)

Fifty years before the Norman Invasion changed the culture of Britain, the island (or parts of it) changed hands, from the English to the Danes. The Battle of Assandun, on 18 October 1016, was the last phase of the Danes' attempt to re-take Britain.

It was a signifiant enough event that accounts made it into several chronicles. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle goes into great detail:

A.D. 1016.  This year came King Knute with a marine force of one hundred and sixty ships, and Alderman Edric with him, over the Thames into Mercia at Cricklade; whence they proceeded to Warwickshire, during the middle of the winter, and plundered therein, and burned, and slew all they met.

Edmund Ironside was king; his son, Edmund Ætheling, tried to gather an army, but not everyone answered the call.

Then began Edmund the etheling to gather an army, which, when it was collected, could avail him nothing, unless the king were there and they had the assistance of the citizens of London.  The expedition therefore was frustrated, and each man betook himself home.

Eventually an army was assembled, but ultimately Cnut won. Edmund Ironside was forced to sign a treaty agreeing that Cnut would control all of England except Wessex, and that whichever died first would cede all his territory to the other, the survivor's son becoming the heir to all England.

Mere weeks after signing the treaty, Edmund Ironside died on 30 November 1016. Cnut became king of all England, which he ruled for the following 20 years.

The Destruction of Basel

Late medieval woodcut representing destruction in Basel

Earthquakes have been in the news lately, but one of the biggest earthquakes known happened in the Middle Ages. It is called the Great Basel Earthquake, and sometimes the Earthquake of Saint Luke, because it fell in his feast day.

On the evening of 18 October 1386, an earthquake took place whose force is estimated at 6.0-7.1.* It was one of the largest of the approximately 10,000 earthquakes detected in Switzerland in the last 800 years. Based on the accounts, a rumble occurred about 8:00pm, with the major quake striking at 10:00pm.

Although it is impossible to determine now what the epicenter was, Basel suffered the greatest destruction (possible by virtue of being the largest set of structures affected by the earthquake). Basel was completely destroyed, as were any churches, castles, and towers within a 30-kilometer radius. Further damage was done to town buildings due to the fire caused by torches and candles being knocked over. Tremors were felt as far away as Zurich and the Île-de-France (272 miles away!). No building in Basel survived, according to reports.

Considering the size of the earthquake, and the timing, you would expect casualties in the thousands. While estimates vary, an estimate by a modern risk management firm is 300 deaths in Basel.

*On the Moment Scale, which has replaced the Richter Scale.

The Tolerant Khan

There were many Khans in the Mongol Empire, but none quite like Tëmur. Tëmur was a grandson of Kublai Khan, born on 15 October, 1265; his father was crown prince, but died before Kublai, and when Kublai died in February 1294, the choice to succeed him was between Tëmur and his brother Gammala. A competition was held between them to see which one knew better the sayings of Genghis Khan; Tëmur won.

Over the next 13 years, Tëmur continued the policies and economic reforms of his grandfather. His personal accomplishments were few, and mostly in the realm of cultural diversity and tolerance. A Mongol and a follower of Buddhism, he expanded the presence of various other religions and ethnic groups in his administration.

Besides Mongols and Han Chinese, he had Muslims and a few Christians working for him. He declared that Confucians were to be respected; he hired a Confucian, Hargashun, as grand chancellor. He increased the number of Tibetans in the administration, and a Tibetan even married into his family. Kublai had been anti-Taoist, but Tëmur appointed a Taoist as head of his Orthodox Unity School.

He also relaxed the burden of taxes on his subjects, and gave exemptions for taxes several times. Mongol commoners, for instance, were at one point given two years free from paying taxes to the crown. (Unfortunately, this largesse would have a bad effect on the economy, since the loss of revenue weakened the paper currency.)

Everything passes, however. Tëmur Khan died on 10 February 1307.

The Cadaver Synod

Popes Formosus & Stephen VII, by Jean Paul Laurens, 1870

The Synod of Whitby was just mentioned a few days ago, and right now in 2014 there is a Vatican-called Synod going on. A synod, from Greek syn ["with"] and (h)odos ["way"], is an assembly of clergy (and sometimes laity, as in the present case) to discuss particular issues.

The synod was called by Pope Stephen VII. He had been advanced in his religious career by a previous pope, Formosus (c.816 - 4 April 896). Pope Formosus was pope for about five years, during which he made a few questionable political moves, like getting involved in the conflict between Charles the Simple and Odo over the French crown and clashing with Holy Roman Emperor Guy III of Spoleto.

After Formosus died, he was succeeded by Boniface VI, who lasted a matter of weeks and was succeeded in May 896 by Stephen VII, who called the Cadaver Synod. The cadaver was Pope Formosus, who was put on trial. How do you put a dead person on trial? You dig him up and put him in a chair at the synod. Since he was a pope, however, you put him in the proper vestments, giving a new twist on "respecting the dead."

It was decided at the synod that he had been unworthy of the papacy due to his actions. All his decrees and decisions were declared null and void. To make the symbolism complete, they ripped off his papal garb, cut off the three fingers of his right hand that had held the consecrated Host, and threw the body into the river.

The Battle of Senlac Hill

Best guess arrangement of opposing troops

The Battle of Hastings gets remembered on 14 October; that's when the forces of William of Normandy defeated the (already exhausted) forces of Harold Godwinsson at Hastings. Except it isn't...at Hastings, that is. It was fought at Senlac Hill, or Senlac Ridge, several miles from the town of Hastings. The name is the shortened form of the Norman Sanguelac ["Blood Lake"], which was their post-Conquest pun on the original name of Sandlacu ["sandy lake"]; there is a stream that crosses the fields below the hill. In fact, the site now has a town called (almost predictably) Battle, and Battle Abbey, which was built to commemorate the Norman victory. The Domesday Book commissioned in 1085 referred to it as bellum Hasestingas ["Battle of Hastings"], and yet the battle was being referred to as Senlac in other chronicles.

Harold managed to reach Senlac and array his troops on the high ground, giving them a tactical advantage over the Normans below. William's forces, however, fought bravely—first with archers, then with spears—and then an accidental retreat drew the English off the high ground in pursuit, whereupon the Normans turned around and continued the fight.

There were not many details written down about the battle, but we can make some assumptions. Fighting would have to take place in daylight, so a charge could not start much earlier than the 6:48am sunrise would allow. Also, sunset was at 4:54pm, and it would have been fully dark on the battlefield by 5:54pm. The moon did not rise until hours later, and so principal fighting would not have extended much past sunset. It only needed a day, however, to change the course of English history.

Hilda of Whitby

The Synod of Whitby is a familiar name to fans of medieval history (and this blog). What is not widely known is that it was first managed by a woman, Hilda of Whitby.

Hilda (c.614 - 680) was born to Hereric, a nephew of King Edwin of Northumbria. Her father was poisoned while Hilda was very young, and she was raised at King Edwin's court, where she was exposed to the preaching of St. Paulinus of York. King Edwin's entire court, including Hilda, was baptized on Easter (12 April) 627. Hilda's sister, Hereswith, became a nun at Chelles Abbey, and Hilda followed her example by taking up the monastic life.

She eventually wound up taking on the management of a monastery at a coastal town called Streaneshalch in 657, which had just been founded by Oswy of Bernicia as an act of thanksgiving. Years later, the Danes would name the place Whitby (Old Norse for "white settlement").

The monastery at Whitby—which included both men and women—became famous for its learning. This was the home of Cædmon, the illiterate shepherd turned poet; Hilda allowed him to take monastic vows and encouraged him in his poetry. Her wisdom and administrative abilities were so revered that monks and aristocracy would travel to consult with her. Bede tells us that "All who knew her called her mother because of her outstanding devotion and grace."

When King Oswy wanted to determine definitively whether his realm should follow Celtic or Roman Christianity, he asked Hilda to hold the synod at her abbey. The Synod of Whitby presented arguments for both sides, and Oswy chose Roman Christianity. Hilda preferred Celtic Christianity, but she accepted the decision of the king.

Hilda died on 17 November 680, after several years of suffering from a constant fever that never stopped her from performing her duties. Supposedly, at her death the bells of the monastery rang out so loudly that they were heard 13 miles away.